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[dratefahmed1]

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[eightmakesonebraincell]

ateez as pirates who fall for you (hyung line)

read maknae line here

genre: pirate!ateez x gn!reader (fem!reader for hongjoong), fluff, angst, crack, and as always - a brainrot of every pirate trope to exist

length: 10.4k

c/w: heavy and mature themes - mdni, explicit language (swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, illegal acts (piracy, ransoming, verbal abuse, abduction), alcohol, pet names

a/n: maknae line will come yes but who knows when 🤷‍♀️ work has been really testing my dopamine vibes this year 😔👎 thank you @sorryimananti-romantic for keeping a detailed hitlist for me ♡

hongjoong

pov: you're a royal princess rescued by him

“captain, are you sure we can’t toss her overboard?”

jongho and hongjoong watch as wooyoung’s face falls after you pointedly ignore his attempts to make conversation once again

for someone who is technically their guest aboard the arriba, it seems as though you are hellbent on being as difficult as you can be

“unfortunately, we can’t,” hongjoong grouches to the younger, “not unless we want to exchange our payment for a hefty bounty on our own heads”

when jongho sighs, the captain squeezes his shoulder in comfort and adds on, “trust me, i’ve thought about it too”

hongjoong and his crew are privateers - pirates in theory, but technically excused so long as they have their letter of marque to state that they are authorised to attack other vessels

rescuing a royal princess was never explicitly part of the contract, although he thinks that not rescuing you would have pretty much been equivalent to a blatant show of insubordination

you had been taken ransom by one of the merchant ships the arriba had been plundering

needless to say, they had been close to tossing you overboard too; your kingdom had never paid for your ransom

the lack of response from your parents wasn’t anything you weren’t expecting but it’s a sore spot nonetheless

so it’s certainly hard for you to play friendly when you’re quite literally shucked off from stranger to stranger faster than a hot potato

san tugs wooyoung closer towards him and gently says to you, “he’s just trying to be nice - we all are”

the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by you

“i don’t need your pity,” you answer, the only sentence you have spoken today

you’ve lived two decades of your life pretending you don’t see the pitying gazes of your maids and butlers

you certainly don’t need pity from these people - pirates no less

“it’s not-” wooyoung starts to say

but the captain steps in before he can defend himself

“if this is how you’re always acting, i’m starting to see why your kingdom never paid for your ransom”

had hongjoong been less preoccupied by your words, he would have realised that your tone is candid, as if it is only natural for the people around you to pity you

but he’s clouded with his mindset as captain, unable to stand by idly while his own crew put up with your attitude, and so the words come out anyway - shards of shrapnel that bury themselves into your heart

there is only a fleeting second when your eyes dilate with hurt

you conceal it immediately, replacing it with a steely gaze, yet the image has already seared itself into hongjoong’s mind

“maybe you should throw me overboard, then,” you counter, “i’m sure my family will thank you for it”

and even if you have completely neutralised your expression, no one misses the wounded tone of your voice before you disappear down into the lower deck

mingi lets out a low whistle after the resounding slam of the hatch closing

“you fucked up, captain”

hongjoong doesn’t need anyone to spell it out for him

the heavy feeling in his stomach is telling enough

it isn’t until the moon has long since risen that you emerge through the hatch again

you had bypassed the sleeping quarters to the hold, wedging yourself between barrels of grain until you were sure no one would find you

not that they would have tried to anyway - seonghwa had told them all to give you some space

you had run your finger up and down the sides of the barrels repetitively for hours on end, mind simultaneously void and filled with thoughts

the walls you had built around yourself kept you safe, but it had started to become awfully lonely after a while

when it had become a little too suffocating in the hold and you guessed that most of the crew was asleep, you had softly padded back up the stairs and across the main deck

you now sit on the foredeck where the endless expanse of the sea stretches out in front of you, closing your eyes and letting the swaying of the ship lull you into tranquillity

tonight, the moon winks down fondly upon the waters

hongjoong watches you from the quarterdeck

he’s seen you sit at the front of the ship on many nights when you should really have been asleep

he wonders if you’ve always looked so small and fragile with your knees drawn up to your chest, or whether it’s because the flash of hurt in your eyes and voice is still fresh in his mind

“go, captain,” yunho murmurs from where he’s at the helm, “it’s a quiet night”

hongjoong startles at having been caught gazing, clearing his throat and dragging his eyes away

“why should i, if she’s just going to ignore me?” he scoffs

but he knows he’s just being petty at this point and his chest churns in agreement

“maybe,” yunho hums softly in response. “did seonghwa ever give up on you, though?”

it’s rhetorical - hongjoong knows the answer better than anyone

the captain doesn’t say anything but after several beats of silence, he sighs and makes a move to the foredeck where you are

yunho smiles to himself

you and hongjoong may be more similar than his captain realises

your shoulders stiffen when the sound of hongjoong’s footsteps approaches

you’re not sure what to expect and you don’t exactly want to find out and risk getting hurt

but having spent all day swimming alone in your thoughts, you do want to show that you feel apologetic because admittedly, you were being an ass too

getting up to walk away when he’s taken the first step certainly won’t help your case

you hold your breath in awkward silence as he settles down beside you, leaving a respectable distance between your hunched figures

only now is hongjoong realising that he hasn’t actually thought about or decided on what he wants to say to you

but he can feel the confusion rolling off of you in waves, so he grits his teeth and says fuck it

“i won’t apologise for defending my crew, but i’m sorry for how i did it and for what i said”

he hopes you know he is sincere when he continues, “we all have our prickly edges. i can’t fault you for yours”

compassion is a foreign concept to you and so you’re a little stumped for words

hongjoong isn’t sure whether your silence is a good or bad thing, but you have yet to stand up and walk away from the conversation

“there’s only about a week left until we reach port and we’ll leave after you make it back to your kingdom and we receive our payment. i’m not asking for you to be friendly, but let’s at least be civil with each other until then,” he says

you want to nod, agree, anything

and yet you can’t seem to make your head move or the words to come out of your mouth

rome was not built in a day. but neither did its walls fall in a day

hongjoong doesn’t push for an answer when instead, you ask, “how many people have you actually tossed overboard before?”

he resists the urge to laugh at your question, suddenly endeared by the fact that you’re still bothered by his very empty threat

“none, but my offer still stands. you’re welcome to be my first,” he deadpans

you let out a snort and although you quickly turn your head away, hongjoong sees the hint of amusement in your eyes

no further words are exchanged between the two of you and you do not acknowledge him when he eventually stands to rejoin yunho at the helm

but it’s a start

and as with any relationship, be it friend, foe, or lover, there is always that

a beginning.

hongjoong isn’t really expecting much to change immediately so he doesn’t pay you much mind when you walk into the mess hall the following morning

you hesitate at the entrance when you see most of the crew are already present, the conversation you had with hongjoong last night replaying at the forefront of your mind

you chew on the inside of your mouth

wooyoung stops mid-conversation at the scrape of a plate on the table, looking up to find you sliding into the seat beside him with a tight-lipped smile

to your surprise, he greets you with enthusiasm and immediately drags you into the conversation

hongjoong watches as you slowly warm up and add one or two comments of your own in between bites of your hardtack

and when he catches your gaze after staring for too long, he gives you a smile to convey his appreciation; to acknowledge your efforts

you return it with a small smile of your own and unbeknownst to you, it stays on your face for the rest of the day

slowly, there become more and more reasons that elicit a smile out of you

you still sit out on the foredeck when everyone else has gone to sleep, but on most nights, hongjoong will join you even if just for a while

the two of you are content to sit side by side with nothing but the steady pulse of the ocean and intermittent creaks of the ship’s hull to break the silence of the night

tonight though, you find curiosity burning through you

“what’s it like?” you ask

“being a pirate?” he clarifies

you shrug vaguely, unsure yourself either, “being a pirate. being at sea. sailing with your crew”

he takes a moment to gather his thoughts - not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because there is too much he wants to say

when hongjoong answers, his voice rumbles softly from within his chest, tender and heartfelt

“there’s a sense of freedom that you can’t obtain when you’re bound to land and society. sailing the waters, the only limits are those of the open seas and of your own compass… the sunrises, the storms, the moonlight - it all becomes part of your home”

hongjoong leans back to rest on the palms of his hands, tilting his gaze up towards the twinkling sky

he reflects, “you experience brotherhood and gain a family that is worth multitudes more than the treasures you can accumulate, even if you were to live as a pirate for several lifetimes”

you’re enraptured by his words, like poetry that swirls off the pages of a book and drifts into your very soul

“i may be the captain of this crew, but they make me who i am. without them, i am nothing”

his words wash over you and unearth vivid memories

“that’s what the queen always says to me,” you reveal

a small smile starts to grace hongjoong’s face, but it falls just as quickly when he hears your next words

“that without her - without her title - i am nothing”

it’s funny, how the same phrase can hold such different meanings; can evoke such different emotions

you don’t elaborate any further, but hongjoong doesn’t think he needs you to in order for him to understand

he just wishes he had more time to show you that your mother is wrong

he can’t though

tomorrow they reach port and you will return to your rightful place in the palace

“tell me more about your crew,” you attempt to change the topic, “how did you all find each other?”

so hongjoong tells you

he talks for hours and hours and you listen all the while with a heavy heart, clinging onto his every word

on your final night, you two stay like that until the stars disappear and the horizon becomes streaked with the pale hues of sunrise

after the ship docks mere hours later, only hongjoong accompanies you to your kingdom after goodbyes are exchanged

wooyoung doesn’t take it well, and you find yourself holding back tears of your own as you are let through the palace doors with the captain by your side

but you blink them away when you approach the throne room because vulnerability is not an emotion you are willing to display

“y/n”

the queen addresses you curtly when you enter, and hongjoong wonders for a split second whether he has brought you back to the wrong kingdom

he knows your mother does not treat you fondly, but it’s still staggering to see it before his very own eyes

the monarch glances distastefully over him before her eyes flicker back to you

“i did not expect your return,” she states

your eyes remain impassive as you merely answer, “neither am i delighted to be back”

hongjoong recognises this look

he’s seen it when you first boarded his ship; he’s seen it when your hackles were raised

he’s seen it in himself, when he had been a teenager filled with nothing but growing resentment, before he had met seonghwa

your mother sneers, “then you should have made yourself useful and stayed with the pirates. as a whore or a dog, whatever it took.”

hongjoong has understood you since learning of your demons, but right now, he is you

he sees fifteen-year-old kim hongjoong, standing before a couple who are his parents only by title

he sees fifteen-year-old kim hongjoong, who doesn’t know what he has done that deems him undeserving of love

he sees fifteen-year-old kim hongjoong, all alone with no one to take his hand

“or really, you should have died on the ship”

hongjoong is close enough to you to hear the small hitch in your breath at your mother’s final jab

he may not have had someone to save his younger self, but he can do that now

he can be the person he so desperately needed years ago

and so he does just that.

hongjoong grabs your hand and drags you out of the palace

no one stops the two of you from leaving and he is unsure whether his heart hurts for you or sings with relief

you can only stutter in shock as you try to keep up, “hongjoong, what about your payment?”

his determined steps do not slow down, even as he looks back at you with a sure smile, “i told you before. some things are worth more than money”

the comforting squeeze of his hand conveys that you are worth more than any amount of money

the form of the arriba grows bigger in the distance and you think you can see the movement of excitement on deck when the crew spots your figures

hongjoong has slowed down his steps, but he has yet to let go of your hand

“and you deserve to know that. welcome to the crew, y/n”

to a family and love that you never had

you think you like the sound of that

“thank you, captain”

seonghwa

pov: you're a royal navy officer in disguise

you lay awake in your hammock, listening to the soft snores of the crew members around you

sleep doesn’t come easy to you anymore

particularly tonight

you contemplate whether it’s worth the risk to simply not show up

you know what the consequences are if they capture you - a slow and painful death - but you’re unsure whether you want to put ateez on the line too

your ship is currently docked for the night, having made a port stop at alcarres following one of the crew’s wishes to retire the pirate lifestyle and settle in the small town

their last night with ateez had been celebrated with sloshing rum and rowdy jigs, something you had found strange

there’s none of that in the royal navy

when one leaves, it is shameful and through one of three options only; old age, crippling injury, or…death

you had asked seonghwa, the quartermaster, why he and the captain were so accepting when crew members left as they wished

he had simply smiled and answered, “better a small but loyal crew than a large and unpredictable crew”

his words are like a sharp stone in your shoe as you finally slip out of your hammock and make your way off the ship

as ordered, you head to the tavern addressed

you salute the person in front of you and ease into your seat with a formality only when he disregards you

“admiral jang”

“you’re late,” the royal navy officer raises an eyebrow

“sorry, sir. i had to make sure everyone was asleep”

it’s not exactly the truth, but no one needs to know that you had spent an hour in your hammock questioning your morality

he ignores your excuse, jesting as he asks of your captain, “has the pirate king found the chart’s whereabouts yet?”

the charts

centuries ago, a crew of experienced sailors had travelled the six great seas and created the original navigational charts

the charts had become scattered and lost over time, but its value only increased exponentially as more and more sailors became victims to the sea trying to map its waters to the same detail and accuracy as the original charts

of the six originals, only the whereabouts of five are known, with most of them within the possession of the royal navy

it’s rumoured that hongjoong - the pirate king - has his hands on two of them and is currently tracking down the lost chart of the aurorian sea

the only sea that has yet to be chartered after its original map due to its dangerous and unpredictable sailing conditions

you know that your next words can hold an inexplicable amount of possibilities

“not yet. the last lead didn’t get him anywhere. turned out the last of the ahn clan had passed a decade ago”

his lips flatten at the lack of worthwhile information

“where’s the captain headed to next, then?” he probes

for a split second, the thought of lying crosses your mind

you can’t provide a different location - it would be much too obvious and would raise immediate suspicions

but you could give him a different time frame

after all, it’s not uncommon for navigational routes to be one to two weeks off should the waters be unpredictable enough

you find the truth spilling out of you anyway once you’re looking into his stone-cold eyes

“vlasgar. in about three weeks’ time”

for a moment, time stands still as your heart pounds and you attempt to slow your breathing, the officer staring back at you calculatingly

then he finally hums in satisfaction

you think that he is going to dismiss you, but as you make a move to leave, he leans back in his seat

the split second of hesitation was enough

“remember where your loyalty lies, y/n”

the air feels cold with the underlying threat

seonghwa’s words flit through your mind

better a small but loyal crew than a large and unpredictable crew

you swallow, “of course, admiral”

and then you’re dismissed with a nod

the unsettling feeling follows you all the way back to the ship and every miniscule creak of the floorboards underneath you seems to be amplified in the silence

you let out a short gasp of surprise when you’re about to climb back into your hammock, only to see seonghwa blinking blearily at you

“couldn’t sleep ‘gain?” he mumbles

you choke out a response, “yeah”

“i’ll make you tea b’fore you sleep ‘morrow,” his words slur with sleepiness

“okay,” you whisper

but you know it won’t make a difference

after all, there’s no remedy for guilt

it continues to fester the next day, as you linger outside the captain’s quarters

you can’t remember why you had come down to the lower deck, but it doesn’t matter now, not with seonghwa and the captain discussing what you think is related to the aurorian chart

“do you think he’s still in vlasgar?”

“min taesoo? it’s hard to say. but i’m sure he’ll have acquaintances still on the island who may have an idea of where he’s gone”

min taesoo

your brain tries to carefully file the name away, knowing that it’s what admiral jang would want to know, but at the same time, your heart tries to pretend it doesn’t know what you have heard so that you can forget about it

you find yourself scratching the name onto a scrap of paper anyway

unbeknownst to you, at the almost-imperceivable sound of your footsteps walking away, the two men behind the doors share a look

the crew sets sail again in the afternoon towards the next destination - vlasgar - and the scrap of paper in your pocket weighs you down so heavily that you feel off-kilter as you absentmindedly follow jongho up into the rigging to unfurl the sails

you’re near the top of the ropes when a sudden wave lurches the boat to starboard

it’s only a small push, really, but with your mind elsewhere, it catches you off guard and you miss your next step

the feeling of your hand dislodging from the sudden drag of your body weight brings you back to the present with a yell of surprise

(whether it’s your own or jongho’s, you can’t remember)

your sailing experience takes over and you try to swing your body back towards the safety of the rigging

you barely manage to grasp the ropes again but your hands slip down with your weight until they hit the next knot, the hot rush of friction threatening your grip

with adrenaline rushing through your body, you shakily climb back down, where there are several pairs of hands waiting to help you down the rest of the rigging

seonghwa’s hands do not leave you even after your feet are planted on the deck again

dread and shame heat the back of your neck and curl around onto your cheeks, knowing that a mistake like the one you had just made - accidental or not - would lead to a punishment like confinement in the lower deck back in the royal navy

except, when an apology starts to form on your lips, seonghwa bursts out in dismay

“y/n, your hands!”

you let out an unintelligible noise as seonghwa gently turns your palms over and you realise that the ropes have grazed some of the skin off

“it’s fine,” you want to say

but you’re silenced when he leads you to the small sick bay on the orlop deck

even if there is no surgeon on board, there is a small chest fastened to the wall that is home to their few and valuable medical supplies

you sit as he fusses over you with alcohol and strips of cloth

although he does a good job of wrapping your hands, your insides start to bleed with how intensely guilt eats away at you, like a maggot deep inside the core of a festering apple

that night as you shuffle towards your hammock to sleep, you flinch when you find seonghwa already sitting in his

he’s fighting the heaviness in his eyes as he carefully cradles something

upon seeing you, he wordlessly hands it to you with a sleepy smile before he finally sags into his own hammock with a content sigh

you look down and the warmth of it seems to burn through the padded dressing that the man before you has tenderly wrapped around your palms

the sensation travels upwards to burn your heart too

because in your hands is a cup of warm chamomile tea

and yet, despite the emptied cup, you find yourself unable to fall asleep

but in the darkness of the sky, with no witnesses other than the waves and sea foam themselves, a small piece of crumpled paper gets tossed overboard that night

the closer their ship approaches vlasgar, the more distant seonghwa notices you become

he worries

seonghwa thinks he worries for the reasons that he should be

he is the quartermaster; entrusted to protect the crew as the captain’s right-hand man

if that means ensuring no one will compromise the rest of his crew, even if it’s you, then so be it

that’s what he justifies to himself as he walks through the cobbled streets of vlasgar, slinking through the shadows as he follows your figure from a safe distance

(in reality, seonghwa worries for the reasons that he is not quite ready to admit yet)

he follows you into the dim bar of a tavern and carefully situates himself where he can watch over you without being discovered

he orders a mug of common ale as you approach someone

the man is dressed in civilian attire, but seonghwa can tell straight away from his demeanour and expression that he is not as ordinary as he appears

it’s confirmed when he hears you say, “admiral jang”

and then he sees it

the small but striking lapel pin on the breast of the man’s coat - the royal navy’s insignia

seonghwa feels for the sash that’s hidden underneath his own jacket and his fingertips meet the cool metal of the pistol tied inside

“you better have updates for me, y/n. what’s the pirate king’s purpose here in vlasgar?”

seonghwa knows he only has about five seconds to make a decision - one that could jeopardise the crew, or one that could jeopardise you

but you surprise yourself and the both of them when you answer steadfastly, “i don’t know, sir”

despite the din of drunker patrons in the tavern, it seems to fall deathly silent

“am i hearing wrong, officer?” the admiral questions with a disbelieving scoff

to your credit, your voice does not waver when you state again, “no, sir. i believe the captain and quartermaster are lying low. they have not revealed anything to me nor the rest of the crew”

seonghwa suddenly understands why you have distanced yourself

the admiral’s jaw tics

“is that so.”

you do not respond, only focusing on the spot between his raised eyebrows as he leans forward across the table

“where does your loyalty lie, y/n?”

neither the admiral nor seonghwa need to hear your answer to know the truth

a small crew may be outnumbered, but they have strength in loyalty and devotion

there’s a glint of movement from underneath the table as the admiral inches something out from his belt

seonghwa makes his decision

you flinch, eyes wide as there’s a deafening gunshot and the table beside you splinters and scatters the tankards of alcohol onto the floor

instantaneously, chaos erupts

there are drunken yells of fright and weapons clumsily brandished, tables upturned and chairs hurled across the room

it only takes one other misfired shot for the tavern to descend into hellfire as customers who were previously drinking together now turn on one another

nobody notices the two pirates dashing out, not even admiral jang, who is busy wrangling two inebriated men off his arms

your composure dissolves the moment you are dragged into an alleyway several streets away and you look up in shock to discover-

“seonghwa?! why are you here?”

“i could say the same about you,” he counters, hardly out of breath

you’re stunned by the fact that he seems completely unfazed by the mess that he has just dragged you out of

something clicks

“was that you? did you know all along?”

seonghwa smiles, “let’s just say you’re not as subtle as you think you are when you sneak around. plus, it’s uncommon for sailors to have the experience that you do without having had some sort of training”

you curse under your breath and wince, “does hongjoong know too?”

the quartermaster nods and you fear the answer to your next question

“then why has he not…why have you not…”

“killed you yet?” seonghwa chuckles. “i’m sure you’ve realised by now how skewed the royal navy’s beliefs are”

you’re quiet

the royal navy has always been cult-like in preaching the ruthlessness and barbarism of pirates, drilling into the officers the belief that pirates are the scum of the sea

but everything that you’ve known has been proven false since you’ve joined ateez; ironically, the pirates are more humane than the royal navy themself

their crew stand at attention whenever hongjoong or seonghwa walk onto the deck - not out of cultivated fear but genuine respect

when jongho is sore and tired from handling the riggings on a particularly rough and windy day, the others will offer to cover for his chores instead of flogging him into submission

and when mingi is divvying up the shares of the provisions and loot, the others will slip an extra bar of soap for seonghwa, the shiniest ring for mingi, or the largest bottle of rum for yunho, because they want to make each other happy

“hongjoong is the pirate king, yes, but a king should not take the lives of others for his own power. a true king uses his power to change the lives of others for the better…like yours…and like mine”

you frown with a jerk of your head

“what do you mean?”

you can’t see seonghwa as a broken man whatsoever

he gives you a weak smile, “i, too, used to be part of the royal navy”

your jaw drops

everything clicks into place - how he had figured out you weren’t just a common sailor and why he hadn’t confronted you about it

the shame and guilt come rushing back over you in a storm that is much too familiar by now

“i’m so sorry, all i’ve done is betray your trust-”

“but that’s what second chances are for, no?” seonghwa cuts you off, playfully flicking your forehead as he reminds you, “and i’m pretty sure you’ve chosen me over the royal navy”

your cheeks grow hot

“not you. the crew,” you mutter

he laughs and it’s a wonderful sound

“come on, it’s late,” seonghwa beckons. “let’s get some sleep”

when he sees that you’re still rooted to the spot, unsure whether you are deserving to go back, he decides for you and moves behind you to gently nudge you forward by the shoulders

you let him guide you

his hands are warm, you note, even through the linen of your shirt

his hands are also pretty, you observe, when he tries to fluff your hammock once you two have crept your way back to the berth

seonghwa helps you up into the hammock and you watch as he climbs into his

his hands are also teeming with love, you realise, when he wordlessly extends his arm nearest to you in a silent invitation

if you both reach out, you can just entwine your hands together from your respective hammocks

the burns on your palms have healed nicely and without the need for them to be wrapped, you can feel every expanse of his hand covering yours

he doesn’t retract his hand and neither do you, even though it’s not the most comfortable position and you both lose feeling of your arms soon after

but you lay in your hammock, drifting to the soft snores of the crew members around you and the soft tug of seonghwa’s fingers in yours

sleep comes easy to you

particularly tonight

as it will for the rest of your life

yunho

pov: you're the crew's navigator

you know it’s going to happen even before it actually does

you can feel it in the air and from the way the baby hairs around your hairline start to frizz

but you never say anything because you wouldn’t trade it for the moment when the first raindrop hits the back of yunho’s neck and he abandons his duty at the helm to drag you out onto the upper deck

(hongjoong only sighs in defeat before he stations himself at the helm instead)

you don’t like the rain

not like yunho does

you are already looking up from the map spread out in the captain’s quarters, a knowing smile on your face just from the sound of his bounding footsteps alerting you of his presence, when yunho appears with the beckon of rain

you pretend to let yourself be dragged to your feet along to his urges of come on!

but then you dash forward towards the hatch with yunho chasing after your bright laughter

in the short span of time that it has taken him to fetch you, the sprinkle of rain has steadily grown and the weathered planks of the deck are already a dark grey

you feel the coldness of the raindrops hitting the crown of your head and the spreading chill as your clothes start to become damp

but that’s not what makes you feel alive

yunho catches up to you easily and then he is snaking his arms around your waist to lift you up into the air

you barely have time to squeal and steady yourself on his broad shoulders before he is spinning the two of you around, the world blurring away as the spotlight shines on him and he is all that you can see

the deck is your stage and the sea is your audience

rain with yunho is twirling hugs, tiptoed kisses and tinkling laughter. it’s soaked shirts and rosy cheeks and the only thing that matters in the moment

you don’t like the rain, but it’s easy to like the rain when it’s with him

(hongjoong lets the two of you be - so obviously and hopelessly enamoured by each other - because when one sees people in love, one cannot help but watch and smile)

the rain eventually peters out and you and yunho must return to your respective duties, but not until you two have changed out of your drenched clothes and sneaked in a few more kisses

a few hours later, you hear the racket above the deck as a ship pulls up beside the arriba and ropes are thrown across from both sides to lash the vessels close together

hongjoong comes down to join you in his quarters, but he’s not alone

behind him is the captain of the silver light, dae jihoo, and his quartermaster, with seonghwa entering last

you note that this crew doesn’t have a navigator of their own

but you suppose that’s one of the reasons why their captain had implored an alliance for this particular raid

the crew of the silver light are wanting to target the prosperity triangle - an area between three large ports that is frequently trafficked by wealthy vessels transporting valuable goods

it’s a raid that would prove difficult for a smaller pirate crew like your own and the silver light, and especially if they have no navigator

but it’s not uncommon for pirates to form temporary alliances for such purposes, and together, your crews have a good chance of plundering a fortune

you nod your head in acknowledgement when hongjoong introduces you to the two pirates as ateez’s navigator

you don’t miss the way jihoo’s eyes seem to linger on you for a second too long before he flashes a crooked grin and gestures towards the navigational map spread out on the oak table

clearing your throat of discomfort, you step forward and flatten the creases out with your hands

“this is the most open spot within the triangle that the vessel we’re after will pass through,” you tap an annotated spot on the chart, “and this is where we are now”

you slide your finger across, “we’ll follow the rhumb line west to avoid the shallower waters and when we can catch the trade winds, it should be smooth sailing from there”

jihoo challenges you, “how can you be sure we’ll catch the ship within the triangle?”

“they’ll need to sail past the equator and i’m almost certain their ship will be slowed down by the doldrums. we can easily gain knots on them”

he squints at the scribbles you’ve made noting down what you’ve gathered of the wind patterns

you know for a fact that it will mean nothing to him, but whatever he sees must satisfy him because jihoo appears to make up his mind

“when do we set sail?” he directs his question to your captain

“three days from now”

he grunts a noise of affirmation and stands, which hongjoong takes as the cue to see them and the rest of their crew off your ship

you trail behind the group as you all head back to the upper deck

you prepare to emerge from the hatch with a playful wink, knowing that yunho will be craning his neck from the helm to get a glimpse of you, when a sudden holler surprises you out of your thoughts

it’s immediately met with the answering cries of several other pirates - none from your crew - and you hurry to clear the hatch to gain your bearings

you’re thrust right into the throes of battle as ateez are forced to unsheathe their cutlasses to defend against silver light’s sudden attack

having been caught off guard, basically none of your firearms are loaded with gunpowder, rendering them unusable

you will have to make do with the short sabre at your waist

there’s no time to account for the whereabouts and safety of your crew members and you just have to pray that you all make it out of this unscathed

especially yunho

but as ateez retaliate, you all notice something is off about the situation

your crew is very quickly overpowering the other pirates - it was a losing fight for them from the very beginning

it makes no sense to you nor the rest of your crew

the losses of breaking the alliance before the planned raid, much less through betrayal, far outweigh any gains they could possibly make from their choice of action

it makes absolutely no sense

until it does.

you are blocking the swing of a sabre with your own when you are tugged backwards harshly by the collar of your shirt

there’s an angry snarl in your throat as you prepare to turn around, but it’s quickly silenced by the warning shot of a pistol right beside your ear

the cold ring of metal is then pressed to the back of your head

you know that firearms require time to reload and there’s a chance that this pistol is now useless

but, like wooyoung has taught the rest of the crew to do, they may have pre-prepared several pistols and you are not willing to play with fire - especially when you are only the flex of a finger away from death

you vaguely hear someone yell out your name in panic, but you’re not quite sure you hear correctly over the clamour of cutlasses clashing, warcries resounding and your own heartbeat pounding

“stand down or your navigator dies,” the voice behind you thunders

it’s jihoo…and he wants a navigator for his crew

“ateez,” one of your men commands, “lower your weapons”

your crew may make decisions fairly, but in battle, only hongjoong has the power to make commands

yunho has never spoken against his captain or disobeyed orders

until now

the words do not come out of your captain’s mouth but yunho’s

the rest of the members hesitate - they will not stand down unless hongjoong commands them to, yet, they are unsure whether they will be able to follow should he demand them to fight on, even if it means endangering your life

but there is no guarantee jihoo will let your crew go unharmed even after you all surrender, and as the captain, hongjoong must make decisions in the best interest for the crew

“captain!” yunho yells desperately

yunho never yells

“stand down,” hongjoong commands

silver light’s captain steps in closer behind you until you can hear and feel the noise of intriguement that leaves his mouth down the back of your neck

“that your loverboy, hmm?”

he smirks

there’s a false moment of primal relief when the press of the pistol is removed from the back of your head, but it is immediately replaced with fear that is irrevocably worse as he aims it in yunho’s direction and shoots

“no!”

you shriek and pull against the tug of his hold, still fisted around your collar, your pupils blown wide with terror at the sight of the clean hole in the mast right beside yunho’s head

“it’ll be pretty boy’s head next if you don’t come with me,” jihoo coos into your ear

the fight slips out of you immediately

because if you can save him, a life for a life, then you will

even if the sight of mingi holding yunho back from lunging forward when the pistol’s barrel returns to your head makes your heart clench painfully

“y/n, don’t you dare,” yunho pleads, voice filled with anguish

you’re barely given enough time to lock eyes with him and say resolutely, “remember what you said to me,” before you are tugged away to the boarding plank

ateez can only watch helplessly as the planks are removed from over the bulwarks and the last of the ropes are untied, releasing the silver light from their ship for good

jihoo tugs you down the hatch as the ship starts to pull away, and just like that, you’re gone from their sights

“fuck!” yunho shouts furiously, unable to contain his emotions as he turns around and connects his fist with the mast

right where the musket ball had made a hole

his hand pulls away with bloodied knuckles from the splintered wood and the sheer force of his punch

a concerned whine leaves seonghwa’s mouth and he tries to approach the taller, but yunho shakes him off and looks determinedly at hongjoong

“we’re sailing to the banver isle just east of the triangle. we’ll ambush them there”

seonghwa looks between the two, hope flickering in his chest at the potential plan, “you think the silver light are stupid enough to try taking on the prosperity triangle alone?”

yunho chuckles darkly, “they were fucking shitbrained enough to take y/n, so yes”

nobody disagrees and hongjoong smirks dangerously

“ateez, ready the sails for banver isle,” he commands. “prepare for battle”

because not only have the silver light taken you away from ateez, but they have also annihilated the light from yunho’s eyes

gone are his warm brown orbs - they are now black holes thirsty for retribution

there will be lives to pay and even that will not be enough for the void

unaware of what your crew is capable of, jihoo looks down at you with a triumphant leer

“you’ll navigate us to the triangle in three days’ time. don’t even think about lying - you’ve already shown me where the location is”

with an even nod you reply, “of course”

it’s true though - you have absolutely no intention of navigating them somewhere else

because you know yunho will be waiting there for you

amidst chaste kisses exchanged between plush lips cold from the rain, yunho tells you in a brief moment of seriousness

“don’t show them where the real location is,” his breath is warm across your cheeks. “you know the coastal island roughly ten nautical miles away? show them that instead”

you tilt your head to look up at him, “you think they’ll betray us?”

“no,” he reassures you with a deeper, slower kiss, “but we can never be too safe”

and even if your vessels miss each other this time, you have complete faith that yunho will sail to the very ends of the world just to find you

two days before the originally-planned raid, the arriba sails as closely to banver isle as possible without risking running aground

yunho has navigated the ship around the back of the isle so that the form of the rocky terrain conceals them from sight

once the anchor is lowered, the crew members use every ticking moment to make preparations

swords are sharpened and firearms cleaned

mingi distributes the gunpowder and ammunition, which is pre-loaded into muskets, pistols and swivel cannons ready to be engaged

the ship’s sails and riggings are checked and yeosang keeps a keen lookout in the crow’s nest

and it’s as if the world itself can sense the brewing storm that grows inside yunho

the sea is eerily still and silent, but the sky is an omen to something impending, its rolling clouds dark and angry with the threat of rain leering over the waters

yunho doesn’t actually like the rain

he only likes it because it’s with you

rain with you is barefoot dancing, breathless confessions and bashful giggles. it’s drenched locks and fluttering eyelashes and the only thing that exists in the moment

but as the profile of the silver light finally approaches the isle two days later, the heavens split open and you are not by his side

rain without you is falling pinpricks, frigid winds and flaunting mockery and yunho despises it with his entire being

at yeosang’s call of, “vessel approaching from starboard,” up in the lookout, yunho smothers the fervid desire to barrage the other ship with cannonballs like hail from hell; to unleash an inferno that blazes through their hull as he sadistically watches the crew jump for their lives

he stamps out the hunger to shoot the ones that make it into the sea, not to kill, only to maim and induce a long, painful struggle in the open waters until death becomes inevitable - until there is enough blood spilt that it becomes the only stench in the air that stretches across for miles

yunho leashes his monsters with an iron fist

because he will not do anything that could even remotely endanger your life

even if it means that he has to hold back - to sit and wait like prey instead of advancing on the other ship like a predator

at least not yet.

silver light do not know, but this is the calm before the storm

the heavens may be crying, the winds may be howling and the waters may be roiling

but this is nothing compared to yunho

yunho is a tempest of unparalleled rage and their ship is in the eye of his storm

as the bowsprit of the silver light starts to appear around the isle, the members ready their grappling hooks and yunho draws his cutlass with a menacing whisper of unsheathing metal

you are his treasure, and pirates never lose sight of their treasure

today…you return to him

yeosang

pov: you're a tavern keeper

watching the ale reach the brim of the tankard you are holding, you’re about to step away from the barrel when the voice of a patron sounds behind you

“‘scuse me, could i get a mint-”

you look up and turn around in confusion as their voice cuts off

only to have the question taken right from the tip of your own tongue as you’re met with the face of the person you had loved for years

the same person you have spent twice as long trying to forget

eyes searching each other’s in a surprised stupor, seeing kang yeosang standing right in front of you takes you back to those memories that you have tried to remember and simultaneously bury

it thrusts you headfirst into what used to be of your shared love - like the feathery remnants of a dream, so distant from the fingers of your consciousness, suddenly returning to vivid existence when you least expect it

“hey, mint leaf. i’m back”

yeosang at least has the perceptiveness to appear a little apologetic, immediately pulling you into a hug and pressing soft kisses against your hairline uncaring of the other people in the tavern

it’s been several weeks since you last saw him, and whilst he had warned you he would be gone for longer this time, you hadn’t expected it to mean two whole months

he’s a small merchant who also fishes along the coast to earn enough to make ends meets, so he’s often gone for a few days or a week or two

you knew what you were in for when you first made it official with him, but just because you become accustomed to something, doesn’t mean it gets any easier

and he’s never been gone for this long

something must have happened - something good - because he looks alive, cheeks glowing and eyes fiery

“i met the crew”

“the crew?” you ask, hands reaching for the bourbon to prepare him a drink as he lets himself behind the counter to stand beside you in your workspace

he nods excitedly, "wooyoung’s pirate crew, ateez"

you think you know where this is going to go and you hate that your stomach sinks at the thought of what your future may become, because yeosang looks so happy to tell you about this and a happy yeosang is all that you could ask for

“the captain offered me a position as their lookout”

you pick out your next words carefully as you hand him his finished drink - a mint julep with two sugar cubes, just the way he likes it

"aren't…isn't being a pirate dangerous?"

“not as dangerous as you might think, actually. they’ve been showing me the ropes the last couple of weeks and…and i think i want to join them. officially”

there it is

the forked end of the road

you wonder how far two people can keep walking with their hands intertwined before the distance becomes too great and they have to let go

his words become a little muddled when he goes on to tell you about how they divvied up their recent loot to include his share too

how he’s gained more money than he’s made from the last two years of working as a merchant and fisherman combined

if he joins his old friend and his crew, he could earn enough to buy his parents a proper house; earn enough to build you your very own tavern

you want to tell him that you don’t need the tavern, just him, but you also know just how important his family is to him

his filial desire to take care of his parents was one of the very reasons you fell in love with him in the first place

before you can say anything though, the tavern keeper is interrupting to let you know that your shift is over

yeosang immediately perks up and herds you out of the place, claiming that there is a new fishing spot he discovered that he has to show you

and so you sit while he rows his modest boat, only the splash of his oars disturbing the peaceful stillness that has settled over the waters as the sun dips below the horizon

the waning light casts a soft, warm glow over him, like a gentle kiss against his skin and birthmark

if angels graced the earth, there would be one sitting right in front of you

“i missed you, mint leaf,” he confesses, gaze shyly averted. “i thought about you when i was gone”

“did you think about showing me this place?” you feel a little breathless

he nods, “every single night”

and that’s enough for you

it feels like everything is okay again

it doesn’t matter if you’re standing at a forked road

you think that perhaps, for him, you can walk on an unpaved path - just so that you can keep holding his hand

“y/n”

yeosang’s voice is deep

the word sounds foreign to your own ears but you don’t dwell on it

(because if you do, you’ll wonder whether it’s because you’ve forgotten the sound of his voice or because you want to hear him calling you something else)

“what would you like to order?” you ask

(because it’s easier to pretend that he’s just another patron than to admit that he used to be all that you ever knew)

yeosang fumbles a little but then regains himself, “oh, um- just a mint julep, please”

you turn your back to him to prepare his drink, hands reaching for the barrels lined along the bottom shelves without needing to look

you’ve made this drink too many times to count

half of those times were in the safety of the darkness that midnight offered; when the tears could flow freely without anyone seeing

it’s only when you start to mix his cocktail that yeosang realises he didn’t ask for his sugar cubes, but he figures the drink will taste bitter tonight either way so he opts to watch you instead

he wishes that he could walk past the counter like he used to and wrap his arms around you

he wishes that he could whisper endearments into your ears and press them against your lips

he wishes that he could show you that he still loves you

“do you still love me?” your voice wavers with hurt as you stand in front of him

he’s finally back after being gone for four months this time and you hate this conversation as much as he does, but it was bound to happen eventually

yeosang pleads, “more than anything”

“then why does it hurt so much? loving you…and being loved by you”

he doesn’t have an answer

but god be damned if he doesn’t try to find a way to fix things

“tell me, mint leaf, what can i do?”

you blink back your tears furiously, having already made up your mind while he was still at sea

“let’s break up”

because in the end, unpaved paths have too many rocks, too many thorns and too many arched roots; they were never meant to be walked along

you pass yeosang his finished drink without another word and then move further down the counter to serve a different customer

his eyes linger on you wistfully before he tears them away from you

it’s a good thing his hair has grown long enough to cover his face when he looks down

because his eyes start to grow wet at the sight of the mint julep you have made him

with two sugar cubes in it, just the way he likes it

perhaps, once you’ve loved somebody, you never really stop loving them

yeosang shows up again the next day and seats himself at the bar

you don’t serve him though, actively avoiding his end of the counter and letting another of your staff tend to him

he orders his usual but he leaves out his request for additional sugar cubes

it feels wrong for him to order it from someone that isn’t you

but you’re watching out of the corner of your eye as the worker mixes the bourbon, sugar and water, topping it with a few mint leaves and then sliding it across the counter for him

you let out a little sigh, half amused, when he takes a small sip and smacks his lips together at the bitterness

you take two sugar cubes and drop it unceremoniously into his pewter cup before you realise what you’re doing

yeosang immediately seizes the opportunity to talk to you

“my crew’s docked for the fortnight…” he waits to see if you’ll respond. you don’t, but you also don’t move away, so he continues. “we’re making some repairs to the hull and sails before our next raid”

you have half a mind to walk away after you reply, “i didn’t ask” 

he forges on regardless

“we’re going to work with another crew for this one. it’s going to increase our chances of a successful raid because-”

your voice comes out a little harsher than you mean for it to when you hiss again, “i didn’t ask”

yeosang’s mouth closes as he pulls away slightly, back straightening

then he says in a softer voice, “i’ve been doing well. wooyoung still takes care of me, even though i’m not new to the crew anymore. i also saw my parents today and they’re happily retired now…”

you don’t stop him from talking this time

because how many sleepless nights have you spent sitting outside your tavern looking up at the stars; how many times have you served a mint julep to a patron and accidentally added sugar cubes; how many moments have you been consumed by the thought of him, simply wondering if he is living well?

this is everything that you have ever wanted - yeosang in the flesh letting you know that, yes, he has been well

but it is also everything that you have ever feared - that he has been well even without you

you don’t know what to feel

“my parents asked about you,” he says gingerly. “how have you been?”

his voice is barely audible, as if he is afraid of what you might say

or perhaps, afraid that you might not say anything at all

“good. excellent,” you force a small smile, your eyes still focused on the mint leaves floating in his drink. you don’t think you can look at him. “i own this place now”

his body loses its tension, cheeks rounding as he looks at you with genuine relief

“that’s…that’s really good to hear”

his words sting

you are unsure if it stings your ego or if it picks at the wound in the shape of the person you have lost

but it hurts to know that he has worried over you in the exact same way you have over him, the whole time you two have been apart

you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation and hot tears well in your eyes almost immediately

your bottom lip starts to crumple so you rush into the back room to escape

“y/n!” yeosang calls out after you, alarmed

when you don’t stop, disappearing into the storage, he jolts up from his seat and follows

your body shudders with every heaving breath you take, unable to stop yourself from crying even harder when you feel him tug you into his chest

you try to pull away but his sturdy arms tighten around you

yeosang refuses to let you go once more

“i hate you,” you sob, struggling against his hold as you hit his chest weakly

he hushes comforts against the crown of your head, soothing noises as he endures your fists

“you have every reason to”

yeosang holds back tears of his own

he feels your body gradually losing its fight, sinking into his embrace instead, hands desperately holding him close

your voice is so impossibly small when you tearfully confess, “but i still love you”

“oh, mint leaf,” he brushes the stray locks of hair away from your face and cradles your jaw tenderly, “i still love you, too”

he presses a soft kiss against your forehead, pulling away once only to reaffirm, “so, so much”

when he kisses you again, his lips taste salty against your own, but nothing has ever tasted sweeter than this

your breath no longer stutters but the tears continue to run down your face because your heart finally feels right after all these years apart

and yet-

you pull away

“we can’t do this”

yeosang feels his heart shattering

“why not? i don’t understand,” he whimpers

“you know why,” you say distressingly, “my life is here, yeosang. i can’t just leave and return whenever i want. but you, on the other hand? you can. you go where your crew goes - you belong with them”

“but my heart belongs to you. please, y/n,” he begs

his arms are still wrapped around you and you feel his desperation as his fingers cling onto you like a lifeline

you look earnestly into his bloodshot eyes, your own vision blurry, “yeo, you’re not the one who gets left behind here. you’re not the one who waits weeks, months, years on end, just hoping that the next person to walk in is the person that you want to see”

he wants to plead that he waits to see you, too, but he knows that he’s the one who leaves, too

“you’re the right one for me - the only one for me - but it’s not the right time,” you tell him gently

slowly, his arms lower themselves from around you

“it wasn’t the right time then and it isn’t the right time now,” he repeats, “then when is the right time for us?”

you shoot the question right back at him, “when is the right time for someone whose life is to sail the world?”

neither of you know the answer

nobody does, because loving a pirate has no certainties

but yeosang doesn’t give up

“if we can’t ever be sure, why don’t we just make it the right time ourselves?”

you caress his cheek sweetly, and despite having stepped away from you earlier, he leans into your hand, starved of your loving touch and affection

“yeosang…what if we’ve already had it? what if…meeting each other was already it? what if we’re just meant to love from a distance, not side by side?” your voice is poignant but resolute

he brings up a hand to cover yours, still warm and tender against his wet cheek

how is it that he can be touching you yet simultaneously feel worlds apart from you

“okay,” he accepts with a whisper

if loving you silently is the only way he gets to love you, then he will choose it in a heartbeat over losing you entirely

he thumbs away the remainder of your tears

“can i kiss you? one last time?” he asks

you nod

“one last time”

your lips slowly meet, slotting together as they find their home in each other’s dips and curves

his hands cradle the small of your back and neck and your own hands rest against his chest

the kiss you share is steady, longing and bittersweet

it conveys everything that you want to say to each other, and even then, it is hardly enough

thank you

i’m sorry

i love you

goodbye…

you can feel your eyes burning up again, but you focus on the feeling of yeosang’s lips against yours instead

because you know that the moment one of you pulls away, that is it forever

in the world of love, there are people who are ill-fated

they meet the right person, but at the wrong time

and then there are people like you and yeosang

not ill-fated, but star-crossed lovers

the right person…

but just not meant to be

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything III (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go." 

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat. 

“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed. 

“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”

Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit. 

“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him. 

“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.” 

“And?” 

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.” 

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again. 

Bang 

Then again. 

Bang 

And again. 

Bang

One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim. 

You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.

Bang 

You were still the best. 

“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.” 

Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable. 

The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target. 

Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot. 

You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up. 

As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming. 

A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted. 

As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter. 

Your body locked up. 

Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König. 

You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails. 

Your face stung at the sight of him. 

He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.

König ruined you and got away unscathed. 

You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.

Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.

 In, bang, out. 

They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon. 

There was no honour in what König was. 

Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement. 

You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck.  König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him. 

When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy. 

Then you struck. 

Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple. 

His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him. 

How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it? 

König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough. 

You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable. 

This wasn’t enough. 

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed. 

You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you. 

When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.

Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched. 

His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest. 

König was afraid. 

And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth. 

“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close. 

König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun. 

This wasn’t enough. 

He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night. 

You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him. 

That you were going to kill him. 

“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?” 

König’s eyes softened. 

Don’t want your pity. 

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. 

Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you. 

When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming. 

Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

König took in a sharp breath. 

You pulled the trigger. 

The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d  won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed. 

With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged. 

Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours. 

König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest. 

No, no, no, no. 

This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground. 

“Even in victory, you are nothing.” 

Crack

“You will always be nothing.” 

Crack

You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing. 

The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire. 

You were broken, broken, broken. 

“Birdy!” 

This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor. 

“Wake up!” 

Wake up.

Wake up. 

You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.  

“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.” 

“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.

“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable. 

Price was right. You had become a liability. 

“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.” 

You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body. 

“What-” 

You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-

No more, no more, no more no more no more-

Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic. 

“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.” 

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened. 

“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.” 

You frowned. “Only at the very end.” 

Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life. 

You were strong. 

Stronger than him. 

“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?” 

The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back.  He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.

“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”

“How-” 

“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.” 

Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.

“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm. 

“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened. 

You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach. 

Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass. 

_

NEXT CHAPTER

[kaiijo]

Hii!! I loved the idea of the spotify wrapped event and I also loved your one piece one shots! Can I request 41 x Law? If you dont write for him you can write for Zoro or whoever you think would be fitting :)

IVY — TRAFALGAR LAW

trafalgar law + Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland content: gn! reader, canon-typical descriptions of violence, references to law’s past notes: thanks so much for your kind words! hope you enjoy this drabble!

request a character and prompt for my spotify wrapped event here!

law is no stranger to nightmares. he’s accustomed to jolting awake, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, chest heaving with anxiety and fear. he tries to remember what his parents used to tell him to calm his racing heart: inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale in a count of eight. 

in. hold. out.

in. hold. out.

law doesn’t sleep a lot anymore, always locked in his office late at night, poring over books about anatomy and medicine and illnesses. it’s mostly because he’s working, the insomnia, but he knows there’s a part of him that’s almost scared to sleep — that doesn’t want to see looped images of dead bodies, feel the heat of erupting flames, hear the sounds of gunshots. 

law watches as you and penguin duck under a round of marine gunfire, diving for cover behind a building. civilians draw their shutters closed. the crew’s gotten what they need from the town, now it’s a matter of getting out. 

you sprint out from your hiding place, penguin hot on your heels. there’s another rain of bullets and law’s stomach lurches when he sees red dribbling down your arm, skin grazed by the bullet. he needs to get you two out of there now.

law lifts a hand. “room. shambles.” he switches you and penguin out for an empty crate and just like that, the two of you are standing safe on the polar tang’s deck. you’re both breathing hard, penguin resting his hands on his knees. you grab at your arm and law can tell that whatever adrenaline has been pumping through your veins is starting to wear off; you wince at the cut on your arm, your palm stained with blood. 

law gets the crew mobilized fast, everyone hustling to get the below deck so the polar tang can submerge. law swiftly and efficiently takes down the remaining marines, heading down below as the submarine sinks below the water.

he finds you heading for the washroom. he calls your name and you whirl around quickly. “captain,” you greet him.

“follow me.” law makes sure his tone leaves no room for argument and you shuffle behind him as he walks to the operating room.

you frown when you enter the room. “captain, i really don’t think my injury warrants an opera—”

he sighs heavily. “i’m not operating. just want to get somewhere more sterile. sit on the table.”

you obey easily and law opens up a cabinet, grabbing hydrogen peroxide, a roll of bandages, and antibiotic cream. he also picks up a sterilized pair of tweezers. when he turns around, you’re already shrugging out of your boiler suit, twitching as the fabric rubs against your wound. 

law approaches, doing is best to keep his eyes on the wound and not on the exposed skin you revealed. when you joined the crew, law had never been more thankful to himself for making the boiler suits uniform. he doesn’t know if he could focus otherwise.

he examines the wound, looking closely to see if there are any bits of debris or fabric stuck in it. when he doesn’t see anything, law soaks a sterile pad in hydrogen peroxide and presses it against your graze. you make a high-pitched, wounded sound that cuts right through law’s heart and he tries his best to tenderly but thoroughly clean the wound. you flinch, gritting your teeth and hissing, “you really must hate me, captain.” 

you let out a pained laugh that lets law know you were joking but your statement still makes him frown. if only you knew just how much the opposite was true.

law sighs again, wrapping the bandage roll around your arm and snapping off a piece, securing it. you test the motion of your arm and law asks, “too tight?”

“no, it’s good.” you hop off the table. “thanks, doc.”

“i’ll need to check that every few days,” he tells you, “to watch for infection.”

“sounds good! guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” you shoot him a cheeky smile and thank him again as you slip out of the room. law is rooted to his spot, feeling heat climb up his neck. you faint scent lingers — cinnamon shampoo and apple soap.

law’s heart skips a beat.

late into the night, law sits at his desk in his office, doing is best trying to focus on the medical text in front of him. he thinks about the smoothness of your skin and the way your eyes curve into half-moons when you smile. he drags a hand down his face. 

he needs to focus. he needs to not think about you. he needs to think about bones and hairline fractures and how fast the human heart can go before it—

law hears footsteps and he knows it’s you, beckoning you in even before you can announce your arrival and knock on the door. you swing it open, smiling brightly at him. gods, he swears you hold moonbeams in your grin.

“right as always,” you say as you close the door behind yourself. 

“do you need something? is it your arm?”

you shake your head. “no, just thought i’d check up on you. knew you’d still be up.”

law offers a wry smile. “no rest of the wicked.”

“i’d agree with you, but you’re not wicked, captain.”

law raises an eyebrow in surprise. he is wicked — it’s a known fact. everything he touches is destroyed eventually. when he doesn’t reply, you continue, “you look out for everyone, you’re a doctor for gods’ sakes.”

“so? bad people can do good things.”

your moonbeam smile falls and your expression turns stern. “you care for us, captain, all of us in a way that no one truly wicked ever would. don’t talk about yourself that way. ”

his heart’s in his throat and he’s desperately trying to swallow it down. “okay.”

you nod firmly and then bring your hand up to hide your yawning mouth. law tells you, “you should get some rest.”

“i came here to get you to go to sleep.”

“don’t worry about me.”

you cross your arms. “i’m not going to sleep until you do.”

law levels you with a stare and you gaze right back, unwavering in your conviction. you two stare for a good few seconds. he can see the way your eyes shimmer. it doesn’t seem that you’re backing down. law breaks the connection and sighs, “fine. let’s go.”

he puts away his books and papers and the two of you head down the hallway. he tries to guide you to your room first but you say, “nope. i want to make sure you actually go to sleep.” so you head for his quarters first. 

you come to his door and you say, “you better get some sleep. a healthy, well-rested captain is vital for an efficient and successful crew.”

“i know.” 

he basks in the comfortable silence that falls over the pair of you. then, you yawn again and he orders you off to bed yourself. you smile sleepily at him, your eyes form crescents again as you do so. “alright, i’m off then.” you turn and begin to walk away. over your shoulder, you call softly, “good night, law.”

he bids you good night and steps inside his room, door shutting behind him. it’s in there, as he’s changing into pajamas, that he realizes. 

it’s the first time you said ‘law,’ not ‘captain.’

your voice repeats like a record in his head. law. law. law. his heart thunders in his chest.

for the first time in a long time, law isn’t afraid to fall asleep. instead of the screaming nightmares he usually faces, he’s met with a different image as he drifts off. 

in a tender, hazy light, law dreams of you.

[tokkishouse]

hii i say ur " The first time you call him a term of endearment" post and can i request one where the roles get reversed with kaeya, thoma & heizou. fem!reader gets really really flustered hearing the term of endearment (perhaps one related to snow in kaeya's), tysm <33

(Sfw) Calling Each Other Terms of Endearment for the First Time

Characters: Diluc, Heizou, Kaeya, Thoma, Tighnari

Warnings: Slightly suggestive in Heizou and Tighnari's part, mentions of injuries in Tighnari's part

WC: 1.8k words total

Pt. 1, Pt. 2

He calls you a term of endearment first

The steady tick-tock of the clock reverbs around the study. Paper shuffling and ink scratching fill in the gaps, and the occasional chatter shared between you and Diluc adds life to the quiet environment. Days like this were normal-- enjoying each other's company even with minimal interaction.

The peace is broken by the sound of liquid splashing against the mahogany desk and Diluc's sudden groan in frustration. You look up from the book you were reading to see that ink had splattered on the parchment and his hands. He clicks his tongue and looks up at you, offering a small smile.

"Dearest, could you get a towel? Or just something to clean myself up with."

Your grip tightens on your book in surprise and you freeze in your spot. The redhead watches you strangely as you stumble over your words for a response.

"D-Dearest?" you finally spit out, incredulous. It's his turn to be embarrassed, his face turning as red as his hair.

"Y-yes, that's what I said. Do you not like it?" he's become shy, scared that he has overstepped his boundaries. You quickly shake your head, standing up abruptly and sending your book tumbling to the ground.

"I'll go get you a towel now!" you announce, quickly rushing out of the study. Diluc watches on, still embarrassed but slowly calming down.

He calls you a term of endearment first

"Two dango milks please!" Heizou orders for you two. You decided to have a stroll around Inazuma City-- Heizou had been busy with the recent Test of Courage situation and hadn't been able to spend some quality time with you. He promised that as soon as the situation was resolved he'd take you out.

And that's what brings you to today-- sipping on dango milk while you both sit on a nearby bench. You cringe at the initial taste, but stomach it as you chug the rest of it.

"Do you want to check out the Yae Publishing House next?" Heizou suggests, looking over. He stifles a laugh when he sees the milk staining your upper lip, unbeknownst to you. Seeing him struggle to conceal his laughter, you quirk an eyebrow up.

"Something on my face?" his smirk widens and he reaches over with a napkin to wipe up the milk.

"I didn't know you were trying to grow facial hair, doll. The white suits you," he teases, carefully dabbing away at the milk.

Your face warms up in embarrassment and you hiss at him, trying to bat him away from your face.

"Heizou please!"

"What? Would you rather I tell you what it reminds me of? After all, a delightful image appears in my head and I'd like to recreate it-"

"Shut up!"

He calls you a term of endearment first

"Race you to the beach!" you challenge, breaking into a sprint toward the beaches at Falcon Coast. Kaeya's jumps in surprise but is quick to recover as he breaks into a sprint himself. Despite your headstart, his agile body is quick to catch up and he soon overtakes you.

You both approach the glistening coast fast, and Kaeya's slides to a stop right at the shore, cementing his victory.

"Always just a little too slow it seems~" he teases, watching you jog up to meet him. You sigh, shaking your head.

"I could never beat the calvary captain could I?" he laughs, turning away.

You notice two buckets and a shovel resting against a giant rock and walk over to them. They look like children's pails-- one is blue and the other is your favorite color. You look up at him, and instead of his confident smirk, it's melted into a sheepish smile.

"I wanted to go seashell hunting with you. I used to do it all the time when I was younger," he begins and slowly trails off. A distant look twinkles in his eyes and the air turns somber. You clear your throat, pulling him out of it and you reach down to grab the bucket.

"Well let's get started then! Who knows, maybe we'll find treasure too!"

Kaeya's watches you carefully, and his smirk reappears.

"Oh? But I'd consider you the finest treasure around."

He's quick to dodge the projectile bucket, laughing at your flustered expression.

You call him a term of endearment first

"Thoma, where should I put this stuff?" you ask, looking over at your boyfriend.

You and Thoma were both housekeepers for the Kamisato Clan, although he had far more responsibilities than you did. Eager to help and already done with your chores for the day, you offered your assistance to him, and he was happy to have the help.

"Put it in the closet down the hall! It's extra stationery for Lady Ayaka and Lord Ayato," he answers, watching you carry the crate off.

He enjoys working with you as much as possible-- he has no problem taking care of his tasks on his own, but being able to have help, especially from his partner is always a bonus. You come back a few moments later, dusting off your hands.

"Sweetie, do you mind if I go and sit down? My back is killing me," you complain, placing your hands on your back to stretch. He waves you off, letting you take a breather as he presses on. Your words don't quite hit him until he's carrying another crate down the hall. Upon realization, he freezes and drops the crate on the ground, sending a thunderous noise down the halls. Nearby maids look over in surprise as the blonde stands there, dumbfounded and rosy-cheeked.

He calls you a term of endearment first

Having finished all of his tasks for the day, Thoma invited you to join him in feeding some of the nearby stray dogs. Happy to indulge in any spare time he had, you agreed to accompany him. It was one of your favorite past times to do with him. Watching the dogs slowly grow used to both of you was rewarding and it always left you feeling fulfilled and accomplished.

"Oh drat, we're out of some fowl," you complain, realizing your rummaging through your bag has turned unfruitful. Thoma looks over, frowning.

"I can run to the local market and get some?" he offers, but you shake your head, standing up.

"I'll go. I'll be fast," you promise, and you quickly take off to purchase the fowl. Thoma watches after you longingly before turning back to the dogs, showering them in affection.

"You all don't know how good Y/N really is," he begins, carefully ruffling one of the shiba's fur. "They're hard-working and kind, and they always offer to lend me a hand. On days that I don't see them, time seems to drag on forever."

Thoma sighs and sits back a bit, closing his eyes to take a break. The dogs all scramble to crawl in his lap and ask for his attention again, but he's starting to get lost in his thoughts.

"My sweetheart...my Y/N...I wonder if Lord Ayato has any ideas on how to propose," he ponders to himself, unaware of you hiding behind a tree. You had come back a while ago, but quickly hid when you heard Thoma talking about you. His nickname already had you fidgeting in embarrassment, but the idea of a proposal? You almost let out a squeal in excitement.

You call him a term of endearment first

It was a rare lazy day for both of you-- Tighnari had no patrolling duties and he was caught up on his research, meaning he could divert all his focus and energy on you.

Currently, you two were snuggled up on the couch enjoying the delicate notes playing from the record player ("It's this new technology from Fontaine!" you explained when you brought it home). His face was buried in your chest, ears pressed flat on his head while his tail resided in your hands, being carefully groomed by your fingers. The more you tangled his fur between your fingers, the louder his purring got.

"Tighnari, you're purring like a tiger," you tease, carefully slipping your hands down to cup his face and tilt it up so he can look at you. You squish his face, forcing it into a pout. He scowls at you, pulling his face away.

"What, am I not allowed to enjoy my partner's embrace? Should I be as stiff as a board?" he mumbles, burying his face in your chest.

"No no, it's cute I promise, love," you laugh, reaching back for his tail. You're unable to catch it as it starts wagging animatedly. You glance down at Tighnari, who willingly matches your gaze. There's a light of amusement shining in his eyes.

" 'Love?' " he inquires, and you smile down at him.

"Yes, is that a- wah!" you're cut off mid-sentence as Tighnari pushes himself up and straddles you, his clawed hands sliding up the side of your body.

"I want to hear it again, Y/N."

He calls you a term of endearment first

"Hey! Not so tight!" you whine, shooting a half-hearted glare at the forest ranger. He ignores your complaints, continuing the wrapping of your injuries.

"It needs to be tight to prevent unnecessary blood loss and make it harder for bacteria to enter the wound," he explains, carefully tying the bandage up. "I wouldn't be doing this though if some lummox didn't go into the withering zone without their weapon."

You cross your arms and look away from him in defiance, jutting your bottom lip out in a pout. You forgot to check your bag before you both went out, meaning when you arrived to clear the area out, you were weaponless. And those fungi did not go easy on you. Near the end of it, you were carried back to Tighnari's house with bruises and scrapes all over you.

"I thought it was in my bag."

"You were sorely mistaken," he chides, then turns to pack up his medical supplies. He leaves you alone for a bit and when he returns, you're hugging your legs to your chest. Anyone with eyes can tell there's a gloomy air around you.

"I'm not mad at you," he carefully reminds you, stepping closer. "I was just worried. You can't go rushing into danger unprepared."

You don't reply, still refusing to look at him. Tighnari sighs and plops down in the seat next to you, wrapping his tail around your body. You instinctively scoot closer, leaning onto him.

"I care about you a lot, and if something drastic were to happen to you-" he doesn't finish his sentence, biting his lip. Silence falls over you two, the clock on the wall ticking away.

"You're very special to me flower," he whispers. You jolt at his words, glancing up at him with wide eyes. You try to stammer out a response, words getting twisted on your tongue. He takes your hand and squeezes it, silencing your attempts to talk.

"Promise me you'll be more careful."

Now is "lummox" or "flower" the true pet name? 🤭

@seirenspinel Per your request I added Diluc cause he's my bbgorl and I wanted it to be 5

I personally don't think Kaeya's would call you a snow-related nickname? Even though Cryo is his vision does this make me hypocritical? maybe.

Lmao at this point this is becoming a series. Oh well! Requests (sfw and nsfw) are open~!

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 4: Little Lamb

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6K

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

As soon as you make it out of the city and find a secluded spot, the weight of it all finally crushes you. You fall to your knees, broken, and the sobs come violently, ripping through your chest. Your body trembles with every breath, and it feels as though your eyes are burning from the flood of tears that won’t stop. Each one comes too fast, too hot, like they’re trying to cleanse something far too deep to ever be washed away.

Of course, he had moved on. Found someone else to... entertain. Just thinking the word makes your stomach twist, a sickness that strikes at the very core of you, hollowing you out. You gasp for air between sobs, shaking your head as if you could rid yourself of the thought, of the image.

Did I really expect anything different?

Raphael’s words echo bitterly in your mind, “The arousals of man will return to him.” A cruel irony, those words. You can’t help but scoff through the tears. Except for that one night—the night you agreed to become his spawn—Astarion had barely touched you, as if you were too unworthy.

You’d told yourself it was complicated for him, that he just needed time. Maybe you even believed that, like a fool. But now? Now you can’t help but wonder if agreeing to be his spawn had disgusted him. Or maybe... you think bitterly, maybe he just prefers warm flesh. Now he’s bedding that—that harlot!

The word scrapes through your mind, and another wave of anguish pulls at you, so strong you can barely breathe. You collapse forward, knees pulled tight to your chest, arms wrapped around them like they could hold you together. You rest your head on your legs, eyes squeezing shut, as if by blocking out the world you could somehow block out the pain. But it’s relentless, an all-consuming misery that sinks its claws into you and drags you down into the depths.

How many times do I have to lose him?

The hunger gnaws at your insides like a starving beast, but you hardly notice it anymore. Your stomach spasms, retching dryly as your body demands sustenance, but you ignore it. Your limbs twitch sporadically, muscles convulsing in desperate need, but you can’t bring yourself to hunt. You just sit there, drowning in your despair, too tired to care.

When did I become this hollow shell?

You were never like this. You weren’t born into comfort or privilege—you fought for everything. You survived every hardship that came your way. You have the blood of dragons in your veins, an unyielding fire that has carried you through life’s trials. Whether through diplomacy, persuasion, or sheer force, you had always faced adversity head-on.

But now? Now, you felt empty. That fire, the one that once roared so fiercely, had been snuffed out, leaving nothing but cold ashes. You think back to when you first met Astarion, back on that beach, his dagger pressing into your ribs, threatening to gut you. You’d been seconds away from turning him into a charred husk before your tadpole flared, dousing your flames and forging a connection you hadn’t asked for.

And now look at me.

You don’t know when it happened—when that inner flame started to fade—but you know it’s gone. All that remains is a void where your will to survive once thrived. You sit there, trembling  on the ground, staring vacantly at the skyline as dawn threatens to break. The first rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, their golden glow peeking up.

You almost consider it—letting the daylight take you. Letting it burn away what’s left of you. Maybe it’s better this way, you think, eyes fluttering closed.

But then, Shadowheart’s words echo in your mind, as clear and fierce as the day she spoke them. “I will kill you, Astarion, even if it’s the last thing I do.” The conviction in her voice had been unmistakable. If you don’t return, she will go after him, no matter the cost.

And it would cost her.

The thought jolts you from your despair. Your will to live might be buried beneath the rubble of your broken heart, but your concern for your friends is still alive, still burning. The weight that had kept you pinned to the ground all night suddenly lifts, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, running.

You reach the house quietly, slipping inside like a ghost, hoping Shadowheart is still asleep. But as soon as you step into the main room, you find her pacing, her brows knit in worry, her fingers aglow with divine magic. At the creak of the door, she whirls, her eyes wide, a gasp of relief escaping her.

“I was almost out of my mind with worry!” she exclaims, her voice trembling with barely-contained distress.

You lower your head, the guilt settling heavily in your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait... what’s wrong?” Shadowheart’s eyes flare with fury, her voice sharp and demanding. “What did he do to you!?”

You can’t answer right away. The words feel lodged in your throat, heavy and unmovable, so instead, you let your back slide down the rough wooden door. The splinters catch on your robe as you sink to the floor. “Nothing,” you mutter, more to yourself than to her. “Nothing I didn’t bring on myself.”

She’s not having it. “Did he hurt you?”

Yes.

You shake your head, but you can’t meet her gaze. The truth lies there, buried beneath layers of denial, too painful to dig up. “No.”

“You’re lying.” Her voice softens but doesn’t lose its edge. She knows you too well. “Tell me the truth.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” you repeat, the lie bitter on your tongue.

He broke me.

Her anger falters as her eyes flicker to your face, noticing the tears spilling down your cheeks. She kneels beside you, her voice gentler now, “Tell me what happened.”

Your throat tightens. The words are too raw, too close to the surface, and you’re terrified of the flood that will come if you open your mouth. “Another time,” you whisper. “Can we... please drop it for now?”

She studies your face, suspicion clouding her features, but she gives a curt nod. “Fine.”

The tension hangs between you like a storm cloud, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. You can see it in the set of her mouth, the tightness in her jaw, the way her fists clench at her sides. Her heart pounds loudly enough that you can feel it like a distant echo in your own chest.

“Please,” you say quietly, “don’t go looking to start a fight with him.”

She huffs, folding her arms across her chest. “Why are you still protecting him? What has he done to deserve such loyalty?”

“Astarion doesn’t need my protection,” you reply, your voice flat. “Not anymore.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “I’m sure he believes that.”

“Shadowheart, please,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

She exhales sharply, but the tension in her frame loosens, if only slightly. “Fine.” Her tone is resigned, but her concern cuts through the bitterness. “How’s your wound? Do you need more healing?”

“I’ll be alright,” you say, though the ache in your side tells a different story. A burning, gnawing pain that hasn’t subsided, and it takes every ounce of effort not to wince. “I heal fast.”

I should, anyway. But the wound still throbs, as if it’s deeper than flesh, something even time can’t mend.

An uneasy silence stretches between you, a gulf of unspoken words and emotions neither of you knows how to bridge. Shadowheart watches you carefully, her concern palpable. Finally, she breaks the silence. “And the hunger?”

Your head snaps up at the question, and the response comes out harsher than you intended. “Keep your distance.” The severity of your own voice startles you, and you wince, regretting the way it sounded. “Sorry,” you mutter. “That didn’t come out right.”

She nods, understanding etched in her eyes. “I understand.”

Pushing yourself up from the floor, your body protests with a sharp sting as your wound pulls painfully at the movement. You grit your teeth, refusing to show the discomfort. “I think I’m going to get some rest.”

“Good idea,” she says, her expression softening. “You look terribly pale.”

You manage a weak smirk. “Imagine that, a pale vampire spawn,” you murmur, but the humour feels forced.

Turning away, you make your way to your bedroom, though the ache in your body is nothing compared to the weight on your soul. You crawl into bed, hoping for trance, for oblivion. But it does not come easily. When it finally does, your rest is haunted by twisted echoes of memories, dark figures, and sharp words playing out in the theatre of your mind, making even sleep feel like a battleground.

You’re back in camp, curled up in your tent, but sleep evades you. The city looms near, a storm cloud of uncertainty casting its shadow over your thoughts. Your draconic fire pulses restlessly over your fingertips, its warmth a familiar comfort. Each flicker is hypnotic, the flames twisting and dancing with the rhythm of your breathing. The ancient heat of your ancestors radiates from your skin, a tether to something primal and unbreakable. You toy with the fire, willing it higher, lower, brighter, dimmer—playing with its intensity in a controlled, measured cycle, like a heartbeat.

“Neat trick,” a voice purrs, cutting through the stillness. “What else can you do with that fire of yours?”

Astarion pulls back the flap of your tent, the flickering light of your flames casting a crimson glint in his eyes. His gaze locks onto yours, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, his tone light, teasing.

With a sigh, you let the fire flicker out. “No,” you admit, your voice quieter than you intended. “Successful hunt?”

“Your necks may rest easy tonight, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he replies, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

“Astarion, I didn’t mean—”

He cuts you off with a low chuckle. “I’m just playing with you, my dear.”

He crouches down beside you, taking your hand in his. His touch is ice against the feverish warmth your flames left behind, sending a shiver up your spine. His fingers are delicate but firm, a dangerous combination you’ve come to know too well.

“Come, my love,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you join me tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Join you? Where?”

“In my tent.”

You hesitate. “That’s not necessary.”

“Please?” His voice softens, coaxing, but there’s an edge beneath it, something insistent. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the pull of him, as though refusing him would be impossible.

Your eyes narrow slightly as you study him, probing for the familiar mask he wears so well—the practiced charm, the smooth facade he uses to manipulate. But you find none of that now. He looks relaxed, almost... sincere.

“I’d really rather you disrobe me for real, beautiful,” he says with a smirk, his tone laced with mischief. “Come.”

Alarm bells blare in your head. Something feels off, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. “Astarion...”

“My sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his hand still gripping yours. “Do I look uncomfortable to you?”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “No.”

It’s true—he doesn’t. His expression is calm, and maybe that’s what perturbs you the most. He isn’t hiding behind his usual mask.

“I want you close tonight,” he continues, his voice like velvet. “Are you truly going to deny me the pleasantries of your fine company?”

You start to rise, and he rises with you, his hand still holding yours. But before you can fully stand, he gives your arm a sudden, firm tug. You stumble forward, falling into him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his breath ghosting across your skin.

Then his lips crash against yours, gentle at first, but quickly turning hungry—desperate. His mouth claims yours with a ravenous intensity, as if you’re the only thing keeping him from withering away. His kiss is all-consuming, and the heat of it stirs something deep within you. Your body presses against him involuntarily, desire awakening in you like a firestorm.

He groans against your lips, a sound that reverberates through his chest, vibrating against yours. His tongue parts your lips, exploring, tasting, and you feel yourself melting into him, swept away by the urgency of his need. Every touch feels electric, sparking your arousal into a visceral torrent that you can’t control.

When he finally pulls away, you moan softly, your eyes still closed, your breath ragged. “Not fair,” you murmur, the words slipping from your lips without thought.

Astarion chuckles, low and dark, his lips brushing your ear. “Oh, darling,” he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Don’t fret. I’m not done with you just yet.”

You jolt awake, nearly launching yourself from the bed. Your breath comes in ragged, panicked gasps—an unnecessary reflex, but one your dead body refuses to forget.

He was so gentle, so sweet… and I ruined him.

Groaning, you collapse back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. You raise your hand, eyes tracing the pallid, unnatural tone of your skin. It’s a shade that reminds you daily of what you’ve lost—the warm glow you once held, now replaced by the cold sheen of undeath. Desperation claws at your chest, and you seek solace in something familiar, something you can still control. You reach for the Weave. Fire springs from your palm, a flickering blaze born of your draconic blood. The flames dance and climb over your hand, licking at your fingertips, bringing a fleeting sense of comfort.

This is mine. No one can take this from me—not even him.

Your focus is broken by the sound of frantic pacing below. The thud of footsteps echoes through the floorboards, accompanied by the steady drumming of a heart. It pounds in your ears, its rhythm growing louder and louder, stirring something deep and dangerous within you. You extinguish the flame, relinquishing your hold on the Weave, and sit up. The wound in your side protests sharply, sending waves of pain radiating through your torso, but you shove the sensation aside, forcing yourself to concentrate.

You rise from the bed, but your limbs feel clumsy and uncoordinated. A stumble here, a near fall there—it’s like your body is betraying you.

I’ve never been graceful, but this? This is new.

There’s no time to dwell on it. You quickly dress and move to the top of the stairs. “Shadowheart? Are you alright?” you call down, voice laced with concern.

Even from this distance, the scent of her blood calls to you. Your body tenses, trembling with the effort it takes to resist. You clench your fists, eyes squeezing shut as you silently beg any God that hasn’t abandoned you for strength.

“No. I need to speak with you urgently. Can you come down?” Shadowheart’s voice reaches you, tense and filled with unease.

No, you think. I shouldn’t.

“Yes, but—” You hesitate, trying to fight back the hunger gnawing at your insides.

“I will keep my distance,” she assures, cutting off your protest.

“Get your weapon,” you plead, feeling your restraint slipping.

She scoffs lightly. “I trust you.”

Gods, she has no idea how good she smells.

“Please, Shadowheart,” your voice wavers, the rawness of your desperation seeping through. “It’s... really bad today.”

There’s a pause. “Fine, if you insist. But I’m not afraid of you.”

You should be. Your hunger digs deeper, its talons shredding your insides, making your limbs quake with need. Dark, repulsive thoughts slither into your mind, seeping into the cracks of your control. Gods, the pain. With shaky steps, you descend the stairs. Each movement sends sickening cramps through your gut, and the scent of Shadowheart’s fear grows stronger. Her heart races, the sound booming in your ears like a thunderstorm, and you can hear her lungs struggling to keep up with her rapid breaths.

This is how Astarion always knew when I was upset, even when I told him I was fine. He could hear it, feel it, the whole time. He’d tried to explain this to you, time and time again, but nothing compared to the reality of it—the sharp clarity of the moment when you hear every sound, smell every emotion.

By the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, your hand grips the banister so tightly the wood groans beneath your fingers. It’s all you can do to focus on that sensation—the rough texture, the solidness of it—anything to keep you grounded.

Shadowheart stands on the other side of the room, her weapon in hand, as she promised. The sight brings you a strange comfort.

"Are you alright, Shadowheart? You don’t sound like yourself.”

"I received a letter from my parents. They’ve requested that I see them. It said it’s an urgent matter."

You remember Shadowheart’s mother had fallen ill months ago, her recovery stunted by whatever mysterious ailment plagued her. Despite your urging for Shadowheart to stay with her parents and help, she had stubbornly refused.

"You need to go to them," you say gently.

She nods, though hesitantly. "I know. But I’m not keen on leaving you alone."

"I’ll survive," you assure her with a faint smile. "I’m well equipped to take care of myself, as you know. Besides, if I recall correctly, vampire spawn are rather difficult to kill.”

Shadowheart narrows her eyes. "Not if Astarion comes for you.”

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips. "Astarion’s preoccupied with a new toy at the moment. I doubt I’m even a second thought to him.”

Her brows arch in surprise. "What? A new spawn?”

"No," you shake your head. "She’s still... alive. For now, anyway.”

Concern softens her features. "Are you okay?”

She pities me. The thought makes you grit your teeth, but you push it aside. "I will be. Go see your parents, Shadowheart. It sounds important. Please don’t let me keep you from living your life.”

"Yes, I think I should," she says, though her voice wavers with hesitation. "I won’t be gone too long. Stay out of trouble, will you?”

You offer a casual shrug. "No promises. Trouble tends to find me.”

She shoots you her best disapproving glare, but you can see the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I’ll behave. Now go," you say, waving her off.

Without another word, Shadowheart starts bustling around the house, gathering her things. The rhythm of her heartbeat quickens, filling the room with its pounding drum. You grip the wooden banister tighter, feeling it splinter under the force of your hand. Every thud of her pulse hammers against your restraint.

"I’ll be in my room. Travel safe, Shadowheart." You retreat quickly, before the bloodlust takes over.

Back in the confines of your room, you bury your head under every pillow you can find, trying to muffle the raging noise inside your mind. But it doesn’t stop—the hunger gnaws at you relentlessly, scratching at your control. In desperation, you dig your nails into your legs, carving deep, bleeding lines in your flesh, just to feel something else. Anything else.

A soft knock on the door. "I’m leaving now. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

You groan, barely able to manage words. "Just go, Shadowheart. Don’t worry about me."

Her footsteps echo down the stairs, followed by the door closing behind her. The house falls into blissful silence, and with her gone, the hysteria of your bloodlust ebbs slightly, allowing you to breathe.

Your eyes drift to the boarded-up window. The rough wooden planks hum faintly with warmth, a quiet reminder of the daylight just beyond. You reach out, your hand hovering over the boards, feeling the residual heat radiating from the sun’s rays.

And then your mind betrays you, pulling you into a memory you’ve tried so hard to forget.

Astarion’s arm around you, his grip firm yet protective. His eyes, glowing crimson, filled with something more than lust—something like affection. His thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek. It had felt safe. Until her. The woman with mulberry hair and piercing sapphire eyes. Her triumphant smile, her disgusting sultry strut.

You recoil from the thought, shaking your head as if that could rid you of it. Turning away from the window, you stumble, your ankle rolling painfully as you misstep. It should alarm you—this new clumsiness—but you’re too drained to care. Every movement feels like it’s siphoning the last of your energy, leaving you weaker by the second. You drag yourself back to bed, your limbs heavy and uncooperative. As soon as you lie down, the exhaustion claims you, and you surrender to the pull of your trance.

Your condition steadily worsens over the following days. Blood continues to seep from the wound on your side, showing no signs of healing. Dark streaks now stretch up your torso, down your side, and into your thigh, a sinister pattern that speaks of something far worse than mere injury.

You feel disoriented and weak, your vision hazy as reality ebbs and flows like waves crashing over a rocky shore. As you rise to check your bandages, your legs feel unsteady beneath you. The fabric clings to your skin, once again soaked in crimson.

I need help. Something is very wrong. Can a vampire spawn die from this? What ailments can kill one of my kind? There’s so much I still don’t know.

But you know someone who does.

With trembling hands, you attempt to re-bandage yourself, the motions awkward and sloppy. Sliding into a robe, you struggle with the laces, your fingers slipping and grasping at nothing but air as your vision splits into doubles, triples, and even quadruples. Each attempt sends your eyes crossing and your head throbbing like a relentless drum. Putting on your boots becomes a Herculean task; your knees tremble beneath you, and you find yourself tumbling to the floor again and again.

You should be terrified for your life, but instead, you waver between delirium and sheer incoherence, finding a strange amusement in your state. A giggle escapes your lips as you grin, trying to locate the right door handle amidst the fog clouding your thoughts.

The walk to the Crimson Palace feels long and grueling. Your feet barely cooperate, embarrassingly tripping over themselves as you stumble onto your hands and knees in the street. Thankfully, the streets are sparsely populated, most people preferring the bustling taverns scattered throughout the city. Those who do witness your awkward struggles can’t help but laugh at your ineptitude.

They think I’m drunk. The thought sends another fit of giggles bubbling up.

Rounding a corner, you prop yourself against the wall, gasping for breath—though you realize with a laugh that you no longer need to breathe at all.

I’m dead. More giggles bubble forth. Wait, where was I going?

You glance up and barely make out the silhouette of the Crimson Palace, its dark form looming against the overcast sky. The memory stirs, a distant echo in your mind.

Oh yes, to see my master, Lord Astarion.

Another chuckle escapes you, and you roll your eyes at the ridiculous thought. It sends your vision spinning, and you groan, forcing your failing body to keep moving forward.

Through the murky darkness, a voice calls out, “It’s so nice to see you again.”

You recognize the voice but can’t quite place it. Your mind sluggishly attempts to connect that familiar tone with a memory, but coherence eludes you. Squinting through the fog clouding your vision, you catch a glimpse of the colour mulberry.

It’s her.

“Ugh. Go away.”

Not her. Anyone but her.

She blocks your path, her presence a mockery of your state. “You don’t look so good, sugar,” she chirps, her upbeat tone making you want to retch.

I should kill her.

A sinister smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you struggle to suppress the feverish giggle that threatens to erupt. In your diminished and nearly incoherent state, she would be more likely to end you than the other way around, but it’s a lovely fantasy nonetheless.

You ignore her, clumsily attempting to sidestep her.

“I can’t help but notice you seem to be headed toward the Crimson Palace. Are you going to see Astarion?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “I’m not sure he’ll be up for visitors. We’ve been having so much fun every night. He is quite generous, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you? Sweet thing, you know what I mean by ‘fun,’ right? Or would you like me to spell it out for you? Sex, sweetness. I mean sex.”

Despite your frazzled state, your heart shatters at the thought of him with her. A single tear escapes your eye, tracing a path down your cheek as the image takes root in your mind.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you’ve had one too many already.”

Pure rage surges through your veins, igniting your palm in an instant as flames flicker and dance over your skin. “The only drink I would ever accept from you is your blood. Every. Last. Drop.”

You don’t typically feed on the blood of living creatures, but you’d make an exception for this wretch. Standing tall, your fury cuts through the haze clouding your thoughts, bringing clarity for the first time in days.

A menacing grin spreads across your face as you will the flames in your palm to grow into a massive, glowing sphere. “Or I could just reduce you to a heap of ash where you stand.”

The woman’s mouth drops open, her eyes widening as she stares at the fire blazing in your palm. “Pardon me?”

“I’m sorry, sugar,” you mock, “Do you need me to spell it out for you? I will kill you!”

“Astarion will not be pleased if you kill his lover.”

Her emphasis on the word lover makes your stomach twist, and you grit your teeth, your jaw clenching hard.

A sinister laugh escapes you as you fix her with an intimidating gaze. “Well, Astarion isn’t here to save you now, is he?”

You see her confidence waver; the broad, toothy grin that once adorned her delicate features falters under your dangerous glare. Her heartbeat quickens, its rhythm echoing like a grand symphony in your ears, the scent of fear clinging to the chilly breeze. To your great displeasure, she quickly regains her composure, her fake smile reappearing on her rosy lips as if nothing had happened.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon,” she says, her tone dripping with feigned friendliness.

It sounds almost like a promise, and you pray it’s not one.

“Surely, you should be in a better mood by then. Have a lovely night!”

The picture-perfect mulberry-haired woman swaggers off down the road, disappearing into the murky shadows of an alleyway. As the fireball hovering above your palm extinguishes, your fury ebbs away.

I should have eaten her.

The path to the palace door is long and meanders slightly uphill. The stupor clouding your mind rushes back as your adrenaline wanes, plunging you into that dreamlike state once more. Hesitation grips you at the threshold of the Crimson Palace.

You’ve escaped him twice already, and yet here you are, willingly returning to ask for his help. He would likely slam the door in your face at best—or worse, throw you into the kennels. The wound in your side throbs maddeningly, a cruel reminder of why you’re standing here in the first place.

Lacking the coordination for a proper knock, you slam the palm of your hand against the ornate door, the impact sending a sweet sting through your fingers. Moments pass in silence, the quiet stretching interminably with no response from inside.

Of course. You sag against the door, closing your heavy eyes with a weary sigh. I am so tired.

Suddenly, the hefty door swings open, and you stumble forward, unable to regain your balance. Astarion’s arms slip under yours, catching you mid-fall. “Little love, you simply must stop falling for me like this.”

He sets you back on your feet, his arm extending to steady you, but you push it away, still irked by your encounter with that insufferable woman. Without waiting for an invitation, you stagger weakly into the palace.

Astarion’s eyebrow arches at your awkward lumbering. “Do come in.”

“I hate her.”

“Who are you referring to, my dear?”

“That… that fucking trollop!” you spit, venom seeping into your words. The dim room sways around you, and your speech becomes slurred. “I’m going to eat her one day.”

His eyebrows rise in an annoyingly handsome expression. “Well, now I’m intrigued. Do tell me who you’re talking about?”

Jealousy burns hot through your veins. “Your… your purple-haired hussy!”

A wide grin spreads across his face. “I see. I knew you were jealous, but murderous? I’m impressed.”

His forehead furrows slightly as he cocks his head. “Although, you don’t look entirely like yourself.”

“Something is wrong with me.”

“Now that, my treasure, is something we can agree on.”

Rolling your eyes, you push on. “I need help.”

“Petitioning me for help, are you? Cute.”

You huff in exasperation. “You know what? This was a bad idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” You turn toward the door, stumbling awkwardly.

“Wait.”

His hand reaches out, tenderly wrapping around your forearm to steady you. You meet his gaze. Is that concern reflected in those deep crimson irises?

I must be truly delirious.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“The wound from the stake isn’t healing.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Show me.”

Your fingers fumble with the lace ties of your robe in a disoriented frenzy. The world sways around you like trees in a blustery wind. Cursing under your breath, you squint, trying to focus. Astarion steps closer, enough that you can finally see him clearly. He’s shirtless, his trousers untied at the front.

Good Gods…

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” you murmur dreamily, giggling at the sudden sense of freedom. You feel unburdened, as if a great weight has been lifted from your shoulders, free from the fear and sadness that once hollowed you out.

“Yes, I believe you’ve mentioned it a time or two, but please, do feel free to tell me again.”

You stop fumbling with your robe, looking up at him with doe eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

“You are in quite the state, aren’t you?”

His hands brush yours away as he deftly unties the laces of your robe.

“Hey… rude.” You stick your tongue out at him playfully.

As you lose your balance, your hand finds the smooth skin of his shoulder for support. His body tenses under your touch, muscles taut.

A sharp pang of guilt washes over you. “Sorry.”

You withdraw your hand, but he catches it, placing it back on his shoulder as he undoes the remaining laces binding your robe.

Astarion gently slips your robe over your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground around your feet, leaving you in your undergarments. His gaze fixes intently on the blood-soaked bandages wrapped carelessly around your abdomen.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to the sodden dressing. “I need to examine it.”

“I can do it.”

He scoffs. “My dear, you can barely stand. How about you just focus on keeping that pretty face off my floor?”

You mimic his scoff but nod in consent. “I hate her.”

“Yes,” he chuckles lightly, “we’ve established that.”

“Do you love her?”

The question slips from your lips before you can stop yourself.

Do I even want to know?

His expression falters as if he’s tripped over your boldness. “Am I capable of love?”

“I don’t know. Are you? Loving your reflection doesn’t count.”

He smirks. “Hold onto me.”

“What?” you ask, confusion lacing your voice.

“Little love, you are not wearing those grimy boots in my house. They need to come off.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“My dear, we’ve been through this. For once, will you just listen to me?” Astarion kneels before you, one knee on the floor. “Are you ready?”

Tentatively, you reach out, placing both hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as he lifts your weak, trembling leg and begins to slip off your boots.

“What are these?” he asks, glancing down at the jagged cuts your fingernails have made on your legs in a futile attempt to fight your revolting temptations.

“They’re nothing,” you reply, dismissing them.

Astarion studies the marks, running his fingers over the irregular gouges. He leans in closer, and you instinctively try to pull back, but he grabs your leg firmly, holding it in place while giving you a stern look.

When you stop resisting, he leans in and places gentle kisses along the long wounds, slowly trailing them up toward the apex of your thighs. You squirm under his touch, heat rising in your cheeks, but he stops short, teasing you. Moving to your other leg, he repeats the process, sliding off the boot while you use his body to steady yourself, trailing soft kisses along the cuts once more before pausing again.

Unable to restrain yourself, you let out a loud groan.

He rises to his full height, careful not to throw you off balance since his body is your only support. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He motions for you to follow him deeper into the palace, but your legs buckle beneath you.

Before you can fall again, his arm hooks under your knees while the other cradles your back, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet.

“I can walk,” you protest weakly.

“Truly? Can you?” he replies, his voice dripping with mock melodrama. A laugh rumbles in his throat.

He’s having too much fun at my expense.

Astarion carries you through the familiar dark halls you once called home, moving with an agile grace. The floor barely creaks beneath him, his footsteps nearly silent.

Candlelight bathes the bedroom in a saffron-coloured warmth. The room smells pleasantly like finely aged brandy, bergamot, and rosemary. It smells of him, and that comfortable recognition envelopes you. Astarion eases you down on the fine, silk bed cover, taking care not to jostle you about. Grabbing a clean cloth, he wets it in the washbasin perched on a carved table. He crouches smoothly, positioning himself between your legs.

Oh…

Memories flash across your vision of him in the forest clearing, him in that bedroom the night he turned you, and heat pools between your legs. A needy groan escapes your lips as you tear your eyes off of him meekly. If your heart could beat, it would be battering against your ribs as if it were trying to rip itself from your bosom. A sensual chuckle rattles deep in his chest, fully aware of what he’s doing.

Oh, fuck.

You are starved for physical affection, having spent the last year distanced from your friends or locked away entirely. They had tried to comfort you, of course, but you couldn’t be trusted to get too close to anyone with a heartbeat. Except for a few brief uncomfortable hugs or reassuring squeezes of your hand, you haven’t been touched since before you fled this place. You craved it like the desert sands crave moisture during a drought.

You struggle to push yourself further up the bed and away from him. You squeeze your legs together, trying to shut him out. You feel too vulnerable, almost stripped bare with your legs spread, and entirely too aroused, given the predicament you currently find yourself in.

His hand grips your thigh tenderly but firmly, keeping it to the side and pinning you in your place.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, “hold still.”

You groan loudly and cover your face with your hands, surrendering to him.

“Good girl.”

With light, gentle strokes, he begins to wipe the smeared blood from your midsection, his brow furrowing with curiosity as he examines the injury. Blood continues to seep gradually from the wound, dark streaks spreading like inky tendrils across your ghostly skin. He presses his fingers into the gash, coating them in crimson.

You wince at the uncomfortable pressure. “What are you doing?”

His crimson eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes you hold your breath—a reflex you can’t shake. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks on them, all while holding your gaze. It’s oddly sensual until his face twists into a grimace, and he spits your blood onto the cloth.

“Poison. You need an antidote and rest, pet.”

“Don’t call me ‘pet.’”

“I’ll call you whatever I like,” he hisses.

“Why do you do this?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he pouts sarcastically.

“Don’t you? You swing from one extreme to the next so fast I can hardly keep up. One moment you’re nice, and the next, you treat me like a possession.”

He frowns, his gaze unwavering. “You do belong to me. I made sure of it.”

He’s trying to get under my skin.

“Yes, you did. Are you proud of yourself, love?”

“Indeed I am.”

You grumble under your breath, “Pompous prick.”

He laughs, the sound rich and teasing. “Sassy tonight, aren’t we?”

"You didn’t answer my question."

A malevolent smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, reaching his eyes. “I rather enjoy you like this, you know.”

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

“Nearly naked, laid out before me on my bed, and entirely at my mercy.”

You level a glowering look at him. “You don’t scare me.”

If nothing else, your hazy mental state gives you a strange courage, or perhaps you’re just too far gone to feel fear. Either way, speaking your mind feels liberating. You have muzzled yourself too often around him, but now the muzzle is off, and your fangs are bared—so to speak.

“Oh?” he pouts innocently. “I suppose I’ll have to try harder, then, won’t I?”

“I suppose you will if that’s what gets you going.”

“I would be happy to demonstrate what gets me going.”

Astarion rises slowly from his crouched position between your legs, his hand gliding leisurely up your body, delicately skimming over every curve. You try to push him away, but it’s like a feather trying to displace a brick wall. His knee nudges your legs further apart, and he presses his hips against you, anchoring you between him and the bed. The friction is exhilarating, sending waves of need rocketing through you. You would be lying if you said his proximity was entirely unwelcome.

“When did you eat last?” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours.

What a weird question.

“Why? What difference does it make?” You squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the pressure of his body against yours.

“I have my reasons, darling.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Which are?”

“None of your concern,” he replies curtly. “When did you eat last? I won’t ask again.”

Do I dare? Yes. Yes, I think I dare.

You meet his gaze directly, challenging him. “None of your concern.”

Astarion scowls harshly. “Shall I force you to tell me, my sweet, sweet spawn?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, though it makes your stomach lurch. Fighting the wave of nausea, you continue, “If you’re going to force me, then just do it already. I’m beyond sick of your threats.”

Abruptly, he pushes himself back, severing the decadent friction you had been savouring. He paces menacingly in front of you, a terrifying expression painted across his features. Astarion strides over to a cabinet and flings the door open with such force that it nearly comes off its hinges. He grabs a bottle and returns to you, his cold red eyes simmering with animosity.

“Drink this and get out.”

He tosses the bottle onto the bed beside you.

You finger it hesitantly. “What is it?”

“Antidote. Drink it and leave.”

“Fine.”

With that, Astarion vanishes into the shadows of the hallway. You raise the bottle to your lips and down its contents as quickly as you can, trying to minimize the taste. Unfortunately, it still makes you want to gag. The antidote works fast. You watch as the blood continues to ooze from your wound, but its flow begins to slow, the inky black streaks receding bit by bit. The haze clouding your mind starts to clear, and you find yourself feeling more lucid... mostly.

You manage to sit up on the bed, but your limbs are still weak, trembling, and uncooperative. Just as you wrestle with your balance, Astarion returns, tossing your robe onto the floor at your feet.

Once you get your boots on and stumble toward the door, you realize that dawn is creeping closer.

I don’t have enough time to get back.

“Astarion, dawn is soon. I’ll—”

He cuts you off, his voice icy. “Burn, yes. I am aware.”

I pushed him too far.

His brows draw down into a sinister glare. “Run, little lamb."

Big thank you to everyone who takes the time to read/follow/like/reblog/comment/etc -- I hope you're enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it :)

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I have another with Spawn Astarion x Tav called -Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

[animeyanderelover]

can i request characters of your choice from tokyo ghoul (+kaneki, haise and ayato if possible) with a darling whose blood is sweet and addictive like yui from DL?

Last few exams will be written next week and then I only have to wait the last weeks until my holidays. Wish me the best.

Tags: @naeho @flaming-vulpix

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, obsession, possessive behavior, delusional thoughts, stalking, sadism, isolation, paranoia, clinginess, overprotective behavior, abduction, self-harm, death

Sweet & addictive blood

Ken Kankeki

🔲​Kaneki, who hasn't been a ghoul until the accident, already struggles with his self-control a bit yet his s/o really puts his mental composure to the test. Kaneki would never hurt his s/o, he'd die for them. So why is his mouth watering a bit whenever he catches a good whiff of their skin? That enticing smell invades his mind and fuels his greed for a taste yet as soon as he catches himself indulging in the thought of those primal desires, disgust and self-loathing burns through his entire being. He punishes himself for even thinking about you like this, although all inflicted wounds heal after a while due to his regeneration abilities. He spends hours in his room, tears in his eyes and his own blood coating his mouth and his teeth as he stares at his arms and watches the injuries slowly healing. It isn't enough, he thinks to himself. This pain isn't enough to make up for letting himself develop such vile desires for your flesh and blood.

🔲​Through all of this hatred directed against himself, there's another fear blossoming deep inside of Kaneki's soul. If he already lusts for a taste of you like this, how would it be for other ghouls? Suddenly his thoughts are overwhelmed with images of other ghouls attacking you, tearing you apart, devouring you as your agonizing screams die down and the life leaves your eyes. Such gruesome thoughts nearly make him throw up whenever they won't leave his head and twist and turn his stomach. Despite his disgust for himself, Kaneki follows you around whenever he can and every ghoul he comes across whilst following you, he attacks. His paranoia makes every ghoul see him as your future murderer so he scares them, hurts them and in the worst case kills them. His mind is spinning, his heart is aching and his body is just yearning for closeness with you until Kaneki who has already been cracking under the pressure of his own emotions crumbles apart.

🔲​Your scent soon fills his apartment wherever he goes and it is as soothing as it makes him go a bit crazy. He feels hunger for you, for just a small taste of your blood yet he always holds himself back. You're always uneasy around him as he often just stares at you and you see his entire body softly trembling. Occasionally he takes a step or two in your direction, his gaze needy before he stumbles back again and mumbles something to himself. Kaneki tries to stay away from you but it doesn't always work. You remember sometimes waking up at night to him wrapped around you, his face in your neck as he takes deep breaths and you can feel his own racing heart beat through his chest. If you should ever hurt yourself and the blood just seeps out of your wound, he completely relapses on his delicate control for a moment or two, might even taste the wound with his warm tongue.

Touka Kirishima

🟪Touka has been having some emotions for you for a while now but she has actively tried to ignore them. She's even pushing you away from her, seems short-tempered and brash around you if you should ever try to start a conversation with her. You're confused and wonder if you've done something wrong yet really, none of this is your fault. At least not a fault you made consciously. It's just that your scent ...drives her a bit mad. Touka has never wanted this obsession with you and as if her own emotions aren't already enough to give her a headache, your very sweet blood rushing through your body complicates it all a bit. It isn't that she's about to lose control per se as she has experience in controlling her appetite but the combination of her feelings and your sweet smell seem to make it so difficult for her.

🟪She knows how most humans view ghouls so she is very bend on never letting you find out what she is because as tough as she may try to be, she fears to see her darling being afraid of her due to her being a ghoul. Yet she also knows that not all ghouls will be as careful around you as she is so Touka often starts stalking you or just simply walking you home. Honestly, her behavior contradicts itself often around you because on the one hand she avoids yet also often accompanies you but it's not like you'll get an answer out of her for this. She does all of this for protection because she is fully aware that ghouls might very well come after you for your sweet scent. No one will harm you under her watch though because even with her quiet and aloof exterior at times, she is very ready to become violent for your sake.

🟪Her secret can't remain a secret forever though and eventually she sees herself forced to tell you the truth about her biology and also reveal to you what your sweet smell does to the hunger of a ghoul. She has to swallow back her her emotions when she sees the fear blooming on your face, some of it also directed at her. This is what she expected but still... seeing it hurts. This reveal doesn't have to end in an abduction though and she makes that clear to you too. If you just do as she says and let her continue watching over you, she would be willing to let you live on with your life as you're used to it. Although she knows it'll probably never be quite the same for you again now that you know what she is and are also aware just how special and sweet your blood is for her kind.

Ayato Kirishima

🌌Ayato would rather come up with every other excuse than the one that involves him admitting that he harbors deep inside his heart romantic attraction to a human. Your sweet and special blood is so used as his best excuse to deny his feelings and instead make it look like he's only obsessed with you due to your addictive blood. He's very straightforward in clarifying it to every other ghoul that they shouldn't dare to harm you unless they want to be attacked and murdered by him. Ayato is very straightforward with his territorial feelings and every ghoul who resides even close to you will be beaten bloody by him to the point where even their regeneration won't do much for them. He's big on just stalking you for a couple of months because he still doesn't know what to do with the mess of emotions inside of him. He knows who is to blame for it though. You.

🌌The time eventually comes where Ayato grows sick and tired of seeing you walk around and be so unaware and in good spirits whilst he is tearing himself mentally apart because of his conflicting emotions and has gone on a killing spree just to prevent any other ghoul from attacking you and devouring you. You're such an ungrateful brat. You don't deserve to be left like this, so carefree and happy with your life. He abducts you because he's spiteful and angry with you. A part of him just wants to see you suffer a bit so that he can feel better about himself and also convince himself that you're nothing more than a petty and pathetic human. You should be careful not to anger him since Ayato is very trigger-happy the first few weeks after abduction because your constant presence confronts him harshly with his true feeling for you.

🌌He's being a sadistic asshole for a while with you and hurts you on purpose to taste some of your blood, his tongue digging into your injuries as he watches you squirm with discomfort and tears in your eyes. Ayato is being careful enough to not injure you seriously but enough to make you fear him so that you will listen to him and enough to quench some of his lust for your blood. Passing time changes his heart slowly though and to his huge shame he finds himself growing a small soft spot for you. That's the last thing he wants, he doesn't want you to realize that you are a weak spot for him since he has a fear of you abusing his feelings for you for your own selfish purposes. Sometimes his love for you slips out though and instead of a harsh bite you expected from him you feel a rough kiss being placed on your skin, one that has him recoiling when he realizes what he's just done.

Nishio Nishiki

🎓​Nishiki has some conflicted emotions regarding his obsession with you too because humans were the ones who took his older sister away from him by murdering her. He won't deny that he holds a grudge against your kind but he's more mature in handling this situation. He can't deny that your blood has him lusting for a taste of you too but he knows to wait a bit and to not act too impulsively. Most importantly is that he realizes that you might be targeted by other people of his kind thanks to your rare and sweet blood and the enticing scent you carry around with you. To prevent anyone from hurting and/or killing you to enjoy you as their next meal, he opts to worm his way into your life as quickly as possible in order to have a good eye on you all of the time and prevent anything from happening to you.

🎓​There is a deep-rooted fear of Nishio to lose you too because he has lost the most precious person to him already with the death of his sister. Even if he doesn't show it, he is a tad bit paranoid to lose you as well now that you've grown on him so much. Perhaps this is why he turns into such a controlling individual around you and has set his mind to achieving a certain level of influence over you and your life. For that he uses his charm and his intelligence to get approval from your friends and your parents to have them put trust in his words and his judgement too if you shouldn't be as obedient and follow his decisions as he would like. In his mind, you just don't know any better though. You're only a human and differently from him, you've seen nothing. Nishio thinks of himself as better suited to make decisions involving your life.

🎓​He can't help himself at times from stepping closer to you and taking a few deep sniffs of your smell. As good and experienced he may be in regards of his hunger, a few weak moments still happen from time to time. He keeps everything a secret from you as long as he can though, including why he always has to accompany you and why you aren't allowed to walk around alone at night. When the time comes for you to find out though, Nishiki actually uses it as a way to blackmail and manipulate you further. If it wouldn't have been for him, you would have been attacked multiple times already by a ghoul. The only reason why you're still alive today is because he protected you and fought for you against other ghouls who planned to ambush you. Don't you understand him? You need him.

Shuu Tsukiyama

🍷​Tsukiyama is a self-proclaimed gourmet in the world of ghouls and one who wouldn't even shy away from cannibalism if it would present him with a new and unique flavor to explore and present to other ghouls. So when he one day just walks through the city and you just happen to pass him on the street, leaving a trail of your sweet scent behind you, he knows that he has found his next attraction, his next meal for him to taste and gush about. He doesn't just abduct you instantly though as he thinks of such a sudden act as bland, tasteless and beneath him. Instead it almost appears as if this young man is courting you at first with sweet words and lots of presents whilst simultanously having to swallow back his saliva by constantly being surrounded by your excellent and mouth-watering aroma.

🍷​His obsession for your mere blood deepens during this time where the unknown eye just assumes that this flamboyant young man is just courting you. Your company is genuinely enjoyable and he soon starts thinking about you as more than just the next fantastic meal for him to discover and present to others. Your personality is adorable and sweet and he genuinely enjoys teasing you and making you a tad bit uncomfortable. This triggers the abduction though because Shuu is ridiculously jealous and possessive over you all of a sudden and even with romantic feelings now involved, Shuu is still a sadist. In one moment he can be sweet, clingy and doting and in the next moment he pins you down with a creepy grin on his face as he rips your shirt away from your body, sniffing your bare skin and letting his tongue glide across you before letting his teeth sink into your flesh, enjoying his taste of your sweet blood that he won't share with anyone else.

🍷​By the time his father finds out about you and the way his son has treated you, your already covered in bite marks and scared for your life. Needless to say, you're rescued from Shuu and taken care of by the Tsukiyama household with Shuu strictly forbidden to see you. The man throws the biggest scene ever as he throws a temper tantrum, begs his father to let him see you again only to start crying when his father tells him harshly off and refuses to let his son see you until he has learnt how to treat the person he claims to love. Mirumo is utterly disappointed with the way his son has treated you, apologizes to you and promises you to never let such terrible things happen to you again. Shuu is kept for as long away from you until his father deems him to have learned his lesson, although even then Mirumo still is in the same room as you when Shuu can finally visit you again.

Uta

🎭You've stumbled by sheer chance into his store but find yourself staying for a while longer since you've never seen someone like Uta before. Uta, upon first meeting you, seems to realize that you are quite special too. He can tell as much from your scent that even makes his mouth water a bit but he hides it very well as he just starts chatting with you about random stuff now that you're here anyways. Initially he doesn't seem to care much for you, seems only interested to see how long you can manage to stay alive with that sweet blood of yours. As time piles on though and you continue to visit his shop since you find the owner of it so unique though, he has a chance of heart as he decides that you're too special to be killed. It would be a pity if he would lose his little muse because some ghouls couldn't control themselves now, wouldn't it?

🎭Uta is a bit more lazy so he wouldn't want to go on a killing spree or stalk you everyday if he can take other meassurements to ensure that no other ghoul touches. His occupation as a ghoul who crafts masks for a lot of ghouls is a small help as he always finds out about rumors and current events through his customers by sparking some conversation with them. If one of his customers happens to mention a human with very sweet blood, Uta automatically knows who he has to target if it should come down to it. All of his laziness aside though, Uta can be exceptionally cruel and sadistic if he should ever come to the point where he has to get rid of a threat. He takes your protection very serious so he would be damned if he would let someone else ever dare to touch you and take you away from him.

🎭You've grown accustomed to Uta's very quirky sides. He is just very weird so at one point you stop protesting when he sometimes leans closer to you and starts sniffing you like some sort of dog. Uta keeps his identity initially a secret from you too but eventually he just decides to tell you about what he is. Trying to escape is useless, he's locked the door up so you have nowhere to run. No reason to be so skittish though, he doesn't plan to kill you. He'd just like you to be his, his sweet muse. If you do as he says, he'd even let you leave again. If you tell anyone though or try to run away, he will come for you and he will find you. Uta is quite chill most of the time but he has his short sadistic moments where he just decides that a small taste won't hurt and so you can only sob silently as teeth cut through your skin to taste your blood only to have him afterwards hush and comfort you through your pain.

Haise Sasaki

🔳​Sasaki is more responsible and mature although also painfully good-willed to the point where he might appear as a tad bit naive. He isn't aware who he used to be in his past though so perhaps that's why he can be the way he is. He works to protect people against ghouls so his darling falls into the category of people he has sworn to protect. Yet something about their scent is quite enticing and sweet even for him but he would never admit that. He knows that it would sound very creepy to others and he himself recoils out of shame and embarrassment whenever he gets a bit too lost in the scent of yours. Instead he hides all of his thoughts and just acts around you like he acts around everyone else. A bit more reserved but still very polite. Maybe just a tad bit kinder to make up for thinking about you in such unsettling ways, even if you don't know about that.

🔳​Perhaps his willingness to be nicer around you to make himself feel better about his thoughts regarding your scent are what really starts his obsession as he spends more time with you. Partially to still do everything to make himself feel less guilty and partially because he is capable of realizing that every other ghoul would come after you for your sweet blood. Because he spends such an abundance of time with you, he really starts getting to know you and even starts developing feelings for you. You're kind and adorable and some part of him just wants to protect you from this cruel world that will rip you away from him and- He doesn't even know where those dark and intrusive thoughts come from but he knows that he has to push his growing feelings away as such creepy ideas start infiltrating your mind and he finds himself sometimes thinking of just locking you away and shielding you from all evil in this world.

🔳​He knows that he already spends a lot of time with you but somehow this doesn't seem to be enough. He wants to be even more with you but in order to not be seen as too clingy, he starts stalking you. It is embarrassing and shameful but he really can't help himself. He just has to protect you and a small voice in his head always reminds him that something could happen to you whilst he is gone and fuels his paranoia a bit. When you hug him, a part of him really just wants to hold you and never let you go so that he can get lost in your sweet aroma but he holds himself back from doing so, although his body starts slightly trembling as this takes a lot of his self-control. He does his best to hold himself back as good as he can but it's undeniable that some part inside of him, someone else inside of him, just wants to lock you away, keep you and murder everyone who would dare to touch a single strand on your head the wrong way.

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Rose Thorn Blues | pt. 5 (final)

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Masterlist

Summary: Spider-Man saved everyone he could. But this time, you have to save him — and yourself.

Word count: ~10.4k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! (We're finally to the lovers part <3) Canon-level violence. Swearing, blood, injuries. Angst. Fluff and more fluff!! Love confessions!!! And smooching ;)

A/n: Today's my birthday, so here's a little birthday present to all of you :) Thank you all for your patience with this story. It's the longest one I've written, and I'm grateful for everyone that's read it. Your comments mean the world.

I'd be happy to write an epilogue or little snippets of their lives during or after this story if anyone would be interested. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy <3

Pain. Unrelenting pain settling deep into your body was the first thing you noticed. Your closed eyes squeezed shut harder as the back of your head pounded, a shaky exhale leaving your cracked lips. You could feel dried tears stuck along the planes of your cheeks.

When you tried moving your arms, you found you couldn’t — not with them bound behind you to the chair you sat in, and not with the deep ache stretching from your shoulders down to your wrists. The skin there felt rubbed nearly raw by rope holding them together. Even your chest and ankles were tied to the chair. 

Despite the ache in your ribs, you forced yourself to take long, deep breaths. Each one shook through you. Blinking slowly, you let your blurry vision adjust. The bright fluorescents were now dimmer than before, only half of them on. You shivered slightly, goosebumps raising across your skin in the cool temperature of the warehouse. 

Forms of people here and there began to come into focus in front of you. They seemed to be packing things into large boxes, the same wooden ones you’d seen before. And as you took in the tall windows and many shelves, you saw that you were in a shadowy corner of this godforsaken warehouse.

You could’ve screamed if your throat wasn’t so dry and your head wasn’t swimming. Your jaw ached as you clenched your teeth together over and over again. Panicked, uncontrolled thoughts flew through your hazy awareness. No matter how hard you tried to swallow them back, you couldn’t ignore the worry festering in your stomach — one uneasy idea decomposing into another.

Where was Peter?

A thin breath punched from your lungs as you remembered the hurt in his voice over the phone. He’d never allowed you to see him like that before, but still, you could picture his face twisting and the blood staining his suit dark. The image floated on the edges of your vision as you scanned the people moving throughout the warehouse.

Somehow, no guard stood watch over you. If what Will had said before about his horrible suit being missing, his workers must have been scouring the city — stretching his people thin and unable to be everywhere all at once.

With a possible window of opportunity open and beckoning you to take, you shifted your wrists, testing out the rope around them. Wiggling your arms made the binding a tiny bit looser. Each movement stretched them out but brought burning pain with it. It wouldn’t get you anywhere but tired and too hurt to function.

Like Peter, desperate and hurt. Who tried to keep you from walking into your demise… using secrets and lies. You clenched your teeth, hoping the pressure of it could shove away these half-feelings twisting and knotting around themselves.

So, you looked around, careful not to turn your head too abruptly in case any workers looked over. Though, even from afar, all of them looked terrified to do anything but hastily pack. Orders from Will himself, you were sure of it.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a jagged metal beam broken and sticking out from a beat-up shelf. It looked dull, but it came to a point. It’d have to do.

As silently as you could, you used your feet to inch the chair backward — timing each push with the sound of people shouting at one another or loudly loading up a crate. Your ears rang and your rapid heartbeat dulled your focus, distracting you with each intense spike of your nerves firing off.

Over several minutes, you positioned your bound hands to the piece of metal shelving and began to rub the rope across it. You paused at each lull, each possible moment that you might be caught. It gave you temporary relief from the strain pulling in your shoulders as you continued sawing away at the rope.

Sweat beaded across your skin as time passed — how long exactly, you weren’t sure. But eventually, the strands turned thinner. They felt as tight and ready to snap as your resolve. But when the rope loosened, becoming big enough for your hands to wiggle out, it instead filled your body with quenching relief.

The rope had barely pooled along the concrete floor before you began working on the binding stretching across your chest to hold your torso to the chair. It was tedious and forced your aching arms in horrible positions, but you pulled and pulled at the binding, squirming around to even gain an inch of room.

It kept catching on the bunched-up fabric of your clothes, but it moved. So, so slowly, it moved. It was an effort to keep your breaths silent when you wanted nothing more than to just shout for anyone to come help you. But Peter wasn’t here to help, so you sunk your teeth into your lip and kept quiet as the rope loosened.

Pushing your elbows out, you slipped the rope over your head. You allowed yourself only one unrestrained inhale before bending at the waist and working on the knot tying your ankles to the chair. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes constantly trained on the workers as you moved. But the sight of that rope falling from your body made you blink away stinging tears.

Your best bet would likely be looking for a back exit and hoping you could sneak by anyone there — or fight your way out if it came to that. On unsteady legs, you raised yourself up, ignoring the wave of sharp pain pulsing at the back of your head and down your spine.

But before you could even take a step, get a real breath of freedom in your lungs, a sharp blade appeared at your neck.

“Going somewhere, sunshine?”

Within an instant, William Beaumont appeared next to you, and had he not held a tight grip to your upper arm, you might have collapsed. Though the blade pressed against you, your body instinctually writhed to get away from him. But even in the dim lighting, you saw the darkness that clung to him, the stillness in his eyes, the heavy weight he held. This wasn’t the Will you met before.

“Or Rose, is it?” he asked, his voice cold and calculated.

He pulled you forward and yanked your arms behind you. Your throat felt tight, your chest ready to rip open as you felt a zip tie tighten around your wrists — the plastic rubbing right where the rope had been just minutes ago. It had been too easy. Did he give you that hope on purpose? Just a lion toying with its food? A wretched feeling of fear shot through you at the thought. 

Will shoved you back in the chair, a labored grunt shooting out of your lungs and a dizziness hitting you. Once he was sure you weren’t going to get up again, he took a step back, careful to keep the long blade pointed at your throat. 

You dully registered a piece of wood rolling to your feet as Will aimlessly paced before you, kicking scattered debris. Sweat coated his skin, his hair damp against his forehead. For a minute, he just wordlessly walked back and forth, his eyes staring unfocused toward the ground. But you couldn’t look at his face for long, not with the sunken shadows settling into each curve of his expression. He almost looked sickly. Your gaze instead dropped to the handgun tucked into the back of his waistband; then you looked to the sharp piece of metal in his hand, recognizing it as one of the wrecked pieces from the Green Goblin’s glider.

When he paused, your breaths stopping too, he turned to stare at you. “Where’s my suit?” he asked, simply and without room for negotiation.

Despite the nearly deafening roaring of your heartbeat, you held his stare and willed your voice to come out steady. “Where’s your father?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you wondered how you hadn’t ever seen the similarities between those two before — the eerie air around them. 

“Ellis is a bit busy at the moment. Why? Want to snoop around his mansion some more?” He tilted his head, pursing his lips just slightly. The look brought an anger next to your fear — anger and frustration that they could do good with what they had and keep their promises, but they were just adding more filth to the city.

He came closer then, squatting down so he was nearly eye level with you. You could barely stand to look at him this close, but you did your best not to flinch away. It was just another character you had to play. 

Almost unnoticeable, you saw him wince in pain as he lowered. Watching him, you swallowed the fear trickling down your spine and asked, “Feeling sore?” At his unimpressed look, you merely squared your shoulders, raising your chin.

A breathy half-laugh escaped his lips. He stared down at his hand as he flexed it.  “Jus’ some growing pains…” He shrugged. “ No change comes without a cost.”

“And is the cost worth all this?” you asked, your eyes motioning to the wreckage of the warehouse behind him.

“I’m just living up to the Beaumont family name. We’re cutting through endless miles of red tape with a snap of my fingers. I think you know the answer.”

“Your fingers?” you questioned. “Ellis is making you do all the dirty work?”

Will just rolled his eyes, his grip growing tighter on the blade. Letting out a sharp breath, he stood up, his body wavering just barely as he did so. Still, you went rigid as he towered over you. “Where’s the suit?”

You shook your head, trying to stay calm. But your resolve, this mask, pulled in all directions. “You said you wanted to educate people. What kind of change can be worth whatever you have planned? Worth a super suit and bodily experiments?” You remembered the way he’d bent the shelving’s metal like it was nothing.

“I prefer the term enhancements actually. Because they have made me better. Made it easier to ‘negotiate’ with clients. To educate the city on who really controls things around here.” He stared down at you, letting his words sink in.

Your tone rose, a tightness taking hold of your throat. “And who controls it? It’s certainly not you if your daddy’s bossing you around.” Despite the cold anger flaring behind his features, you continued. “Who says he won’t just keep you as his little lackey to do his bidding forever?”

His jaw twitched, his hand gripping the blade harder. You fought the terrified waves of nausea sitting in your stomach as he said, “Shut your mouth. You know nothing about the empire he’s planned for me.”

Your voice lowered with venom pooling around your tongue, one eyebrow raising. “Oh, and he’d never lie for his own personal gain, right? Even at the harm of others?”

“Where’s the suit?” he gritted out.

“I don’t know.”

You jolted backward as he slammed the metal blade against one of the shelves. The echoing clang of the hit made you curl into yourself, the blood draining from your heart.

His hand raised high, clenched above his head, before it slowly unfurled. He pressed his fingers into his temples. “I’m not in the fucking mood for this.” Punctuating each word with a step closer, he said, “Where. Is. The. Suit?” 

A pulsing vein appeared along his neck, his breathing coming harder. Your hope of getting out of here dwindled with each second he got closer to losing it. 

Trying to keep your voice calm, you said, “Will, I swear I don’t know.”

He charged toward you then, gripping your chin in his hand despite the yelp you let out. “You’ve come to this warehouse before. You’ve been in our house. You stole blueprints. And you think I’m going to believe you?”

You let out a shaky exhale, muscles twitching and screaming at you to get away from him. “I never broke in here. I wouldn’t be able to take all those boxes of the suit by myself, not without being seen. I don’t know where it is.”

His gaze considered you, roaming across your face like he was listing all the ways to torture the information from you. “Then you had help. Maybe that little ‘husband’ of yours knows — he might talk more than you when we find him.” He paused, his hold on you growing a little tighter, making you wince. “And that spider will talk when we string him up and force it out of him.”

Your expression dropped, your eyebrows tightening together. So they didn’t know Peter was Spider-Man, at least not yet. And if you could get out of here alone, it could stay that wa-

A flash of red flew past the windows near the warehouse’s ceiling. Any sense of calm, no matter how forced, dissipated into uncatchable smoke. No, he couldn’t be here. He couldn’t bring himself right into the waiting mouth of the beast that was hunting him. Silently, you pulled at the zip tie holding your wrists. 

“Speaking of cutting through red tape…” Will muttered as a thud on top of the roof had his gaze shooting upward. Silence covered the entire building — all of the workers immediately stopped their movements. 

You could barely slump forward when Will let go of your chin before he brought the blade back to your neck, his body standing behind you. His words echoed as he called out, “Come on out, Spider-Man! I promise we’ll let her go…”

Your eyes squeezed shut as the pain in the back of your head pounded harder, tears threatening to pool on your eyelashes. You whispered, “And then what? Where does this end, Will?” 

A jagged smile was evident in his words. “Who says the fun ever has to end?” His hands forced your head to turn, your gaze pointed toward the warehouse entrance. “Isn’t that right, father?” Will asked loudly, calling to the man walking toward you both with a gun at the ready.

The sight dropped a deadening weight into your stomach. Ellis looked wild, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His usual well-kempt look was forgotten, his suit ragged and hair free from its slicked-back style. More guards continued to enter the warehouse after him, and you couldn’t stop your entire body from shaking.

“Or maybe the fun’s just beginning,” Will said into the curve of your ear. It made you stretch to get away from him, but that only pushed your neck further into the blade — pain prickling along your skin.

You revolted against the dread, the horrific realization, that you may watch Peter die here — while he was trying to save you. It took everything in you to not let it incapacitate your ability to think or even function.

Ellis directed the guards this way and that. You watched with unfocused attention as he followed the large group up toward the roof. Normally, you would say he was sending them to their demise with Spider-Man up there. But an injured, desperate Spider-Man? That struck icy fear into your veins.

And you’d never known Spider-Man to have a noisy approach — careless enough to make noise and draw the enemy’s attention to himself. He’d have to play it smart, which became evident a few minutes later when Will yelled to one of his guards… and got no response. Peter was picking them off one by one in here while they searched for him outside.

Will’s free hand gripped tightly to your shoulder, his body continuously moving in small twitches. You could feel how on edge he was, and you wondered just how dangerous this family could be. Full power over the city, and all they needed now was to remove the one man stopping them.

You fought to keep your breathing even, your mind clear, so you could stay calm. And it worked to ground you just as a web shot from the sky. At blinding speed, it hit Will’s arm, sending the blade flying away from you. It clattered across the floor, the sound the sweetest thing you’d ever heard. Before he could fully realize what had happened, you lifted your foot and brought it down against his knee using every bit of strength you had.

By the time he’d crumpled to the floor, you’d run the other way. His scream froze your heart, but you knew he wouldn’t be down long with whatever experiments were coursing through him. Weaving between shelves with your hands still bound behind you, you tried to find somewhere safe — maybe the back entrance you’d planned to go to before.

But there were sure to be more guards outside now, and you couldn’t get far with your hands tied together. Your steps slowed, trying to become silent as you looked around for something sharp. Among the debris were ammo, rope, chemicals… but nothing to cut the zip tie. 

Will’s words sounded far enough away, but that didn’t stop your head from whipping in his direction as he yelled, “You’ll fucking regret that!” Without so much as a breath, you took small steps backward away from the threat.

You only got a few feet when a gloved hand wrapped around your mouth. Before you could even scream, you were lifted into the air. The warehouse passed in a blur, but relief broke through as you felt summer night air hit your skin — as you recognized the sounds of the man swinging you both a few blocks away.

The two of you landed in a different alley, this one empty and finally safe. A second later, you felt the snap of the zip tie, and your wrists came free.

“Thought you might need a han-”

He only spoke those few words before you turned around to lunge into his arms. A quiet grunt shot out of him as you hugged him until your arms shook. You sniffled back tears budding up, your fingers clenching tight onto his suit. You breathed in him.

“Peter,” you whispered against him.

“Uh… I’m not sure who that is. The name’s Spide-”

“Shut up,” you interrupted, shaking your head as you pressed in closer to him. You could have sobbed when his arms wrapped around you too. To have him here, real, and breathing felt like the aching quiet after waking up from an unending nightmare, like the first rays of morning sunlight peeking above the horizon.

But the memory of when the two of you last spoke washed over your senses in an unrelenting tidal wave. You pulled back, your hold on him tightening as you looked at him. Your breath fizzed away like bubbling remnants of the crashed wave.

Blood splattered across his suit, broken up by dirt and rips along his body. His chest rapidly rose and fell, tired in a way you’d never seen the superhero. He’d pulled his arms from you— one of his hands rested against the building, using it to hold his weight. His other hand wrapped around his left side where blood-coated webs held together what looked to be a bullet wound. But what stole the breath from your lungs, what grabbed you and forced you to come to terms with all that’d happened, was his face. 

A jagged tear in his mask stretched from his cheek to his forehead, leaving one of his bloodshot eyes exposed. The skin around it looked marred with cuts and aching bruises. At the top of the rip, pieces of his shaggy hair stuck to his forehead. He was barely recognizable. Your bottom lip trembled, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. But before you could open your mouth, Peter brought you back in against him, hugging you tight. He whispered, “Thank God you’re okay.”

Pressing your hands against his chest, you created a little bit of space despite how your body protested. “Peter… are you okay?”

His exposed eye traced across your face, the soft brown looking paler than usual. “I’m fine. I got the suit out — and hidden. That’s what matters.”

You gave him an exhausted look because that was not all that mattered, not as he stood there looking like that, but you didn’t argue further. He was here. And stubborn.

So you just allowed yourself to do what you hadn’t done before the fundraiser. Raising your hand, you paused for a brief moment before gingerly fixing his hair. You tucked the strands back under the mask before swiping a thumb across his forehead. 

His hand came up to grab your wrist, lowering it from his hair but not letting go of you.

“How are you doing?” he asked. His fingers were gentle against the marks on your wrist.

You blinked against the throbbing in your head but nodded, breathing out, “Uh… yeah. I’ll be okay.”

And too many other things to say passed your mind, some you wanted to tell him and others you couldn’t. With a hoarse voice and downcast eyes, you settled on, “You came.” 

You hoped he heard all you meant underneath those two words.

And you didn’t have time to register his answer — “of course” — as he moved his grip from your wrist down to your hand. He squeezed once then let it return to your side.

“Okay, I need to head back,” he said, raising his arm to shoot a web back in the direction of the warehouse, “please head to the hospital, and stay safe. I’d bring you there myself, but–” He gestured to his injured side, his face wincing in pain.

Instantly, your face twisted, a dizziness coming over you as any relief you had shattered to the ground. “You’re not going back in there. Not like this,” you nearly pleaded, your words coming out faster. “You’ve done enough. Call- call the police, and let them handle it.”

He shook his head. “I already called them. But with Will’s powers, it’ll be a massacre. I’ve got to go.” He said it with such certainty, with no room for argument. He tried to step past you, his gaze stoically not meeting yours. 

“Then I’m coming too.” You stepped to the side with him. You hurriedly explained, “Something’s not right with Will, like his body is struggling with whatever’s coursing through him. So I think if we-”

“What? No. I mean, yes,” he told you. “Will is using DNA from supervillians, and I think his body’s rejecting it. But no, you’re not coming with me.”

“Could we somehow increase his symptoms then, or speed them up?” Your palms came up to rest against his chest. His heartbeat pounded rapidly beneath your touch.

“I mean, probably. If we incubated it with heat or lights maybe, but…” He cocked his head. “Stop talking like we’re doing this together. We’re not.”

Turning your chin up at him, you argued, “Well the plan where you get yourself killed sucks.”

“Well I happen to like the plan where you get killed a lot less, so you’re staying,” he said, raising an arm to shoot out a web again. He held stern, but you heard the exhaustion coating his words, how tired he really was. 

Spider-Man always had a plan, Peter always knew what to do. And now it seemed his only plan was to stop Will at all costs — even at the cost of his own life. You shoved away the emotion that thought brought bubbling up your throat.

You clenched your hands into fists, refusing to let him go so easily. “Peter, you’re not leaving me in the dark anymore. The secrets and hiding have to stop here.”

You watched his eyebrow sink into a frown, his voice becoming more serious than you’d ever heard. “Secrets and hiding? Yeah, I have to keep my identity hidden, but don’t you get why I did all of this?” He asked as if it was the most obvious question. His hands gestured out to the side as he took a step back — your own hands falling away from him.

He turned his head away from you, and you could only watch his jaw clench and unclench with each passing second. The silence rang in your ears, until he breathed out, “It was to keep you safe. ‘Cause all this? It does no good if… if you’re gone.”

You held your breath, feeling your heart beating wildly throughout you. Heat crawled up your body at his words. Quietly, you asked, “What does me being gone have to do with stopping Beaumont?”

Shaking his head, Peter breathed out the ghost of a laugh. In an instant, he stepped so closely that it nearly gave you whiplash. Slowly, the tips of his fingers slipped under his mask to pull it above his mouth. He shifted even closer, his lips merely an inch from yours as his hands cupped your jaw. His body overtook all of your senses. He whispered, “Christ, are you this dense on purpose?” 

With that, his lips pressed against yours, your eyes fluttering shut on instinct. At first, you didn’t move at all — afraid that it would break whatever moment you somehow found yourself in. Thoughts and emotions yelled for your attention, for you to analyze what was happening, but none were quite as loud as the feeling of his body melding against yours. That familiar warmth of him enveloped you, and all you could do was melt with him.

It wasn’t like the hurried kissing at the fundraiser, all teeth and tongue and newness. This almost felt familiar, as if you could come home to this every day. Your hands snaked up, holding onto his shoulders as he dulled your senses into a fuzziness. You felt your mind nearly go blank — but not completely.

With waning will power, you pulled away, trying not to relish in the soft noise that escaped his throat as you did so. You both caught your breath — the yearning exhales mingling in the small space between you. And with the way his hands still held onto you, now dropped down along your body to find a home on your hips, you knew there was no way he’d let you go with him.

“I… you, uh, need to get back” you began with a long, heavy breath. Swiping your tongue across your bottom lip, you took a resistant step backward. He kept one hand on yours as you moved. “Just, Peter, please be safe.”

He slowly nodded, and you watched every movement as he grabbed his mask and brought it back down. His thumb rubbed along your skin. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. And after…”

“After?” you asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “After. Let me take you out.”

“After,” you promised. You swallowed, wrapping a hand around his forearm and squeezing once. But before he could move away, you said, “Wait! Do you have anything I could use? To defend myself, I mean. I’d just feel safer — in case I happen to run into their guards on my way to the hospital.” You offered a closed mouth smile, one that told him not to worry too much about you.

“Uh, yeah…” he said, patting along his suit and up to his wrists. Removing part of his left webshooter, he set a small metal piece into your palm. You thought it looked almost like a flash drive as he curved your fingers over it.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s the best I have right now. It helps control my electric webs, so you can use this part as a sort of taser if someone comes at you,” he explained, waiting until you nodded before pulling you into a hug. It crushed your body, feeling like a hug you’d give someone you might not see for a long time. Or ever again.

So, you whispered, “Good luck,” and watched as he stepped away and swung away slowly. One of his hands still held tight to his side.

You waited there for a minute, bringing a thumb up to your lips. You felt how they still tingled and how they curved into a smile. But as soon as you were sure Peter had made it back to the warehouse already, you began making your way there with quick steps.

Maybe you were in over your head. Peter would probably call you stupid or reckless. But if he couldn’t handle if something happened to you, then he’d have to understand why you weren’t leaving him to go in there alone.

So you found yourself marching back to the place you never hoped to return to. Intense pounding went through your head with each step. Your palm felt slick with sweat, but you held tight onto the makeshift taser until your knuckles began to ache.

You were glad the warehouse was so secluded — hopefully no passerbyers would get caught in the fray. Or hear the commotion coming from inside. The muffled noise came from the far side of the building, near the front, so you hugged the opposite side of the alley as you made your way to the back. You guessed that they all concentrated on where Peter must have made an appearance, which only left one guard standing at the door.

Eyes flicking to the ground, you caught a glimpse of rock sitting in the cracks of the alleyway. Silently picking it up and pressing yourself into the shadows, you took a steadying breath that did little to calm your nerves in the midst of this insane idea. Still, your shaky arm reeled back to throw the rock up and over the guard, making it land on the other side of him.

As soon as he turned away from you, gun trained on the strange noise, you stepped from the dark and crept toward him. You gave yourself no time to second guess yourself before coming up behind him. Your internal monologue repeated, Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god as you raised the taser.

But as you went to press the taser into the guard, he turned back around in shock — throwing his elbow into your cheek in the process. A silent groan sat in your throat as your mouth hung open, a loud ringing going through your head. Pain bloomed outward from your face, and it took a moment to push past your swimming vision. Using all your strength, you lunged at him again and shoved the taser into the flesh of his neck.

In an instant, his body began convulsing. You did your best to try and let his weight down gently, but he just slid to the ground alongside you, unconscious and still twitching. Pushing him off, you sat on your knees and tried to catch your breath. You let the pain slowly dull with each passing second.

As you sat there, a glimpse of white against his dark uniform caught your eye — an ID badge hanging off his hip. It worked perfectly against the card reader at the back door, unlocking with a soft click for you to slip through. And there you were again, stood in the mouth of the beast once again.

In the back hallway away from the open floor, you could hear crashing and yelling coming from across the building. You only made it a few feet before footsteps sounded from the end of the hallway. Deep voices echoed off the concrete walls, each word louder than the next. You didn’t move or breathe until eventually, finally, they began to grow quieter.

From where you stood, heart still in your throat, you could tell the warehouse lights were still dimmed. So you searched along the walls, ears always listening for anyone coming back. You opened up the door after finding a circuit breaker, tracing a finger down the length of it. None of the switches were labeled, so after a moment of consideration, you flipped them all on — washing the building in bright fluorescents.

And just a few feet down the hall sat the thermostat. It was set to 65 degrees, but your hand quickly turned the dial up to the 89 degree mark. Within a few seconds, you heard the heater turn on and rumble through the vents. 

You nodded, hopeful that this could begin weakening Will enough for Peter to take him out. While bleeding and injured. While dozens of guards also tried to kill him. How could you let him come back here? How could he come back here and make you come back here to help his ass?

You began to turn around to go find him when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.

“Freeze-”

A gasp caught in your throat as you whipped around out of instinct and fear, immediately shoving the makeshift taser at the woman. It connected with the bottom of her jaw. With wide eyes, you watched as her body shook and fell to the ground just like the other guard. Your hand came up to cover your mouth while you stared. You didn’t think you would ever get used to that.

Slowly, you backed away down the hall. You did manage to grab her gun and hide it on a shelf when you made your way out there — rather than take it and risk shooting yourself or Peter, even if he did have superpowers.

Superpowers that you almost began to resent as you stepped into the open area of the warehouse — and the man himself immediately dropped down in front of you. You placed your hand over your mouth and swallowed the yelp that threatened to escape. Instead, you watched Peter as he guided the both of you behind a shelf. 

His chest rose and fell much too quickly, his stance wavering and unsteady. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to affect his attitude though, as he came closer and angrily whispered, “What the hell are you doing here? I can’t believe you did this.”

You gave him a soft, disbelieving look, a closed-lipped smile on your face. “Yes, you can.”

He brought his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A long sigh left his mouth. “Alright,” he said, “I can believe it. But you need to leave now.” He tried weakly pushing you toward the back door again.

You didn’t budge. “Oh, okay. Yeah, now that I’ve snuck in to help — by electrocuting two guards into unconsciousness, by the way — I’ll just go on my merry way,” you whispered back, twisting your face into a mocking expression. “How about you shut up and just let me help?”

“That’s why you asked for the weapon?” He quietly groaned before looking at you again, his head cocking. “Two guards? That’s not bad.”

“Thank you. Now, I’ve turned up the heat and lights. So let’s go.”

For a moment, he considered you. His eye covered by the mask looked expressionless, distant. But his exposed eye made you pause — his gaze feeling resigned, desperate in a way that made your heart twist. You didn’t want to imagine the other compromises or sacrifices Spider-Man has had to make over the years. And you didn’t have time to. So you swallowed those thoughts and simply grabbed his hand, entwining your fingers with his to pull him farther into the warehouse.

As you slowly moved down the aisles, you whispered, “Give me one of your web shooters.”

You already knew his answer from the blank stare he shot sideways at you. “I’m not giving you one of my web shooters. I need them.” Part of his words told you he really did need them to get you both through this. The other part said he didn’t trust you to not accidentally shoot him with his own webs.

“Well don’t you have an extra one or something?” you shot back.

“Do you see this suit? Where could I even keep an extra web shooter on me?” he quietly asked, his free hand raising outstretched and exasperated.

You let your eyes trail across the suit per his suggestion — until Peter said, “Okay, that’s enough ogling.” And even for the briefest of moments, it felt good to smile with him. 

But at another crash several aisles down, he stiffened. You felt his rapid heartbeat pulse against your skin as he held up a hand. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.

You tried to squeeze his hand, to give him some sort of mention to be careful or to not get himself killed out there, but his fingers slipped through yours as he instantly swung away. Your palm radiated leftover warmth as you hid, thinking through the plan. Hopefully, the two of you wouldn’t have to wait long for Will to show symptoms, which would just leave many guards and Ellis. Peter seemed confident that they couldn’t fight their way out of this.

But under the commotion of guards around the warehouse, yelling and fighting coming from seemingly everywhere, you didn’t hear the heavy footsteps until they were too close. Whipping around, you saw Ellis appear at the end of the aisle, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. He raised his gun, aiming it right at you as he said, “Found you now.” His voice sounded colder, void of any of the charm he had when speaking to the public.

Instinctively, you backed away from him — from the man that made cold dread creep through your body and steal the breath from your lungs — but your steps stuttered when a web came from the ceiling and yanked the gun from Ellis’ grip. It flew upward, but you didn’t wait to see Ellis’ reaction before silently thanking Peter and sprinting the other way.

Only to be met with Will standing on the other side of the long aisle. 

His twisted smile and disheveled hair falling into his face fueled the icy weight dropping into your gut. His bloody fingers tightened around the end of the blade he held in one hand. The other gripped a pistol.

You turned to look back at Ellis to see him fighting against more webs. As Will approached with heavy steps, his arm shaking as he aimed his gun at you, you forced your body to move.

Without thinking, you ducked and crawled past boxes sitting on the large shelf and emerged into the next aisle. You couldn’t think about the thudding sounds of bullets hitting metal around you.

You knew he’d be on you soon, his mutated powers making him too powerful. So you crawled across to the next aisle, pushing aside scattered equipment before throwing yourself through that shelf too. You went through a few more aisles and shelves to create at least a little distance. In the last shelf you passed, you hid yourself between the boxes. You stilled just a second before you heard him enter the aisle.

Clamping a hand over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut as his footsteps grew louder with each passing second. Your other hand began to ache from gripping the taser between your fingers.

“Run all you like. It won’t change how this all ends,” Will seethed, his voice becoming closer to you. A raggedness filled his words, and you hoped that meant the plan was working.

Still, Peter’s name repeated over and over in your mind, a silent prayer for him to come help. But you could hear more guards approaching, each one feeling like an extra shovel digging your graves.

The guards seemed to be coming to find the commotion, but from the sounds, it seemed like Peter was holding them off. You could only imagine the exhaustion and pain riddling his body as he never stopped fighting.

And you hoped he wouldn’t stop as a shaking, powerful hand wrapped itself around your arm and yanked you from the shelf. No sound could escape your mouth — every inch of it went dry in the face of Will’s bloodshot eyes. 

One hand reached to claw at his grip while the other brought the taser up to his neck. But he knocked it away before sending you flying from the aisles into the open space. You heard a growl rip from his throat before it disappeared under the ringing in your ears, a breathless groan dribbling from your agape lips, as you fell against the concrete.

In between slow blinking and painful winces, you caught sight of Peter coming down and fighting against Will. Even with the sweat starting to bead along your skin, the extra heat and lights weren’t enough yet to weaken him. You saw how fast his punches were, how slow Peter was to dodge them.

Your arms trembled as you pushed yourself onto one elbow. Gritting your teeth, you ignored the ache throbbing behind your eyes. You began to stand up again only for a blow to knock you back down and sliding across the floor.

“God, I’ve just had fucking enough of you. Stay down for once, sweetheart. Okay?”

Past watery vision, you raised your head to see a bloody Ellis pointing a gun down at you. You held your breath, not daring to move as nausea and fear turned to sludge in your stomach. His knuckles look torn and raw, his suit ripped along his shoulders and arms. One hand of his ran through his hair, leaving a smear of blood along his hairline.

Just as you were to silently call for Peter again or to close your eyes and wait for this all to be over, a strangled groan echoed throughout the warehouse. A second later, Peter’s ragged body flew from the shelves and hit the ground, sliding until he slammed into the building’s wall. A cry escaped your mouth at seeing his limp form, and you only breathed again once you saw him beneath the debris and dust. Blood dribbled from his shoulder. More rips spread along his suit. But weakly, slowly, you could see his chest continue to rise and fall.

Before you could try to crawl over to him, Will emerged from the aisles — his smile victorious even as his muscles shook. From where you lay, you couldn’t see any more guards. Peter must have gotten them all. Now you just needed a little more time.

“His current state is going to make it harder to get answers out of him, William,” Ellis said. He stretched his neck side to side as he continued to train his gun directly at your heart.

Will let out a breathy laugh as he made his way closer. “I was just having some fun testing out my powers.” He flexed his hands in front of him, his heartbeat visible in the raised veins just beneath his skin. “Besides, I’m sure there are ways to get him to talk…”  

His gaze rose to connect with yours.

He dropped the end of his blade to the ground, letting it drag against the concrete with each step. The slicing sound may as well have been the blade itself running along your throat.

You began to shuffle backward, needing to get as far away from him and his torture plan as possible. Your teeth dug so far into your cheek that you began to taste blood. Fresh tears pooled along your eyes as you called out, “When were you going to tell him, Ellis?”

Still several feet away, Will paused for a moment, the blade hanging looser from his grasp. His eyes flicked to his father’s.

Ellis' shout echoed across the building, making you flinch. “What are you doing? Grab her. We need to leave.”

You didn’t let either of them think before blurting out, “When were you going to tell your son that his body’s rejecting the DNA? That they’re going to kill him?”

Ellis nearly growled out his next words as he stalked closer. “Shut. Up. You don’t know anything, you worthless girl.”

You scrambled back farther, your hands searching for anything along the ground. Your fingers grasped a broken shard of glass, bringing it in front of your body. It looked so miniscule, so useless, trembling before him.

“Is that true?”

Will’s words broke through, and for a brief moment, you recognized him again — he was the man you danced with. Only this time, he looked empty.

The question made Ellis stop this time, his eyes squeezing shut for a second.

“Father?”

You saw how Will’s skin looked red and blotchy, how his breathing became harder with each passing second. He knew something was wrong.

“Tell him, Ellis. Tell him why he’s becoming weaker by the minute.” You tried to keep your voice steady, and though it wavered and scratched, it still struck the tense thread holding them together.

For too long, no one spoke. You fought to not look away from Ellis’ stare that pierced through you. Every breath, every tiny move he made, you watched him from behind the broken glass.

Will pleaded, shouting,“Dad!”

Finally, Ellis broke from the trance and dropped the gun just slightly, turning toward Will. You took the brief moment to glance to Peter. In… out. In… out. He was here. He was okay. He would be okay.

You turned back when Ellis let out a resigned sigh, refusing to fully meet his son’s gaze. “We are working on a cure… a treatment to stabilize your body’s reactions. There was no use in worrying you before we found it.”

“Except that tiring his body worsens it — it kills him faster,” you gritted past split lips, despite flinching when Ellis aimed the gun at you again.

“Shut the hell up!” he yelled, gripping the gun’s handle until his knuckles turned white. You raised your chin higher.

“Is she right?” Will asked.

“I…” Ellis began, groaning and dropping the gun to his side. He reached his other hand toward Will, turning toward him completely. “It’s…” And for once, you heard Ellis Beaumont have nothing to say — no lies to spew. Still, he approached Will, trying to embrace him.

But Will backed away, his tripping over one another. “You did this to me,” he whispered, almost in awe. Then, his voice rose with each word until he was shouting. “You used me as some lap dog and knew that it was destroying me from the inside out?”

Ellis approached again. “Son–”

“No! Get the hell off me,” Will screamed, pressing his hands into his father’s chest and shoving with all his strength.

Ellis stumbled, and you relished in the way his mouth opened and shut without saying anything. 

“No. Don’t say another goddamn thing. No more telling me what to do like I’m a child,” he paused, his jaw clenching. His irises seemed to glow a sickly green, his voice becoming deep and alien. “Like I’m just some tool to get you your money.”

What lit the awaiting wick, though, was Ellis — in all his confidence and cowardice for his own safety — raised his gun at his son. You swore you saw the instant Will lost all semblance of control.

His body surged forward, tackling his father to the ground. Ellis yelled out, but it cut short when he hit the concrete. Any noise he made disappeared under the sound of Will’s fist hitting his dad. An animalistic growl rang out, and for a moment, you sat entranced, watching the pain pass across both of their faces as they battled. 

You stared at the tears flying from Will’s eyes until your arm could no longer hold up the shard of glass. Its sharp edges pressed into your skin, but as they continued fighting, you dropped it to crawl toward Peter’s body.

Your eyes stayed on the two men while you passed over debris and the occasional webbed-up guard. You pushed away the wreckage despite the aching fire licking across every part of your body. Glimpses of red peaked through as you uncovered Peter. Immediately, you felt his chest for a pulse, for his ragged-but-stable breaths. A gasp escaped your mouth as you felt it dimly beating. You then moved to put pressure on the bullet wound on his side. 

The pained groan he let out choked your heart. On the tip of your tongue, his name stood begging to leap off the edge and surround his body until he was okay again.

Instead, with darting eyes and trembling lips, you whispered, “Spidey.”

When he didn’t respond, you took hold of his arms and shook him slightly. Tears dripped down your cheeks, your voice becoming more desperate. “C’mon. We have to go. You have to get out of here.” You pushed his exposed hair back under his mask again. He barely stirred.

“Please,” you cried out, pulling on him, prepared to try and drag him out of there. “You can’t ditch me, asshole. I’m not doing this alone.”

Beneath the yelling of Ellis’ pleading and Will’s incessant punches, you heard Peter murmur something. You didn’t dare breathe, only whispering for him to repeat.

“You’re… an… asshole,” Peter grumbled, his face twisting as he opened his eyes. His head lolled to the side, a dry swallow passing down his throat. If he wasn’t in so much pain, you might’ve thought about hitting him for that. Instead, a splitting smile overtook your face.

But you didn’t have time to stop when Peter’s hands tensed around you. He moved just slightly to look toward the Beaumonts, prompting you to whip your head in their direction again.

You looked just in time to see Will wavering above Ellis, his eyes blinking slower and slower. A second later, he slumped forward and off of Ellis’ body onto the ground. Will appeared to be breathing still, but he was weak. 

Any momentary relief you felt vanished as Ellis sat up, that wild look back on his face. Your hold on Peter tightened, your body thrown back into desperate fear. Ellis reached a few feet out to grab the blade Will had before training his eyes on you — like a predator locked onto its prey.

“You little-”

Grabbing Peter’s nearly limp arm, you repeatedly pressed down on his web shooter’s trigger before Ellis could finish his sentence. Webs flew out and encompassed the man, wrapping him and sticking him to the floor.

“Thank you,” Peter muttered. “He was giving me a headache.”

You were sure it was the multiple head injuries doing that, but you appreciated the humor while your heart rate returned to normal.

“C’mon. We’re leaving,” you urged him. With all of your strength, you did your best to support Peter’s weight as he slowly stood and staggered onto you. You could hear the groans he continued to bite back.

You held onto him tight, keeping him balanced. “Okay, do you have your phone on you?”

“Yeah…”

You waited for him to fish it out from a slim pocket. Using your free hand, you took several pictures of the Beaamonts lying there and the ruined warehouse. Your investigative heart wanted to take a hundred images from every angle, but your rational mind told you to leave. It took all your effort to move on. Trying to ignore the dizziness in the corners of your vision, you wrapped an arm around Peter’s side and walked to the back of the warehouse.

You both passed through the back door, out over the threshold of that place — finally out into the night for good. He’d be okay.

Along the warehouse’s high windows, flashes of police lights reflected down onto Peter’s face. He gritted his teeth and raised his arm to the skyline, staring into your eyes. “Ready, sunshine?”

You let yourself be pulled in closer to his side, blinking away the stinging tears.

And from this angle, with cascading cherry and violet lights raining down onto Peter’s profile, you found that you didn’t mind red and blue so much anymore.

Nodding, you slowly drew your eyes to his. “Ready.”

—

Your words spilled through gritted teeth, your jaw clenched tight. “I hate you so much, Peter.” 

Your palms were sweaty as you forced yourself to stay focused despite that rage building in your chest. It continued up your body, crawling along your throat.

“Really? After all I’ve done for you?” Peter asked, his tone incredulous. You could feel the waves of heat rolling off of him.

Your expression sinking into a frown, you muttered, “It’s only fitting, considering that you lie and hide secrets.”

“Oh come on…” He scoffed, holding up a hand. “That’s low. And if you think about it, it was really only one secret!”

“That you lied about multiple times!”

He sat back next to you against the couch cushions, the weight of him drawing you closer. “You’re just a sore loser, and you’re angry that I whooped your ass in Mario Kart. Again,” he said, and you finally turned your gaze from the screen to look at him.

Light streamed in through his apartment’s window, the afternoon sun dancing across his face. His eyes turned to a soft caramel under its attention. His hair was undone, feathering along his forehead. Slowly, he grew closer, raising one eyebrow as if daring you to tell him he’s wrong.

Crossing your arms, determined not to be affected by his stare, you told him, “I literally beat you in the last game.”

He rolled his eyes. “Cause you cheated!”

“Look who’s the sore loser now,” you laughed out, your mouth turning into a gentle smile.

The two of you were face to face on the couch, breaths mixing together. A moment of silence passed, Peter’s softening eyes roaming across you. His thumb reached over to brush along the outside of your thigh. “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

You didn’t try to fight your wide grin or the heat rising to your cheeks. In a whisper, you asked, “You think I’m adorable?”

His only answer was a slight huff as he leaned forward, kissing you. It only lasted a moment, your lips chasing his when he pulled away. “I’m gonna grab a drink, don’t sabotage my controller while I’m gone,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Want anything?”

“I’ll take whatever’s on tap,” you said, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

Slowly, he rose from the couch, taking heavy breaths as he winced. His healing injuries — mental and physical — were better, but they weren’t gone altogether. Neither were yours. 

They probably wouldn’t be for a while. Though, after waking up panicked and breathless from repeated nightmares, it helped having someone there to bring you back down. It helped having someone take care of yourself when that seemed impossible. And it helped knowing you weren’t alone in this.

You watched him make his way to the kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge. In these past days since the warehouse incident, it sometimes scared you how easy this was. Staying at his apartment together, helping one another recover. Your things sat scattered around his place, like they belonged. You wondered when he was going to say something, to ask you to go back home and tend to your wounds alone. When you both healed, would it all go back to how it was?

When a notification sound came from Peter’s phone, your eyes drew down to it for a second. Not knowing whether it was urgent Spider-Man business — not that he should’ve been doing it given his state — you called out, “Your phone dinged!”

Head still in the fridge, his words muffled, Peter called back, “Can you check it for me?”

You paused for a moment, letting a feeling of warmth settle in your chest before grabbing his phone. Just from the notification preview, you could tell what it was.

“Add another tally to your offers to interview for a job,” you told him, shaking your head — a smile evident in your voice. “This one’s for a junior photographer position.”

“What does that bring us up to now?” he asked, closing the refrigerator. He brought a glass of water and what you assumed was Dr. Pepper that’d gone flat.

“I think we’re tied at three each — though they’re just asking us to apply and interview.” You let out a sigh, trying not to get your hopes up. “It’s no guarantee of a job. They’re just interested in our story.”

Peter pointed a finger at you from around the glass. “Our story that kicks ass and put the corrupt city manager and his son away. That’s a piece that belongs on something bigger than The Daily Bugle.”

“You really think so?”

You looked up at him, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Sunshine, the greatest compliment Jameson could spit out was that it’s a ‘mighty fine’ story — before obviously yelling at us for not getting more pictures of Spider-Man during it… and that our injuries were no excuse, of course,” he told you with a wry sarcasm as he set the glasses down on the coffee table. Sitting next to you, his expression softened. His hand wrapped around yours. “But now you have the chance at something bigger.”

You grinned back at him. “But how could I ever pass up a job with… how’d he say it? ‘Minimal benefits and guaranteed maximum overtime’?”

Peter’s laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating a comforting rhythm against you. Next to you, your phone buzzed this time. Picking it up, you told him, “Oh, another one! It’s 4 to 3 now — I’m in the lead.”

His grin made yours even wider, and you were unable to fight it as his hands cupped your jaw, his fingers careful to avoid the bruises along your cheekbone. “You see? You’ve got the whole world in the palm of your hand.” His eyes pulled you in, begging you to fall into him completely as he pressed his lips to yours once again.

You could’ve stayed there forever, sitting on that ripped couch in Peter’s apartment that you swore to never return to. Your fingers twisted in the ends of his hair pulling him even closer. The rest of the world melted away for at least a little while, leaving just the two of you in this bubble. When you eventually pulled away, your foreheads rested against one another, your nose nudging against his.

“Oh!” you said, leaning back, “I almost forgot. I picked up a frame while out grocery shopping — I couldn’t help myself.” You stood up, grabbing a bag from the dining table and pulling out a cheap picture frame. The story you’d already cut out from the newspaper felt smooth between your fingers as you carefully placed it in the frame.

You kept it close to your body while looking around for a good spot to hang it up, not that the walls had much — or anything — really on them. Deciding on a nice place between the door and living room, you asked, “Want to do the honors?”

Fishing out a nail from his tool drawer, which was really just a kitchen drawer full of scattered household items, you held it out to Peter along with the frame. It took some willpower to not gasp as he merely pushed the nail into the wall without a hammer and hung up the frame.

Straightening it just right, he stepped back and wrapped his arm around your back. You took it in, the first real decoration in his apartment — the story that brought the two of you together framed against the pale walls. Your names shone clearly at the top, next to the large letters spelling out, “Fundraiser or Fraud? The Beaumont Empire Falls.”

Leaning into him, your palm rubbing circles on his lower back, you asked, “Do you like it?”

His voice came out soft, the words curling around the ends of your body. “It’s perfect.”

It wasn’t, not with the ill-fitting frame or the story that likely needed further digging and refining. But right now, with Peter, it was perfect. You let your mind run through everything you two had gone through together, how you’d ended up here.

After a minute of thinking, though, something kept drawing your attention. Pursing your lips, you turned back to him. “Hey Peter?”

“Hmm?”

“I just have a quick question. When we were trying to get into the fundraiser, you said you ‘knew a guy.’ Did you just mean yourse-”

“Myself? Yeah. I’m the guy,” he told you, nodding repeatedly. Nonchalantly.

You scoffed, slightly laughing. You really were insane to have gone in on this project with him. “And then you made fake IDs and gave me some fake wedding ring so we could sneak in…” you said in disbelief.

Turning to grab his drink from the table, he furrowed his eyebrows. “The ring you borrowed? ‘S not fake — do you still have that, by the way?” he asked, taking a sip. “Need to return that.”

You took a beat staring at him wordlessly. Your mind crossed several things to say that you decided to hold back. “Peter, what do you mean it’s not fake? That giant rock on my finger was real?”

“Yeah, I borrowed it as a favor from a jewelry store. I saved the place from robbers breaking in.” He shrugged, the flannel his wore swaying around his body.

This relationship was going to take years off of you… 

Your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m going to kill you,” you half-heartedly murmured. Your eyes raised to meet his, your finger pointing at him. “You know, you’re so careless about all this. I fucking knew you were Spider-Man for so long.”

“Oh, bullshit,” he laughed out, walking closer to you. “Now you didn’t. And as long as we’re being honest, I was going to give you the Daily Bugle job offer at the end of the internship the whole time. So really… you didn’t have to do any of this.” His face morphed into a teasing cockiness that sparked a fire in your chest.

The two of you stared at one another, eyes alight but mouths fighting back smiles. All at once, a calm washed over you. “Are we done bickering?”

Peter rested his hands on your hips. He nodded softly, sweetly, as if nothing but you filled his mind. “Yeah, we’re done.”

You leaned forward, kissing him once before whispering against his lips, “Great, now grab the controller — ‘m gonna kick your ass in Mario Kart again.”

@dil3mma @hollandweather @reidslovely @a-lumos-in-the-nox @keepingitlokiii @thedevax @sincericida @agent-tempest @olivezgalore @qwintlimon7 @eddieslooneymoonie @aheadfullofsteverogers @bitchy-bi-trash

[thedeviltohisangel]

Hello!! I love Cass and Bucky so much! Could I request #21 from the injury prompt list?

“Please be okay. Please be okay, please be okay—”

Thank youuuu!!!💕💕

INJURY BLURB PROMPT ERA

a little bit of cass' pregnancy with the twins

tw: descriptions of pregnancy, discussions of miscarriage

Cass shifted uncomfortably in her chair for what felt like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. The briefing on strategic intentions in the Soviet Union not keeping her attention in the slightest.

"Is something wrong, Mrs. Egan?" She looked up at the sound of her supervisor and froze at the sight of all the eyes around the table looking in her direction.

"No, sir." Cass was acutely aware that she was the only woman in the room and none of them would understand, or care for that matter, that she was trying to navigate the uncomfortable reality of growing a baby. Especially one that seemed to already have the size of their father. Her fakest smile wormed its way across her face and she attempted to settle back into her chair and focus on the satellite images projected against the screen.

In reality, her hands spent the rest of the brief kneading at her belly in the hopes of inspiring the press of a foot or shift of a hand. It had been a little over a day since she had felt the movement of the little one nestled inside of her and she was beginning to feel anxiety creep up her back. John had been away on an overnight test flight or she would have mentioned it earlier and Cass was certain he would have had her at the hospital before she even finished expressing her concern.

Instead, she was keeping it to herself. Cass had already experienced one miscarriage by herself and she was not looking to repeat the experience. If she could just wait until John got home, he would fix everything and she would be able to sleep again.

"Ma'am, you have missed calls from the section chief, something about a former source in Moscow, and the assistant director sent his secretary down-"

"Mary?" Her assistant paused the list she was reading from her notepad as they both walked purposefully through the halls back to Cass' office. "Your cousin recently had a baby, didn't she?"

"Yes, ma'am. Just last month." Cass rested her hand on Mary's arm and pulled her off to the side of the hall.

"Did she ever express worry that her baby...had stopped moving?" Mary's eyes flickered to Cass' pregnant stomach and back up to her face.

"When's the last time you ate, Mrs. Egan? They say sometimes they just need a little sugar to get going again."

"I was only able to eat a couple bites of breakfast before I got pulled into meetings this morning." Mary nodded.

"I'll get you a Coca-Cola and see what the cafeteria has while you call the section chief?" She ripped the piece of paper with the phone number on it and handed it to Cass.

"Yes. That is a great plan, Mary, thank you." Cass squeezed her hand around Mary's as she took the phone number. "If John calls..."

"Not a word, ma'am. I promise."

"Mrs. Egan! Walk with me." Cass gave Mary another thankful squeeze before she was trotting down the hall to keep up with the man who had called her name. Mary sighed as she watched Cass, who she considered family at this point, and sent a quick prayer to the sky that baby Egan was merely sleepy and would quell all the worries in their mother's mind after some lunch. The little one was already so loved by so many people and Mary couldn't think of two people more deserving of this blessing than Cass and John.

----

The lights were on in the kitchen and the upstairs bedroom suite when John arrived home after his two days away. He was grinning at the thought of seeing his wife again before he even made it to the front door, one night away from their bed on the border of how much he could handle. And not to mention the way he had lost sleep over missing the nightly conversations he had with their little one. Only three more months and he would be able to hold them and kiss them and feel the softness of their cheeks under his finger.

"Cass? Baby?" he called as he closed the door behind him. "Butter?" It was rare that she didn't greet him as soon as he walked through the door if she was home before him and wherever she went, Butter followed. John felt something settle in his stomach.

"Lieutenant Colonel Egan! A pleasure to have you back. How was your trip?" Alice, their housekeeper, came out from the kitchen and reached to take his bag from him.

"It was fine, Alice, thank you for asking. Is my missus around?"

"Her and Sir Butter were taking a bath." John smiled at the nickname and nodded his thanks before heading up the stairs. Her clothes were scattered around the bedroom floor, a few of Butter's toys discarded along with them, the sound of his wife crying sneaking out from under the bathroom door.

John knocked gently before calling her name and opening the door. Butter was licking tears from her cheeks as she held onto him tightly, the dog only sparing John a glance before he was back to comforting his mother.

"Hey, baby," he said softly as he moved to kneel next to her, "what happened?"

"I messed up. I messed up and I'm so sorry." Cass inhaled shakily as she buried her nose in the fur by Butter's collar and he whimpered as if to ask John for help to fix her sadness.

"Ok. Ok, well, tell me what happened and we can fix it. I'll fix it, baby, whatever happened, I'll fix it." He stroked his fingers down her cheek and ached to pull her into his arms.

"I haven't felt the baby move since you left. And I've tried everything. I've asked everyone what to do and I've followed their advice and nothing has worked." He moved his fingers to twine around hers, holding his eyes steady so the fear in them would hopefully stay locked away. She needed him to be strong and steady. His emotions could wait. "And I've already felt this way all alone before and I couldn't...I couldn't..."

John didn't care as he stepped into the bathtub, uniform and all, and pulled her and Butter against his chest. Cass wrapped one arm around him, the other still around her fur baby, and sobbed into his chest.

"Have you...has there been any blood? Any other symptoms?" Like before? Is what he was really asking.

"No. Just a black hole in my chest." Butter whined and dipped his nose under the water to nudge at her belly.

"He's saying his little brother or sister is still in there. And you're always telling me he's the smartest dog in the world, right? Butter would know." John bit the inside of his cheek as he felt a familiar stinging behind his eyes. "Spook, let's dry off and go to the hospital. Just to check and make sure everything is alright." She nodded against his chest.

"Butter's coming too," she stated with a kiss to his nose.

And when the nurses looked at him with confusion as he hopped onto Cass' hospital bed and rested his head on her belly, looking at her with adoration, none of the Egans could have cared less.

"The Doctor will be right with you, Mr. and Mrs. Egan." John's smile was tight as he stood from the chair and paced with his hands on his hips.

"You'd think they'd show a little urgency," he griped as he peered out the door every few steps. It wasn't like his entire fucking world was hinging on the outcome of this visit. He looked over at his wife who was slowly petting Butter with one hand, the other resting loosely on top of her belly.

"No matter what, we'll be ok?" He was at her side in a breath, her hand to his lips and his own palm resting where their baby was.

"Oh, Cass, you're my love. We'll always be ok as long as we have each other." There was a knock at the door, Cass unable to speak as John greeted him and explained what had brought them here tonight.

She held her breath and squeezed her husband's hand as the doctor pressed his stethoscope to her stomach, frowning as he moved it around and pressed again.

"Please be okay. Please be okay, please be okay," she whispered as she felt John's hand grow clammy with every passing second. Butter looked ready to bite the doctor if he didn't produce good news.

'Would you like to hear your baby's heartbeat, Mr. Egan?"

"Does that mean...?" Her voice trailed off.

"They sound strong and healthy, Mrs. Egan. Nothing to worry about. Might just be a little cramped in there is all." John chuckled and took the stethoscope that was offered to him, grinning like a school boy on Christmas morning when he heard the steady thumping of his child.

"They sound like Egans," he laughed as Cass let tears of relief drift down her face.

"You were right, my baby," she cooed as she scratched behind Butter's ears. She kissed between his eyes and he licked her nose in return. "I'm sorry for scaring you, Johnny." He squeezed himself next to her as the doctor left to get their paperwork.

"Hey, we knew being parents was never going to be easy. Our baby is just putting us through our paces a little early."

"Yeah. But it will be so fucking worth it to hold them in three months." She closed her eyes against his chest. "I still like the name Gale."

"I told you. We're having a girl." Cass scrunched her nose.

"I'm their mother. It's a boy."

Butter tilted his head. Did they not know there were two?

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2024 No. 1 - Panic Attack

He woke up convinced, the tent roof must have torn. Sure, in the hurry of their departure, he'd probably been sloppy with the equipment check and reached for some old gear by accident which hadn’t withstood the test of heavy Canadian snow. Now his damn sleeping pad was soaked and by sunrise, he'd probably be down with some flu instead of helping his mission partner hunt down the deserted Weapon X armory they'd come here to check on after some alarming activity readings close by lately …

Only that couldn’t be quite right because he wasn’t freezing. At all.

The more, orientation tried to creep into his sleep-addled mind, the more he realized that actually, this felt more like his clothes and the paper-thin mattress were sticking to his numb-feeling skin sticky and salty instead of clammy and freezing. There was also the suspicious fact that his throat was burning with far too hectic, shallow breaths, every muscle in his body tense, his hands trembling so badly that even the weak attempt failed to push the cover, which also felt like he could easily have wrung it out to dry, off of his far too hot shape. And trying to shake off what had such an alarming grip on him, long after leaving an apparently far too intense REM state behind, only had those very same images in his head crash down on him all over.

Gritting his teeth, Scott rolled on his stomach and braced himself on both fists to force at least that tremor in his hands under control, gritting his labored breathing through his teeth with his eyes firmly shut behind his sleeping goggles as the disgusting sensation of cold sweat tried to keep stinging in them. More impatiently by the second, he waited for that newest wave of long-meaningless memories and slaughtered demons in his mind to pass, while he counted both the seconds and his blessings regarding his tent partner's absence, courtesy of Logan's hunting instincts having taken over before they'd even laid down. The last thing he needed right now was someone to baby him over what was nothing more than a couple of blurry images of a little blood and humiliation in his head. Not like Scott hadn’t had plenty of that long before the Orchis war already. Plus, he'd already had one embarrassing freakout over that shit after his little run-in with that asshole of a Suit in a certain diner a couple of days ago.

One panic attack a month, he could fit in his schedule if he squinted. That was already more attention than these latest bigot bastards whom mutant world had sent into oblivion, deserved.

He was pretty confident he'd gotten that message through to his rebellious body, feeling that unbearable tightness in his chest giving in slightly when he forced his thoughts onto the pleasantly intimate mission at hand that Logan had practically dragged him along to. Not least in order for the two of them to get some time to work out their issues. To find back whatever strength, harmony and stability they'd drawn from their feelings for each other on the moon at the time, and to move forward, finally, in this new, so much smaller mutant world, even without Jean by their side for the moment …

But that latest reminder that the woman Scott loved and had given his all and life for more than once, dwelled millions of light years away from him while he was busy keeping their mutual mission for peace on Earth together by the seams … That pain wrecked into the rusty wall around his messed-up emotional world right again, bringing back all that had haunted him in his dreams a minute ago. All that had followed his wife's latest temporary demise last summer, and a certain long fall, ending once more with Scott's body broken in more places than the Orchis medic hacks had managed or been willing to mend for many months … with none of those injuries coming even close to what had come after though. Close to what no one but the people present at the time knew details about, to what even Jean had only been able to guess at.

As the phantom pain throbbed through his still freshly relocated ribs, his scarred eyelids, his cramping guts, the acid of glycerine and copper and black powder burning on his tongue, he wondered, not for the first time, if this, right here, was why Jean preferred the vast open to the confined fucked up mess that was a marriage with him.

The shaking growing worse instead of better by the second, he found himself tearing at his soaked clothes without even really realizing it, brittle nails scratching faint stripes into his skin, his breathing hardly more than a wheezing, strangled hiss at this point that threatened to leave him dizzy instead of just lightheaded. Not that blacking out felt like the worst option right now.

Hell, whom was he trying to fool? He was a fucking wreck, pretending to resemble even a shadow of the once unwavering leader that whatever was left of the X-Men would have needed right now. It really was no surprise there were hardly any of their kind following his call to Alaska or that his own wife preferred not to be even in the same damn galaxy as him. And that the man Scott also happened to love couldn’t stand to be in one room with him for longer than an hour at a stretch and would probably fuck off from his life and team again as quickly as he'd shown up today …

Scott almost jumped out of his crawling skin when something ice-cold and wet suddenly grazed his neck, his hand – fortunately still quite uncoordinated – reaching for his glasses on pure instinct. Only when a familiar grip of faster reflexes pushed it back down to the ground, Scott spotted its familiar huge, hairy shape from the corner of his eyes, and his scrambled brain checked back in with reality.

Belatedly, he felt the soothing touch of a stiff fall breeze coming in through opened tent flap, filling his clenched lungs with a much needed sob of clear air, as a far gentler touch between his shoulder blades further grounded him, guiding him to lie flat on his stomach. His defensively clawed fists found another snow-filled piece of clothing somewhere in front of him to dig into, its temperature further helping to freeze the irrationally panicked reactions of his body bit by bit.

Only when the painful razor strokes in the back of his throat turned into a somewhat tolerable rhythm heaving his chest, the familiar weight of a smaller but far broader chest settled down on him, pressing him into the sweat-soiled mat, and Scott thought he should probably be disgusted. But for that, it felt far too good, at least not trembling away by himself in the dark anymore.

Not to mention that, while Logan was smelling of his unplanned sprint back to the tent, and of fur and blood of whatever he'd tried to cut them for a late-night snack, there was also that very familiar, comfortable fragrance of whiskey and tobacco and freshly cut woods surrounding him that Scott would always have recognized immediately in a million, no matter the meaningless escapades of the past that his messed up brain was caught in at any given time ...

And without him really realizing, the torturous tension in his limbs and spine finally left his stiff shape for good.

Finally, he could really breathe again.

Talk, even, though he knew his partner well enough at this point to be aware, that was usually pretty secondary to him. "I always forget how good you are with this."

Scott more knew the shrug to be there than feeling it or seeing it from the corner of his eyes when he arduously turned his head, trying to catch his lover's gaze.

"Routine." Logan nuzzled his face against Scott's still slightly feverish neck for a precious second of even more comfort, his thick beard scratching Scott's skin when just the hint of a kiss found his pulse line, drawing away as soon as his lover seemed satisfied with the pace there, enough to sit up again already.

Scott let him, though with the worst of the attack over, he was suddenly freezing miserably. But extensive cuddling was for victory sex, at most, or for those rare nights that they'd managed to spend together with the third in their relationship back then.

But he forced himself to turn around as soon as he could move again before his partner could vanish into the night again. This time, he managed to find the darkened look in those narrow bright eyes and immediately wished he wouldn’t have, seeing all reflected in there that the two of them had never worked out, even long before the fall of their last home.

Maybe they never would. Maybe in truth, they'd only come here, on this trip a couple of days apart from the others, to leave the past behind instead. To find a way to move on, somehow.

Scott just wished he had the faintest clue where to start. "What's routine saying, how long until the dreams stop?"

He didn’t need to specify, not with someone who'd been through his own plenty share of torture, of living with ticking bombs inside his body, of having been torn to pieces and put back together for sports.

Maybe Scott should take to nightly hunting himself.

Too bad that for an Alaskan, he famously lacked a real love for freezing his balls off.

A faint grin curled on Logan's lips as if he'd read his mind; Scott's reflexes actually were good enough again to catch when Logan threw him a flask with the good stuff and sat back against the still half-open tent flap. "Why do you think you never see me sleep, Slim?"

Scott let out an unhappy sigh and grimaced at the sharp taste in his mouth, happy to give the bottle right back. It wasn’t like he'd expected anything different. Logan wasn’t here to figure shit out for him. Only to support him while he tried to manage that on his own. "I lack the feral metabolism to get by on booze and passing out for an hour every other night. Can't run a team on coffee IVs and delirium speeches."

The hint of moonlight shining through the flap crack had Logan's sharp canines flash in a now broader smile. "Didn’t stop you couple of years back when we tried to kill each other at every turn."

Well, yeah, Scott had run into that one headfirst. "I like to think we progressed from there."

For a moment, Logan promptly looked as if he'd slip back outside immediately again at just a hint of that required but maybe not entirely urgent conversation in the air again …

When he saw Scott still slightly clumsily reaching for the covers again, he pulled the tent close from inside with an impatient sigh and got down on his own mattress, unceremoniously pulling Scott into his arms from behind. The ever-present heat of his mutation breathed a far more comfortable warmth into Scott's cells than those dreams earlier. No urgency of another kind, not out here, not when they were on the clock … But Scott thought, they might at least finally get to that once they'd return to the base, now that the silent awkwardness from the first few hours after Logan's arrival was beginning to fade.

"Us, maybe. The world didn’t. Not sure it ever will, Slim."

They'd had that talk before, too, not too long ago, so Scott just answered with a tired shrug. "Me neither. But if I gave up on it before we can tell for certain that it's hopeless, I'd become either Charles or Erik. Not sure either this damn piece of rock or I would go down first when it came to that. Is that what you want me to become?"

"If I did, I wouldn’t be here now, watching your thin ass for your wife until she comes back from her latest ego trip," Logan answered soberly, and Scott thought he should probably hate him a little for saying what he himself hadn’t even let himself think in such clear terms but couldn’t bring himself to.

If they were only holding on to each other for the moment, maybe this was a good time, making sure, that at least wouldn’t go to hell again anytime soon. "Maybe I don’t want you just as a placeholder. Maybe I want you to stick."

"Guys like us don’t do promises, Slim," Logan reminded him softly but pulled him another inch closer instead of pulling away, tree trunk-sized thigh bracketing Scott's hips, that possessive grip from earlier finding his lower stomach, and maybe it wouldn’t take longer than until dawn after all before they'd fuck away the last of the night's gloom. "But I've always been around when you said you needed me. Just get it in your thick skull that sometimes you gotta use your damn words for that. Can't always scent your cold sweat from everywhere, you know."

"I'll try," Scott murmured, his cheeks promptly an embarrassing shade of red not only thanks to the lingering heat of rising want in his cells.

They both knew he probably wouldn’t, just like they knew Logan would be around when it counted anyway.

It wasn’t a lot but that was already more light and stability than the rest of their kind had these days.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

[dratefahmed1]

1 Stomach Injury Types, Causes, and Consequences #stomachinjury #medicine #medicaleducation

#stomachinjury #medicine #medicaleducation #gastroenterology #surgery #criticalcare #emergencymedicine #gastritis #ulcers #gastriccancer #gastroparesis #celiacdisease #inflammatoryboweldisease #gerd #gastricperfo #uppergastrointestinalbleeding #endoscopy #laparotomy #gastricbypass #vagotomy #pyloroplasty #nutrition #diet #lifestylechanges #prevention #awareness #advocacy “Trauma Surgery:…

[sycamorelibrary754]

Guardian Angel

Chapter 7: Pinot's Palette

Summary: Your recovery is coming along nicely and it’s finally time for your first official date with Wanda. You go to great lengths to ensure that it is perfect. 

Warnings: Mentions of injuries.

Word Count: 5k

A/N: This has been my favorite chapter to write so far. I hope you enjoy! 

Guardian Angel Masterlist

The gentle chime of your phone broke your focus from the gripping novel in your hand. Glancing at the screen, you were met with the latest reminder in your schedule - the second follow-up appointment with Helen. A sense of dread washed over you as you realized that you were still unable to walk, making the journey to the Med Bay in your wheelchair a daunting challenge as usual. Adding to the difficulty, your left arm remained in a sling, magnifying your reliance on the newfound friends helping you with even the simplest tasks around the compound. The constant need for assistance left you weary, but you held onto hope for positive news today. It had been over a month since the accident, and you yearned to return to work as soon as possible.

Wanda had taken Billy and Tommy to soccer practice, leaving you all alone. Luckily, Natasha stepped in and offered to accompany you to your appointment. Standing with her arms crossed, she reluctantly observed as you attempted to persuade her that you could manage without her help. You demonstrated how you maneuvered the wheelchair with your right hand and relied on gravity to propel yourself forward.

Natasha entertained your demonstration for only ten seconds before her patience wore thin. She seized the wheelchair handles and began propelling you down the hall. Annoyed, you muttered but let Natasha take charge.

Nat called, 'Beep, beep,' as she rolled into the Med Bay.

"Y/N, everything's ready for you," a nurse announced.

Nat offered, "Do you want me to come in with you?"

"Absolutely," you replied as the nurse began to wheel you away.

You had grown accustomed to the routine. Every time, you would undergo X-rays and an MRI to assess your progress. Luckily, Med Bay provided instant test results, which you deeply appreciated. Shortly after, a gentle knock was on the door, and Dr. Cho entered the room.

“Hey, Y/N,” she greeted you as she sat beside the hologram interface and pulled up your patient file. "How are you feeling today?”

You sighed, feeling a bit worn out. This week has been a challenge. The soreness on my left side, both in my stomach and chest, persists, but I've noticed that my headaches are becoming less frequent.

"The discomfort you're feeling on your left side is totally normal after the splenectomy and the procedure on your punctured lung. It's expected that you may have some residual and referred pain for a while. And hey, remember to take it easy on the screen time while you're still dealing with concussion symptoms," Helen said, arching an eyebrow with a knowing look.

“Don’t worry,” Nat interrupted. “We’ll make sure she stays off the screens.”

Your recovery is progressing very well," remarked Helen as she reviewed the MRI images. She pointed at the screen, explaining, "The cradle has significantly accelerated the healing process following your surgery. As you can see, there is very little scar tissue and no inflammation around your abdomen or chest. This is exactly the kind of progress we were hoping for.”

You were grateful for Helen's positive and composed attitude. From the moment you were wheeled into her operating room, she has been by your side through every stage of this journey. Her support has been invaluable to you over the past month.

So, that was the good news," she said, rubbing her hands together eagerly. "But do you want to hear the great news?

“That wasn’t the great news?” You inquired.

“Your fractured ankle has healed remarkably well in the past month. This means you're ready to say goodbye to the wheelchair," Helen said with a smile, displaying the before-and-after X-ray images. "Instead, we'll have you fitted with a walking boot for the next couple of weeks. You can take it off at night, and if all goes according to plan, you can bid farewell to the boot and your sling in just two weeks.”

Phew," you breathed out, running a hand over your face, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "Helen, I can't thank you enough for this.

"If everything goes smoothly, I can see you returning to work in approximately a month," she remarked.

*^~^*

As you and Natasha stepped off the elevator and entered the lounge room, you couldn't help but be struck by the sensation of walking. It had been long since you could walk freely, and you made a mental note to never take that simple act for granted again. Finding a comfortable spot on the sofa, you reached for your phone to check for any missed calls from Wanda. After your open and honest conversation about your feelings, you found it difficult to go long without speaking to the redhead.

Nat's hand swiftly reaches out from behind and snatches your phone. "Nope," she declared with a mischievous grin.

“Hey!” You shouted.

“Remember what Helen said - no screens while you're still experiencing concussion symptoms.”

Come on, Nat," you said, grabbing your phone. "I'm feeling fine at the moment. Wanda was supposed to call me after my appointment, and I really don't want to miss it.”

“I will hold onto your phone and let you know if she calls,” she said, holding it above her head.

Rising to your feet, you used your uninjured arm to reach for your phone.

"Maria heads up!" Natasha called to her girlfriend as she burst into the room.

The Deputy Director skillfully snatched the phone just before it could collide with her face.

"Please, I'm begging you, just give me my phone," you pleaded.

"Wow, look at you standing up! That's fantastic," Maria exclaimed.

"Thank you, Maria. May I have my phone as a reward?" You eagerly asked.

She gazed beyond you towards Natasha, who defiantly shook her head.

"Sorry, y/n," she was just about to throw your phone back to Nat when it suddenly started ringing.

Maria's smile widened as she held up your phone, Wanda's name lighting up on the screen.

"GIMMEE!" You shouted as Maria tossed it over your head to Nat. 

Natasha was quick to answer the phone and switched over to the speakerphone.

"Hey, Wands," she said, resting her head in her hand while leaning on the counter.

Nat?" Wanda asked nervously. "Why are you answering y/n's phone? Is she okay?

"She's fine. Helen advised her to take a break from screens for a while due to lingering concussion symptoms,” Natasha explained.

"Y/N is still having concussion symptoms?! We FaceTimed for an hour last night, and she didn’t mention a thing,” Wanda groaned. “You tell her that we will have a long discussion about following Helen’s orders after I drop the boys off at soccer practice.”

"Don't worry, she'll get the message," Natasha replied confidently.

Thanks, Nat," Wanda replied. "I should be there in about 20 minutes.”

Natasha ended the call with a quick "Okay, bye," and swiftly stashed her phone in the back pocket of her black tactical pants. With a sly smile, she turned to face you. "You could certainly try to come and take it," she taunted, "but just a word of warning: I've dispatched Hydra agents in less time than it'd take me to push you over."

You grumbled and trudged back to the sofa, the widow following closely behind.

That's more like it," Natasha said, affectionately patting the top of your head. "How about a delicious peanut butter sandwich?

"Sure, with chocolate milk?" You inquired with a sheepish grin.

"Oh my God, what are you, eight?" Nat exasperated.

"Says the superhero offering me a peanut butter sandwich,” you countered.

Maria snickered as she plopped down next to you on the couch. “She’s got you there, babe.”

"Fine," Natasha muttered as she turned on her heels and made her way back into the kitchen.

As Maria smiled, she remarked, "So, you and Wanda," causing you to turn red at mentioning her name. "That’s wonderful," she said, patting you on the shoulder. Then she smirked and called out, "Hey, watch this. Nat! Y/N wants marshmallow fluff on her peanut butter sandwich."

"Hell no! Do I look like I work at the Candy Bar?" Natasha hollered from the kitchen.

You both dissolved into laughter on the couch.

*^~^*

You were enjoying our lunch with Natasha and Maria in the kitchen when suddenly, FRIDAY interrupted.

"Ms. Y/L/N, Ms. Maximoff is on her way up."

Taking another sip of your chocolate milk, you say, “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“Get ready," Natasha whispered to Maria, "this is going to be amazing.”

The elevator doors slid open, and all eyes turned to the common area. "Alright, where is she?"

"In here!" you called out, standing up and taking physical inventory just before Wanda entered the kitchen.

"Put the phone down and turn off the TV now, because—" Wanda suddenly halted when she saw you standing there.

"Wow, you're... you're standing," she said, her shock apparent in her voice.

"Just two more weeks with the walking boot and the sling, and then I'll be back on my feet," you said with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Wanda stood still, her eyes filled with emotion, before she suddenly broke into a broad smile and dashed towards you. "This is amazing, y/n. I am thrilled for you," she exclaimed, enfolding you in a warm and heartfelt embrace.

You let out a small grunt as she unintentionally squeezed your left side.

“I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, stepping back abruptly. "Are you okay?”

"I'm doing okay. I'm just feeling tender on this side, but I'll be alright," you reassured.

Wanda's fingertips traced a delicate path along your side, her gaze locking with yours before drifting down to your lips. You felt the tender intention behind her gentle kiss as she leaned closer.

Maria's voice shattered the intimate moment: "Well, that was anticlimactic.

Wanda exclaimed, 'Nat, Maria, when did you get here?'

"Oh my God," Natasha exclaimed, clearly exasperated. She swiftly reached into her back pocket, grasped your phone, and handed it to Wanda with a look of disbelief. With an amused expression, Maria subtly raised her eyebrows and flashed you a knowing smile as she strolled after Nat out of the room.

*^~^*

You lay propped up on Wanda's bed. You didn't change any of the decor, but the simple addition of your favorite books and fluffy blanket made her room feel more like home to you. Truthfully, you relished the opportunity to learn more about Wanda as you took in the intricacies of her favorite things meticulously placed with care around the space. Wanda traced shapes on your arm as she rested her head in your lap.

"That painting is stunning," you remarked, gazing at the breathtaking landscape above her armoire.

It's the Valley of Sokovia," Wanda said, tilting her head to meet your gaze. "My grandmother Katerina was an extraordinary painter. Before the war tore our country apart, she captured the beauty of Sokovia in her paintings. She used to tell me that each stroke of her brush was a whisper of her soul, a tale of vibrant hues and unwavering optimism.

"Every day I've spent here, I've admired it. It's gorgeous," you exclaimed.

"It was on my grandparents' wall forever. It felt like it spoke directly to my soul in a language I knew at birth. I wanted so much to paint like my grandma when I was a little girl, but Pietro and I had to grow up quickly, and suddenly, learning to paint didn't seem so important anymore," Wanda said, fidgeting with her hands. "After they passed, my mother hung the painting in mine and Pietro's bedroom to remind us that our home was beautiful. Not just a war-torn country forgotten by the rest of the world."

Your expression softened as you heard her story. “I'm sorry you had to grow up under those circumstances.”

Wanda released a heavy sigh, her thoughts drifting back to the past. "Despite the chaos, there were moments of pure joy and happiness that I hold dear. Playing with Pietro, the scent of our mother's homemade Paprikash. The evenings spent watching classic American sitcoms with our father to brush up on our English."

You listened to Wanda reminisce so vividly that you could almost see the memories dancing in the reflection of her eyes. 

“They were simple yet beautiful moments that instilled a sense of gratitude in me. They remind me of all the blessings I have in my life—my health, newfound family, and adorable boys. She hesitated for a moment before adding, "And you."

You looked down at Wanda, who was staring up at you and couldn't help but smile.

"I agree. The little things make all the difference," you whispered, gently running your fingers through her hair. "I've been thinking... we haven't had our first proper date yet, and I would love to take you out this weekend," you said, looking down at Wanda nestled in your lap. "If you're up for it, of course," you quickly added shyly.

"You're so cute," Wanda said, reaching up and caressing your cheek. "That is something I would very much like to do."

Your stomach erupted with a jumble of butterflies. "Alright, don't worry, I've got this covered. How about Saturday? Does Saturday work for you?" you asked excitedly, unable to contain your happiness.

“Great," Wanda said with a smile. "With Billy and Tommy having a sleepover at a friend's place, I'm all yours. What do you have in mind?”

“Hmm, I think you'll have to wait and see," you smirked. "I want it to be a surprise.

*^~^*

"Help me!" you yelled as you barged into Yelena's room.

I would advise you to exercise caution before shouting that particular phrase in this building," Yelena responded calmly. Without looking up, the blonde focused on polishing her widow bites. "You might find yourself facing an assortment of weapons aimed at you, candy maker.

“Yelena, I could use your advice," she said.

“Is that so?” Putting down her widow bite and raising an eyebrow at you. “Well, it just so happens that I am excellent with the advice.”

Kate burst into the room, bow in hand and arrow drawn, Carol by her side, her hands glowing with a mysterious blue light. "What happened?!" she exclaimed, eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger.

You tried to duck a potential shot, but you still didn’t have your balance and proceeded to fall back on your butt. 

Yelena smirked, saying, "See what I mean?"

Jesus!" Your heart was racing. "Don't worry, everything is fine. I just needed Yelena's advice on something.

Kate let out a sigh of disappointment as she lowered her bow.

“We’ll just go then,” Carol declared.

“Wait, you can stay too," you said eagerly. "I could use all the help I can get.

Kate circled back to Yelena's bed, and Carol kindly assisted you in getting up onto the couch with her.

“Wanda and I have our first official date this weekend, and I was wondering," you began.

Wow, that is so exciting!" Kate exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement. "Where exactly are you planning to take her? It must be somewhere absolutely incredible, don't you think? After all, it has to be impressive to leave an impression on someone like the Scarlet Witch. That's a pretty high bar to meet. Are you feeling anxious about it? What do you have in mind for the occasion?”

You blinked a couple of times, trying to process everything Kate had just said. It hit you like a ton of bricks.

I can't believe I agreed to this. What was I thinking? I have no idea what I'm doing. She deserves someone better than me. I should tell her I need to cancel," you mumbled as the blonde widow stood up and slowly approached where you were. "What excuse should I use? Maybe I could say... Ouch!”

Yelena had playfully delivered a gentle slap across your face.

"Why did you do that?!" You touch your cheek in shock.

You seemed to be in a downward spiral. It's fair to say that it all started because of Kate Bishop," she said, shooting an accusatory look at the young archer. "Believe me when I tell you this, Y/N. Wanda's life perspective has significantly transformed in the past year. Her top priority now is her boys, and everything else comes second. So, by bringing you into her world, she must care about you. Trust your instincts because she'll appreciate anything you plan as long as you're together.

Wanda is a sentimental person," Carol remarked. "She would appreciate a thoughtfully planned date that holds special meaning.

"Sentimental and meaningful," you contemplated as the gears slowly churn in your mind.

Thanks a bunch, guys. This was helpful,” you exclaimed as you slowly got up from the sofa. “I'll catch you later.”

*^~^*

Nat's voice rang out as she threw punch after punch, "You're supposed to be resting!"

You shouted from the side of the ring, 'I was! I need your advice!'

The widow skillfully evaded her opponent's incoming punch, swiftly pivoted, and seized his arm, exerting just enough force to bring him to his knees. With efficient precision, she deftly pinned him to the mat.

"Take a breather, Bennett," she said, tousling the trainee agent's hair as she got up and walked over to you. "What's on your mind?" Stepping out of the ring, she wiped her face with a towel.

“Wanda and I are going on our first proper date this weekend, and I was hoping you could give me some insight into what she would appreciate.” You asked.

Ah," she said, taking a refreshing sip from her water bottle. "Wanda values thoughtfulness. It might sound a bit vague, but it's the truth. Just demonstrate that you're tuned in to her.”

*^~^*

The vintage Racing Green Aston Martin pulled up to Wanda's house right at 7:00 pm. Initially, you had planned to drive over to pick her up personally, but Helen and Bruce were adamant that you should prioritize your recovery and avoid any unnecessary strain. And so, you ended up seated in the luxurious back of Stark's 1959 Racing Green Aston Martin, feeling the supple leather and breathing in the scent of the fine craftsmanship.

"Pepper, I can't thank you enough for volunteering to be our designated driver tonight," you exclaimed gratefully.

"Not a problem at all! We're thrilled to be able to contribute to your special evening," Pepper responded.

"Not to mention, your destination is just a stone's throw away from one of our absolute favorite restaurants," Tony said from the front seat.

You reached for the solitary red rose beside you and inhaled deeply.

"You can do it, Willy Wonka!" Tony cheered.

You stepped out of the car with a dismissive roll of your eyes in response to his pet name for you. As you made your way up the intricately adorned concrete pathway to her front door, a flutter of nervousness danced in your stomach. Upon reaching the porch, you stole a quick glance back at Tony and Pepper, who smiled and flashed a thumbs-up in your direction.

You stood on the doorstep, taking one last deep breath to calm your nerves. As you pressed the doorbell, the sound echoed through the quiet hallway, signaling your arrival. A few moments passed, and then you heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. You swiftly adjusted your suede coat, ensuring every fold and seam was in place, and ran a hand through your hair to present yourself as confidently as possible. Just then, the door swung open, and Wanda stood, her warm smile putting you at ease.

"Hi," she whispered, her cheeks rosy as she looked at you.

"Wow, you look stunning," you exclaimed, admiring her presence.

Her red hair was styled in an updo bun, with a few loose strands falling down the sides of her face. She completed the look with a white peasant blouse, light-wash jeans, and brown boots.

"I appreciate it. I was uncertain about this because you kept the destination a secret. All you said was that it's a casual date night..." her voice trailed off as she donned a stylish rust-colored corduroy jacket.

You handed her the rose, saying, “It's perfect.”

"Thank you, Y/N, this is lovely," Wanda exclaimed.

"I wanted to buy you a big bouquet, but I didn't want you to carry it around or take a break to put it in water," you rambled.

She echoed your words, saying, 'It's perfect!'

As you both stepped off the porch, you extended your hand to her.

She glanced down at you and let out a giggle. "Looks like I should be lending you a hand, sweetheart. You're down to just two working limbs."

"I believe in chivalry," you declared with a charming smile directed at the lovely redhead.

You strolled over to the car and graciously held the door open for Wanda. As she smoothly slid into the seat, you followed closely behind.

"Hey Wanda, it's great to see you," Pepper greeted warmly.

"It’s great to see you too. Thank you so much for driving us tonight," Wanda replied.

Alright, everyone, let's get moving," Tony declared. "I want to remind you all to keep your hands, legs, feet, and arms safely inside the car at all times.”

*^~^*

The car rolled to a stop at the intersection of Washington Street and Chester Avenue.

"Alright. Have a blast, you two," Tony smirked.

Pepper chimed in, "We'll pick you up later.”

"Thanks once more for the ride," you said. Have a wonderful time at dinner!

As the car drove off, you took Wanda's hand in yours. She met your gaze with a smile.

"Wanda couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "So, are you finally going to tell me where we're going?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

As you strolled down the sidewalk, hand in hand, you sang, "You'll see," before you halted in front of a charming shop.

As Wanda gazed up at the storefront, it shimmered with twinkling fairy lights, and she couldn't help but be drawn to the sign that read:

Pinot's Palette

"What's this, Y/N?" inquired the redhead.

"You said you always wanted to learn to paint like your grandmother. I thought you might like to start tonight," you explained. "I signed us up for a 45-minute Paint and Sip class. They give you step-by-step instructions on painting a beautiful picture, and there's wine and appetizers. I thought it could be fun," you trailed off shyly.

Wanda was at a loss for words, "I don't know what to say, I- this is so thoughtful, Y/N. Truly," she stammered.

"Shall we?" you asked, opening the door for her.

As soon as you walked in, a friendly, tall brunette with stylish glasses greeted you with a warm smile. "Hello and welcome to Pinot's Palette! I'm Sarah, and I'll be your instructor tonight. Your class will begin in about 20 minutes, but in the meantime, feel free to grab a glass of wine and enjoy some delicious appetizers."

Wanda exclaimed, "This place is adorable!"

"Absolutely," you responded, taking in the cozy and inviting atmosphere. The walls were adorned with various paintings from previous classes, each telling its unique story.

Wanda carefully poured a generous amount of Pinot Noir into each glass, its rich aroma filling the room. You swirled the glass, watching the deep red liquid dance, before finally bringing it to your lips for a sip.

"Mmm, this is delicious," you exclaimed.

Definitely on the dryer side. This wine has a medium body with bright acidity," Wanda remarked, carefully allowing the wine to breathe before taking another delightful sip. "I can sense the silky tannins, and subtle hints of raspberries, cherries, and vanilla. It's a beautiful medley of flavors.

You were left in awe. "Wow, that was incredibly sexy. How did you become such a wine expert?"

"You don't know everything about me yet," Wanda teased with a smirk before strolling over to the food spread.

You trailed behind her like an adoring puppy, captivated by her every move.

*^~^*

“Hey there, fellow art enthusiasts!” Sarah greeted. “Get ready for an awesome Saturday Night Sip and Paint class. We're diving into the serene beauty of a full-moon lake scene tonight. Let's unleash our creativity and make some magic happen!”

As Sarah guided the class, Wanda and you attentively observed her every move. You were relieved that my non-dominant arm was the one in the sling, allowing me to participate in the painting session.

Beginning with mixing the perfect tints for your art pieces, you struggled to get it just right. Your colors were uneven and messy, while Wanda effortlessly achieved solid and smooth results.

Feeling frustrated, you mutter, "This shouldn't be this difficult. I mix chocolate for a living; I should be able to mix paint." As you glance up, you catch Wanda giggling at your struggles.

"Are you getting a kick out of this?" You inquired.

“Just a little bit,” Wanda smirked.

You find it impossible to resist the chance to bring a smile to her face. You reach into the white paint on your palette and whimsically touch Wanda's nose, leaving a small white dot. She gazes at you with a blend of astonishment and delight.

"Y/N, stop it. You're going to get us in trouble," she whispered.

"Okay, but seriously, you look adorable," you muttered.

*^~^*

“Wow, your backgrounds are amazing!" Sarah exclaimed as she walked by and admired what you and Wanda had painted. "Oh, Wanda, I love how you added a touch of Prussian blue in the corners. It gives the painting so much depth!”

The radiant redhead glowed with pride as you flashed her a grin. The two of you had such a good time that you wished it would never end.

That looks gorgeous," you remarked. "And it happens to be my favorite color.

“Is it?” The redhead inquired.

"I've always been captivated by the depth of a bold blue," as you gently rinse your brush in the clear water glass.

“Any particular reason?” Wanda asked.

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders. “It’s tranquil and calm. Two things that I’ve tried to bring more of into my life over the years.”

The redhead took a thoughtful sip of her wine, nodding in understanding. "I completely get where you're coming from," she said. "After a chaotic year, I promised myself only to have people and things around me that bring a sense of calm and peace.

You nodded in understanding as Sarah grabbed the attention of the class again.

“Alright, everyone. We will add the moon to our paintings. It’s straightforward: Everyone picks up a spare paper plate,” holding one up. “Then, trace around the edge like this to make a circle.”

You watched as Wanda traced her moon. Her tongue adorably poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. 

“There we go!” She said to herself.

She looked over at you, still sitting with your paper plate in your one good hand, looking down at your sling. 

“Oh, I’m sorry y/n. Here, let me help you.” Wanda said, as she reached for your plate.

“It’s okay, Wanda. I got it,” you replied.

You put down the plate, picked up your small brush, and dipped it in the off-white paint. In one fluid motion, you painted a perfect circle. 

Wanda was shocked. “Wow, that was smooth. How did you do that?”

“When you work in a sweet shop and you make a living scooping ice cream or frosting cupcakes all day, it bodes well if you can make a perfect circle,” you giggled. 

“Hmm, I see,” lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. “I wonder what other hidden talents you’re keeping from me.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Wiggling your eyebrows and taking a sip of your wine.

After you added the silhouette of the pine trees to your paintings and the reflections and ripples in the water, you were on to the final touch of adding stars and a comet to the sky. 

You dipped your fan brush in the white paint and flicked it toward the canvas to create a random star pattern. Picking up your liner brush, you added a comet to your sky. Everyone signed and dated their paintings. You added a small heart in the corner of your canvas to serve as a reminder of your first date with Wanda. You looked over at the redhead to see that she was adding a second comet into her sky. 

“Two comets? Now that is a miracle,” you said.

“One for Billy and one for Tommy,” Wanda explained. “They’re my miracles.”

“They certainly are,” kissing her cheek as she finished her painting. “I hope I get to meet them someday.”

“I think you will,” smiling at you. 

After class, everyone had a photo taken with their finished painting. You both held them up proudly as Sarah used Wanda’s phone to take the picture. 

“Thank you so much, Sarah. We had a wonderful time,” you said, hugging the young woman.

“Yes, I’m going to tell all my friends about this place. It was wonderful,” Wanda added.

“It was my pleasure. You two come back anytime,” Sarah said.

*^~^*

As you left the shop and stepped into the cold night air, you quickly sent a text to Pepper to let her know that you were finished. She responded promptly, telling you that they had just paid the bill and would be there shortly.

"Tony and Pepper will be here in a few minutes. Shall we sit?" you asked, gesturing to a green metal bench a few yards away.

"Sure. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still need to take it easy just because we’re out and about tonight,” Wanda said, leading you to the bench.

You sat down next to her and took in her profile, feeling a surge of affection. You had always felt that Wanda was different, not just because she was one of Earth’s mightiest heroes, but because she was sweet and genuine. You couldn’t wait to see where your journey together would take you. Wanda looked over at you, sensing that you were staring.

"Are you okay?" Wanda asked.

"Yes, I'm just so happy to be here with you,” you said softly.

"Me too,” loose strands of her red hair blowing in the soft night wind.

Slowly, you leaned in and kissed her, feeling her warmth and love. Your stomach exploded with joy at Wanda's touch. Suddenly, the sound of a car horn broke you from your reverie as Tony pulled up beside you and rolled down the window.

"Excuse me, hi. I'm looking for a witch and a candy maker for a live-action Hansel and Gretel," Tony joked.

"You're an idiot," Wanda deadpanned, sliding into the backseat next to you.

"No funny business in the backseat, you two," Tony warned as he pulled away from the curb.

“How was the painting class?” Pepper asked.

“It was wonderful,” Wanda said, holding up her painting.

"You painted that? Wanda, that is gorgeous!" Pepper exclaimed.

"She's a natural," you said, stroking her hand with your thumb.

"You flatter me,” Wanda blushed.

“It’s true,” you insisted. “Your grandmother would be proud.”

Wanda blushed at your compliment as you leaned over and kissed her cheek.

*^~^*

Tony slowed to a stop in front of the redhead’s house. You stepped out of the car and walked the her to the front door, clutching her painting and the single red rose you gifted her. She unlocked the door and set the painting and rose down just inside the entryway.

"I had an amazing time tonight, y/n. It was so special, I couldn't ask for anything more," Wanda said, smiling at you.

"Me too, it was wonderful. I asked everyone for advice because I wanted our first date to be perfect. Then I remembered the story you told me about your grandmother’s painting, and I knew-" You were cut off by Wanda's lips on yours. The kiss was filled with passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment.

As you pulled apart, her hand trailed down your cheek and she smiled, biting down on her lower lip. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, y/n."

"Okay. Goodnight, Wanda," you said, watching her walk inside and close the door behind her.

You turned around to see Tony and Pepper ducking down in their seats, pretending they weren't watching you from the car. "Subtle," you said, sliding into the backseat and shutting the car door.

“We didn’t say anything,” Tony said, holding his hands up in defense.

Once you arrived back at the compound, you immediately got into your pajamas and removed your walking boot. You were exhausted from the excitement of the night, but it was worth it. As you snuggled into your covers, your phone dinged. You opened the notification to see the picture Sarah took of you and Wanda holding up your paintings. Wanda had texted you: "I had a great time tonight. Every moment with you is a work of art."

You blushed profusely as you read her text before sending back your reply: "I have a beautiful muse. 

Placing your phone on back on your nightstand, you laid back down. Adjusting your sling, you placed your good hand behind your head and stared up at the darkness of the ceiling, lost for words. You couldn't believe that Wanda Maximoff had left you speechless. It was the first of many times she would do so.

[sanctuary1988]

~Handsome Stranger | 1 | Gwi

French: /the petals of love/

Pairing: Gwi x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

Warnings: strangers to lovers? fluff, angst, minor injury, blood, this is a light chapter tbh. Mentions of marriage, talks about arranged marriage, age gap (huge), historical! AU, royal! AU?, cannon copilant, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 2.3k words

A/N: Guys, I have fallen in love. In honour of my new obsession called Lee Soo Hyuk I'll write this story and hopefully many more! I'll warn you, this story will get darker as it progresses and will follow canon although it is settled before the series so the characters from The Scholar Who Walks The Night will not appear in this fic (apart from Gwi, obviously). This is some sort of a prequel so I hope you will enjoy it!

I'll update when I have time, dears. I just started my business and I'm also working part-time while also going to college at night so, yeah. I'll do my best so please let me know your thoughts! Happy reading everyone :)

Gwi looked at her with an intriguing gaze, eyes sharp under the candles' light.

"I would not hesitate to let someone as clever as you take the throne. You remind me of a woman I used to know. That woman was clever and ambitious like you."

Hye-Ryeong swallowed, testing the waters with her next question.

"Did you care for her?"

Gwi looked at the distance, as if his mind was transported back to his memories from centuries ago.

"I had feelings for her. I had never cared for a mortal woman before."

Some tension filled the cave, the flickering candles allowing soft light to illuminate the place.

"What happened to that woman?"

Asked Hye-Ryeong once more, wanting to know if there was only another small crumb of the vampire's past who sat in front of her.

"I killed her."

Was his answer, the words came tumbling from his lips without resistance at all but there was a heaviness in his voice that made a tremble travel down her spine. Gwi looked up at her, his eyes swarming with the memory of his distant love.

"I could not help it. She had my child without my knowledge."

Hye-Ryeong looked at the man before her, with almost sympathy in her gaze. Almost. The idea of him killing someone he loved made her stomach twist with emotions she wasn't quick enough to grasp.

"A child between a vampire and a human being is said to kill vampires."

His voice sounded deeper than usual, dripping with the disgrace of his actions.

"What happened to the child?"

She asked in an almost shy way, for a moment fearing what his reaction to such an inquiry would be.

"The child likely died since it occurred over 200 years ago."

Gwi looked down at the drawing he was making, the image of his love made memories he had long since buried in his mind resurface, opening scars and bleeding with poisonous remorse for what he had done to the only woman he had loved in his long life and who also loved him back.

200 years ago.

Darkness fell over the village, clouds covered the moon, not allowing any kind of light to illuminate the dark city. The royal palace was silent, as if it were desolate. No soul walked through the gardens, no oil was being burned. Everything was still. Everything swam in a dark sea.

Except for one soul who walked the royal grounds as if he owned it. In a way, he did. Gwi, was his name. A name that few knew but all to whose existence lived in their minds feared to no tremor.

He walked among the night. Watched over the village. His domain. His kingdom. For he had ruled over the most powerful man in Goryeo for years. Through generation over generation of royal princes. He ruled it all. He owned it all. He had it all to his reach, everything a human would ever want in their miserably short life he had conquered it.

He paraded through the still gardens, a soft yet cold breeze made his silky dark hair fly softly. A sigh escaped his lips, the full moon was approaching and that only meant he'd have to go hunt once more. Like every month.

Gwi halted in his steps when he smelled the sweetest aroma he had ever felt in his astonishingly long life. His feet walked with a mind of their own, going toward such sweetness he smelled through the air and made his eyes cloud with crimson desire.

Blood.

That was what he smelled. The substance that he needed, craved to live. Blood was life to humans, and it also meant life to vampires like himself. The smell got stronger, he felt his heart beat in his chest wildly in anticipation.

However, he had to stop himself before approaching the source of such an electable aroma. Gwi hid behind some bushes, his curiosity and intrigue getting the best of him as he watched a young woman crouched down on the ground, a finger between her lips as she sucked her own blood from her small injury.

You had left your room late at night in order to find some peace among the darkness. Your mind was troubled, so was your heart. You've had little time for yourself the last few months, leaving the night as your only free time of your day. As ironic as it sounded.

While walking the large palace grounds, you encountered a small hidden garden filled with beautiful roses. In the midst of your curiosity, you bent down and picked one, then another and another. Already thinking that you could put it in a nice vase back in your room when you returned. But a hiss escaped your lips as a thorn teared at your flesh and blood oozed out of the small wound.

You placed the rustic bouquet on the ground and sucked on the injury, trying to stop the bleeding. However, a sudden noise made you halt in your actions. You looked around, the little lamp you had brought with yourself did little to illuminate your surroundings.

You knew you shouldn't be out of your room alone, especially at night. The warning of your father was still fresh on your memory from the first time he caught you leaving the safety of your bedroom. With quick movements you grabbed your lamp and walked hastily back to your room, leaving the roses behind. Completely unaware of the vampire watching over your retreating figure as his eyes held curiosity for that beautiful woman with a delighting scent.

Days passed and he was still mesmerised by that woman he saw in the gardens the other night. Gwi sat on his throne, daytime illuminated the city yet he was forced to remain in his underground palace. A beautiful construction between the darkness. His own paradise.

The chief counselor was suddenly in his presence. The old man bowed down slowly at the vampire before greeting him with irony dripping from his words.

"My Lord, thank you for allowing me this audience with you. I am truly honoured to be in your presence."

Gwi sighed, already bored with this interview as he signalled him to start saying what he wanted to say.

"My Lord, you know everything that occurs in these palace walls. Every gossip and truth is delivered to you first."

"Get on with it."

The Chief Counselor gulped, his hands tangling in front of him to stop them from fidgeting before he spoke once more.

"As you may know, my daughter has been ready for marriage for years now but I would like your wise opinion, My Lord. She possesses an extraordinary beauty and I know her marriage would be beneficial to the council."

Now that picked Gwi's interest. He leaned forward on his throne, his eyes piercing as he looked directly to the Chief Counselor's intimidated eyes.

"Who do you have in mind, Counselor Lee?"

The old man lifted his head in an almost challenging way that Gwi didn't like at all.

"Kang Ju Won, My Lord."

Gwi hummed to himself, as if he were genuinely interested in this marriage. Perhaps a part of him was as Jun Won had been rebellious against Gwi's orders. Not enough to get him killed yet... but still something that the vampire despised with all his being for loyalty is the most important thing in the world, even more so than love.

"Your beautiful daughter shouldn't go to waste with an old man like him but I will not deny how advantageous that marriage will be for me. You can start the preparations for the wedding, Counselor Lee."

The latter bowed down, not being able to suppress the smile that stretched over his aged features.

"I will, My Lord. Thank you for giving your consent, your opinion is the only thing that matters to me."

Gwi looked at him with an emotionless gaze, his sharp features looking even sharper as the candles around him flickered ever so softly. He gestured for the counselor to leave and he did so silently. Leaving the vampire alone with his thoughts once more in his enormous underground palace.

He didn't know why he had left his palace that night. The full moon was tomorrow, his senses and instincts were sharper than ever but Gwi found himself walking through the gardens like a couple of days ago when he saw the mysterious woman of the roses and sweet scent.

A scent he hadn't been able to forget, in fact it had impregnated into his memories and something within him prompted him to search for her once more.

He halted in his steps when he heard a soft sound coming from around some bushes. Gwi turned around, curious as ever so as to know the source of the sniff-like sound. He rounded a corner and was met with the same woman from the other night. He looked at the way she was crouched in front of the same roses, her elegant dress puffing around her yet this time she was crying.

"A rose never cries, let alone at night."

You gasped at the sudden voice that spoke next to you. It startled you, causing you to fall from your crouching position directly into the ground. You looked up only to spot a tall and handsome man dressed in dark robes with pale skin and long, dark hair. His voice, deep as the ocean, made you shiver as you found yourself under his intense gaze.

"Who are you?"

The man before you tilted his head to the right ever so slightly, the motion made you gulp for some strange reason. He was astonishingly beautiful with a mysterious aura around him that told you to get away but at the same time pulled you to not take a step back and leave his presence.

"Why are you crying?"

He completely disregarded your question, not that you noticed as you were enthralled into his amazing looks and that voice of his... it made you tingle all over your body. It almost seemed as if he had hypnotised you. Perhaps he did. At the lack of your response he crouched down, taking in your features with his sharp and dark eyes that looked like he held a starless galaxy in his irises.

You sniffled, wiping the remaining tears from your cheek with the back of your hand as you broke eye contact with the handsome stranger, eyes setting on your lap as you spoke once more.

"My father is going to marry me off."

Gwi sat down, he didn't know why he did it. He didn't know why he was there, let alone why he engaged in conversation with the beautiful woman of the magnificent natural perfume.

"What a lucky man for he'll get a beautiful wife."

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him, nearly gasping at the proximity.

"I don't want to get married. Not yet at least."

He lifted an eyebrow at your open statement, at your honesty despite you both being strangers. But something about that honesty stirred a part of him he didn't want to admit he had in the first place.

"Who is your father, petal?"

The rumbling of his voice was as deep as thunder. It made you swallow as you looked into his eyes.

"Lee Beom Seok."

Gwi had to hide the surprise from his face at the name that left your lips. So you were the counselor's daughter. Now it kind of made sense for your father to want to marry you off for you were, indeed, rather beautiful. No other mortal woman has ever been that mesmerising to the vampire before in his long life. That is until you came.

"Do you really wish for the marriage to be cancelled?"

He said in that thunderous voice of his you couldn't help but nod to answer him, not finding words to speak your own desire. Gwi sighed before he stood up while you watched his movements, elegant on its own.

"I can make that happen, petal."

You sniffled at his words. Your hands fidgeted with the ornament on your dress as you looked up at the handsome stranger who offered you a way out of the nightmare you were going to be forced to live in.

"I can stop your marriage from happening, that is if you come with me."

He extended his hand toward you, a silent invitation to take it. Take it and free yourself from this unwanted marriage but, what other chain going with him will put around your neck? You had learned the hard way that nothing is free in this cruel world and right now, you don't have much of a choice but to accept the last straw of hope given to you.

Your hand found home in his and Gwi pulled you up to your feet with a soft yet delicate motion. He wasn't going to admit it, let alone speak it out loud but... in a very deep part of his dead heart, he liked the feeling of your smaller hand in his large palm.

"You made the right choice, petal. Now tell me, what is your name?"

You felt how your heart quickened in your chest at the intensity in his dark eyes. You looked up and spoke in that voice he was starting to really like.

"Lee (y/n), My Lord."

Gwi smirked, pulling you to his side as he began walking back to his underground palace with your hand still clasped in his.

"From now on, you serve me, sweet petal. You are mine now."

January/28/2024

Drabbles are open!

~ Masterpost

[penvisions]

the melting point {chapter 15}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (exEMT! Reader)

Summary: With two articles under your belt, you're busy prepping for the final farmer's market of the summer season. Intent on making a good impression on the city once again, but it happens in a way you least expect it.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: canon typical violence, stalking, stranger danger, mention of previous injuries, medical jargon, gun violence, firearms, panic, chaotic scene, high anxiety scene, crowds, mania, allusions to shooting (but not described), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), slow morning smut, description of the male body, food consumption, smoking, cigarettes, talk of past trauma, mentions of past emotional abuse

A/N: this chapter has taken a long time, but i'm back with these two and i'm happy to deliver this to y'all! *header images are for ~vibes~ only, reader is described as having red hair and tattoos

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || kofi

You woke slowly, warm from the body curled around you. Strong arms were laid over your back, keeping you in place where you leaned into Frankie with your face pressed into his chest and legs tangled with his own.

Frankie’s breathing was even, until he huffed as consciousness took hold. He buried his nose into the back of your neck, lips parting for him to nip at the skin there before he was pulling away altogether.

His strong back was on display as he padded across the rug and toward the bedroom door, the morning light peeking through the blinds catching in the notches of his muscles. Grunting lightly, you rolled over onto your back to lay in the warm spot he left on the sheets, eyes closing as sleep pulled at the edges of your mind.

The muffled sounds of him stirring about in the kitchen kept you from slipping back into deep sleep, simply laying there and enjoying the domestic moment as you heard the rush of water as he set up the coffee machine. Soft meows sounded from underneath the blankets and two head popped up from beneath them as the cats realized it was waking hours. They jumped from the bed and the sound of their trotting and the creak of the bedroom door let you know that they were seeking Frankie out in hopes of breakfast.

His soft murmuring as he talked to them pulled your lips up in a lazy smile.

You must’ve dozed off a bit, because the next thing you knew was the hot press of broad hands over your middle, the blankets suddenly gone from atop your body to be replaced with Frankie’s body. He was hovering low, over your stomach, the feel of his nose as it trailed down over the skin there, nerves jumping as it tickled just a bit.

“I got you, querida, I’m gonna make you feel so good,” His breath wafted over your core, causing you to whine as your hips bucked to get him closer. Fingers digging into the give of your thighs, he looked up at you through his lashes to see you already watching him with dazed eyes. Not breaking the connection, he leaned in and licked up your seam with the flat of his tongue. The heavy wet weight of his tongue parted your lips and you sucked in a shuddering breath as tingles of pleasure sparked over your skin.

He licked at you clit gently, testing how sensitive you were. When your hips pressed toward him, he sucked it into his mouth and laved attention on it. A borderline pornographic moan sounded loud into the air, igniting Frankie’s body. He pushed a hand down to the crotch of his boxers, trying to focus himself. He was aching, his touch only bringing his arousal to the forefront of his mind. He moved the hand to reach up and graze soft touches over your swollen lips, gathering the slick you were making just for him.

As his fingertips grazed your fluttering entrance, your hips bucked. The action caused him to release your clit with a wet pop.

“Frankie, please, I need more.”

“I’m gonna give it to you, sweet girl, don’t you worry.” He dove back down, mouth moving against you with the hot wet of his tongue while two fingers slid easily into you. He crooked them and you mewled at the budge to your g-spot he always found so effortlessly.

“F-uck.”

He hummed against you, the vibrations taking you closer to the edge you were balances so precariously on. His fingers pumped out of you at a fast pace, knowing that’s what you liked best, what you responded to best.

Peeking through heavy eyes, you caught sight of him rutting against the sheets where he splayed below you. The way he took pleasure in giving it, suddenly too much to handle. White spots exploded over your vision as your release washes over you in a cresting wave. The heat of it making sweat pill on the small of your back, in between the valley of your breasts, on the skin of your forehead. Frankie moaned into your core as he felt you clench tight around his flingers, the creamy release leaking out around his fingers still deep inside.

“Fuck, mi vida, you’re…you did such a good job for me.”

You whined as he carefully slid his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips to lick his reward from them. A deep groan past over his plush lips, shiny with your slick. Fingers scrabbling at his chest, you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him up, the hot line of his body coming to rest against yours. His hard length dragged across your thigh, leaving sticky drops of precum from his leaking tip.

His hands were gentle as they propped up the still healing knee up to wrap around his waist, and he notched the head of his cock right at your entrance.

“Dame un beso,” He demanded as he leaned down, lips hovering your own as your eyes watched the way his body moved. The softness of his middle hot where it hovered over, the way one of his hands was wrapped around the length of him as he held it there, waiting for his kiss. You surged up to desperately kiss him, mouth open and tongue licking into his own. He swallowed the moan from you as he pushed in and bottomed out in one thrust.

-

The grocery store was busy in the early morning, but you had put off going to grab the coffee creamer you preferred for basic brews up in the apartment. You were on your phone in the middle of the baking aisle, text open to Frankie and asking him what type of salsa he preferred, you were going to cook dinner that night, to celebrate the end of the market season. Someone bumped into you, the phone nearly falling from your hands when you turned to see a young woman far too close to you. She had a panicked look about her, her hair mused from moving too fast. Her hands came around your upper arm and she pressed close to you.

“Someone is following me, and I just didn’t want to look like I was alone, I’m so sorry.” She whispered lowly to you, explaining her breach of your personal space. You nodded once, so slight that she could only feel it against her head close to yours. You feigned looking over the stuff in your cart, voice light as your eyes swept over the rest of the aisle.

“You think we should do white or dark chocolate this time?” There was a man hovering at the end of the aisle, too engrossed in the coffee filters for your comfort. He was breathing a touch too fast, his chest rising and falling in a way that gave him away underneath his dark hoodie. The cap atop his head looked so much like Frankie’s beloved one, but only in silhouette. This man was nothing but creepy and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you noticed him shift slightly closer.

You hit the call button on Frankie’s text chain, slipping it into your front pocket to allow for the speaker to catch sound easier.

“Oh, well, you know how I feel about white chocolate?”

“Of course,” You tittered, voice a little breathy as you looked at her out of the corner of your eye. You could hear Frankie’s voice coming out small from the speaker on the phone but it was indiscernible as the man at the end of the aisle began to approach. His attention was on the offerings of flavored coffee syrups now, but his ear was facing the two of you. “But let’s work through what we have left over from the last batch, win-win?”

“Win-win, thank you so much.” She tightened the hold she had on your arm before releasing it and going to the head of the cart and began moving toward the end of the aisle. You took to the side, placing a hand on the lip of the basket. “Alright then, next stop?”

“I think we should get some coffee, at that cute place?” You could picture Frankie’s confused and worried expression smoothing over as he realized you were trying to talk to him without being obvious.

“Errands and a treat!” She allowed you to guide the cart toward the front of the store, her steps even as she tried to match your easy pace.

“We’ll check out and then you can follow me.”

The shadow of the man followed you all the way through the checkout process and getting the girl to her car. You gave her the address to the bakery, typed it into her phone’s map, told her to follow after your truck once you got loaded up yourself and drove by her spot to lead the way.

Frankie was already at the shop when you pulled up into a regular spot like you were a customer, the girl parking beside you. You both walked into the shop, hand in hand, making your way straight to Frankie who had taken up the couch that faced the window. He had been watching the street since that distressing call, in the middle of work errands that could wait until he made sure you were safe.

He kissed your cheek and squeezed your hand tight when you approached him. Bringing his arm around the girl in a light embrace to keep up appearances that you all knew each other after a shared look to ensure that was okay with her. She smiled sheepishly at him as she sat down on the couch across the coffee table.

“Thank you both so much, I had no idea what to do.”

“Someone was definitely following her, Frankie. Kept close to us the whole way through the store and a black hatchback followed us here too.”

“Cops won’t do anything until he makes a move, unfortunately.”

You thanked Louise as she came over to greet you, she must’ve sensed that something was wrong because she treated you like a customer. Asking after you and seeing what your trio wanted to drink.

“Don’t worry about the charge,” You leaned close to the girl, her dark hair brushing against your bare upper arm. “I own this place, just keeping up appearances in case he comes in.”

“Thank you, really, I just moved here so I don’t have anyone to help with…whatever this is.”

“Well, you’ve made two new friends today.” You smiled at her, helping to distribute the drinks Louise had brought over. As you stood to do so, you noticed another car pull up out front, taking the last spot against the curb. They parked well for how packed the street was, but again, that’s why you had opted to put in a small lot on the right side of the building. It wasn’t the car that had driven by twice now, with a shrouded figure hunched over the steering wheel and you felt comfortable enough to take a seat beside Frankie on his own couch.

You introduced yourselves, saying you had a small group of friends the girl was welcome to join on any occasion. Frankie’s held his drink in one hand, his other resting warmly on the top of your thigh as you settled into the cushions. Easy conversation flowed as the girl seemed to calm down and gather her bearings. Frankie even offered to follow her home before going back to his work errands when she was ready.

“Frankie?” A hesitant voice broke into the conversation from the front door. You looked over as if your own name had been called. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg and you felt a pang at the action. He looked like he had gotten caught in the middle of something he shouldn’t have been, when you glanced from the woman who had just walked into the shop to him, confusion painting your features.

His hand came up to rub at the back of his neck as he scooted slightly away from you, sides no longer touching. The curls reaching over his neck from underneath his cap fluffed up at his nervous tick.

“Lucy.” Was all he could say in response, the white-hot prickles of anxiety crawling through him at the surprise encounter.

“Oh!” You stood and offered your hand with a polite smile. You looked back at the flustered man, making sure it was okay to interact with his daughter’s mother. He nodded, the movement stilted. But it had been there, his comfortability: the permission to interact with her. “Frankie’s told me you were in town, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And you are…?”

“She’s my girlfriend.” He didn’t stand to greet her more intimately, staying seated with his coffee in his grip. She nodded along, taking in the way he seemed to find himself as he spoke about you. The nervous air about him dissipating as the focus shifted to you. “Been together for a while, she’s the owner of this place. She’s been…a really important part of my life lately, so please, be respectful.”

You reached over and placed a hand over the one he had resting atop the back of the couch. Eyes soft when you looked over at him.

“Please, feel free to try anything from the case or on the menu, my treat.” You looked back over to her, she was watching Frankie closely. Thankfully, she didn’t look too upset, maybe surprised would be a more accurate description as small lines were apparent around her brows and the corners of her eyes. A shaky exhale and a nod came from her, before you ushered her over to the case and explained some of the items. She asked a few questions, mostly about the bakery but when you were both waiting beside the register for Louise to make her choice of drink, her eyes glinted with something as she spoke in a hushed tone.

“Is…is my- is she happy?”

“…she is.” You wanted to reach out and place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but you hesitated, unsure of how that would go over. Instead you spoke as genuinely as you could while still being respectful yourself. “She really enjoys coming here and seeing how things are made, to cook at home when it’s the three of us. But…she is, happy. Frankie is doing a wonderful job, even if he doesn’t feel like it all the time.”

“You love him.”

Her words weren’t accusatory.

“I do love him, very much so. And your daughter, Lucy.” You worried your bottom lip, slightly anxious as you mulled deeper thoughts over. “I…can’t begin to imagine the situation you were in…back then. But I have been through some rather difficult stuff myself. We all make choices that haunt us, but know that he doesn’t hold any grudge nor does Lex. I don’t know what all he’s told her since he’s seen you last and y’all talked. But…you aren’t considered the bad guy.”

Your breath was pushed from your lungs when her arms came around you in a sudden embrace. The few tears she couldn’t tamp down dampening the collar of your tank top. You carefully brought one of your own arms up around her to return the hug. When she pulled back, her smile was watery.

“Thank you, it’s…the regret is what kept me away for so long, but seeing him in that flower shop. It was…it was like a chance to finally breath again, to make amends. I feel guilty for not having been able to commit to him…to them. But I never really wanted to be a mother…”

“And that’s perfectly okay, you tried, but I don’t fault you for leaving…just the way that you did.”

“You have every right to…it wasn’t my finest hour.”

“Everything’s okay, we’ll all be okay. I promise.”

-

The second you were up the staircase under the eyes of a watchful Frankie, he enveloped you in a tight embrace. The scent of him strong as it surrounded you, the cedar and motor oil undertones that always seemed to linger on him comforting as his entire body wrapped around your own. He was corralling you as he tried to breathe you in, his mouth open against any skin he could reach. The scruff of his patchy facial hair and full mustache tickling as he did so. His lips plush and velvety where they pressed against your skin.

“…thank you.”

The words were searing into your skin with a swipe of his tongue.

“You don’t have to- ah!” The sting of his teeth on a nipple through the fabric of your tank top stole the words of your response. His hands were moving to unbutton your jeans, thick fingers hooking into the waistband of them and igniting a spark low in your middle. He mirrored the bite onto your other breast as your hands came to grip his shoulders and you gave a small push. He rocked into you, the line of him hard and hot through his own pants as he rutted against your hip.

“Frankie!” You giggled, a little lightheaded at the sudden affection. You were about to tell him why he needed to reign himself in, when a voice sounded from in the kitchen.

“Damn, Fish, let the woman breath.”

He sprung from you just as suddenly as he had been on you, face hot and eyes a bit wild at being caught in such a state. He was more concerned for your privacy, your integrity, than his own and he shifted to stand between you and his best friend. His body shielding your own as one of his hands came to cover the slight tent at the front of his pants. You giggled again as you looked around him to see Pope giving him the biggest shit eating grin as he chewed on a bite of whatever he had just seasoned in the hot pan behind him.

“Pendejo! What’re you doin’ sneaking around in here?”

“Wasn’t sneaking, primo, was just making dinner, like we planned?”

Frankie huffed, looking down at you where you had moved toward the island and settled on a stool. You leaned over to take the bite off of the spoon Pope was extended to you, his hand cupped up under it so as to not spill.

“Lex is still napping, but she had a good day at the park. Wants to go camping soon, so we should all plan to book the cabin soon, yeah?”

“Oooh, I wanna go!” You wiggled your shoulders as you nodded toward the pan and gave the man a thumbs up.

“Of course, mantequilla, that’s a given.” Pope looked over at you with a softened expression, voice tender as he watched you rub at your knee gently. Frankie walked over to the coffee table and picked up the bottle of your pain meds. He busied himself getting a glass of water with only two shoulder bumps to his friend and brought both over to you.

“I’m making pasta, easy enough. Figured we’d take it easy tonight since it’s gonna be a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I don’t think there’s a speed rack that isn’t loaded down to capacity down in the kitchen.”

“Tio Santi! That smells so good!” She sprouted from the gust room off to the left of the kitchen, door creaking open. She greeted you both with side hugs before she picked up the smaller of your two cats and snuggled her. Loud purring could be heard over the sound of Pope getting plates down from a cabinet.

“Wash your hands, Lex, and set the table please.” Frankie pulled the small creature from her, gently nudging her toward the bathroom.

“Yes, papa.” She was gone for maybe a minute before she was twirling around the kitchen, grabbing the plates from Pope and dancing around him to fetch the silverware. She set it all atop the small table by the laundry nook before taking her seat and waiting patiently for family dinner.

“Do I have time to shower, Santi?”

“It’s nearly done, but I still have the bread to make.”

“I’m gonna go wash off all this buttercream then, I feel like a damn frosted cookie.”

“Look as good as one too,” Frankie whispered into your hair as he helped you stand on your tired legs. A busy day had continued after the weirdness of the morning. Frankie had returned to his work errands while you went to preparing for the market tomorrow. But you had texted the girl from the supermarket to ensure she was okay, told her to call you if she caught so much as a glimpse of the man or his car and then the police. Offered her to come by the shop tomorrow or whenever she wanted.

“Oh hush you,” You let him steady you as you walked toward the bathroom, desperately needing to not smell like sugar and butter. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as he ushered you through the door. He made sure you were able to safely step into the large stall before he returned to the kitchen to help with the last bit of dinner.

-

The air was filled with the hum of voices and faint music. The sun shining down warmly over the Saturday morning scene of the last farmer’s market of the season. Everything was going as planned for the exciting day, you and Will were managing customers, the inside help tending to drinks. But as with everything, it all changed in the blink of an eye.

A gunshot rang out, a plume of smoke following the sound up into the open air of the street. Screams and the rumbling sound of dozens of footsteps on asphalt filled the air in its wake. You had instinctively ducked, hands dropping the bag you were holding out to a patron to cover your head. As soon as you looked back up you saw what chaos had resulted. Will’s hands over your back where he had curled over you were steady as he pulled away from you as you straightened back up to your full height.

“Everyone inside!” You shouted, wanting to be heard over the scene, you and Will were picking up the folding table set up in front of the door and moving it to the side. He was ushering people into the shop, instructing them to hide further in the kitchen and behind the counter, to turn the lights off and be quiet. A good crowd had formed, the people closest to the store seeking the much appreciated shelter.

“Will, watch over them. I’m gonna look for the others!” You were tugging your apron off and handing it to him, walking away from the safety of the shop. Benny had gone off with Lucianna while Pope, Frankie, and Lex had gone off in a little group to explore the markets offerings.

Everything around you oversaturated, the scene so crisp and sharp that it hurt your eyes. Your focus fell on the small figure of Lex as she cowered in the protection of a flower stand, hidden in the blooms of them. Frankie was further down with Pope, both of them helping to get people out of the way in the craziness. Someone had been shot, you could smell the tang of blood wafting down the street. Police sirens were far off, those that had already been acting as security for the market scrambling to get people to safety and inside the businesses lining the blocked off street.

Lucianna was hidden in the flower stand as well, her arms tight across Lex’s chest as she held her smaller form close. As soon as the little girls frantic brown eyes landed on you, she was pulling from the woman’s grip, rushing toward you. Everything froze, the world tilting on a dizzying axis as the sun glinted off of the muzzle of a gun behind her. Frankie spotted it the same second you did, but he was so far down the street, so far from his daughter out in the open as people scattered, tripping over themselves.

You were rushing toward her, no thoughts for yourself as you tried to close the distance. She was running as fast as she could toward you, her hands held out as tears fell from her eyes. She was so scared, it was palpable. Fear a thick blanket of tension over the entire street. As soon as she was close enough, you were gripping her tight and pulling her into you, turning your back on the man firing into the panicking crowd.

Pain blossomed at the base of your spine.

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taglist: @tanzthompson @clevergirl74 @sullyosully @bitchwitch1981 @anoverwhelmingdin

[strawberrysunsets]

The Empty World (Ch. 10)

Donald Pierce x fReader

Status: Ongoing

Summary: Pierce and the Reavers are sent to capture a mutant with mysterious abilities. This chapter: The mutant sets out on their first assignment for Transigen, amid mounting tension with the Reavers.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries, mention of cannon death, mention of cannon torture, mention of cannon suicide, manipulation.

Angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Author's Note: Hiiiii yes tis I another six months later lol hope you enjoy💓

It was late when you woke the next day. The alarm clock by your bed flashed red digits– 3:00pm – and you only had a moment to float in the thoughtless peace of waking before a knot of anxiety settled in your stomach.  

While last night’s encounter with Pierce was still fresh in your mind – a little thrill of revulsion dancing through you at the thought – it wasn’t the cause for your nerves. Nor was it the constant worry over whether Laura and the other mutants were safe. No; the adrenaline mounting in your system as you stumbled to the bathroom to brush your teeth was solely a result of the fact that after a week of waiting, and briefing, and training your injured shoulder back into shape, the day of your assignment had finally arrived. 

You washed your face, drying it with a hand towel before dressing in the uniform you’d laid out the day before. 

You hadn’t lasted long in high school before taking to the road, but you remembered the feeling of walking into a room to take a test you knew you weren’t prepared for. This was something like that. Except you were surrounded by literal enemies, here – not just the disapproving gazes of teachers – and the stakes of this test were life and death. If you failed this assignment, would Transigen even bother keeping to your deal? Or would they decide you were of more use to them chained to a table in a lab than out in the field?

…and if you succeeded? You’d tried not to think about it. But how many lives might suffer the consequences of Zenith Lab’s scientist falling into Transigen’s hands?

You found yourself gripping the edge of the table by your window, your knuckles turning white as you stared emptily out at the view before you. The empty lot, where last night, you'd confronted Pierce. You turned away, massaging your temples. It was an exercise in futility, trying to predict the possible outcomes of your actions. For now, only one thing was certain: as long as you worked for Transigen, Laura and the others were safe. Or as safe as you could make them. And they'd been through enough. You squeezed your eyes shut against the barrage of horrible images your mind threatened to dredge up from Gabriela's video. You had to focus. 

Your mission was simple. 

The target was Zenith Lab’s complex, a skyscraper in the downtown core of Mexico City with a security system designed specifically to keep intruders like Transigen’s agents out. So, for the Reavers to gain entry to the building, that security system had to be disabled. There was only one issue: the security hub lay on the high rise’s twenty-seventh floor, and no aircraft could deploy an air team to reach it without being detected by the lab’s scanners. Something smaller, though–say, a winged mutant–wouldn’t trip those sensors. There was a reason Clark, the security coordinator, had had you memorizing floor plans for a week. 

It would be up to you to take out the security mainframe, allowing the Reavers access to the building.  

Seeing as I’m carrying this whole damn plan on my shoulders, you thought, sifting through the equipment you’d acquired from the recon manager– you’d think this job would at least come with dental. But no; just the slim promise of freedom for Laura and the other mutants, and an even slimmer paycheck. 

You pulled on the bullet proof vest and slotted the taser into its holster at your hip–silently glad they’d only given you nonlethal means of disarming the guards–then examined the final item in your kit. It was an armpiece, meant to be worn like a cuff around your bicep. Upon turning it over, the only identifying information you could find were a barcode and manufacturer’s label, and you scrutinized it for a moment before putting it on. 

A tracker? To make sure you stayed on course? It seemed superfluous, since you weren’t going anywhere with Transigen’s threat looming over Laura and the others. And since Clark had said you’d be out of radio contact until you’d disabled the mainframe to avoid detection, it couldn’t be a transmitter of any sort. What, then? 

You mulled over the question as you made your way through the lab’s stark hallways, even as you mentally reviewed the stages of tonight’s plan. Fly to Zenith Labs. Break in through the roof door, which would be locked but unguarded, then take out whatever skeleton staff were on the nightshift at the security hub. Finally, meet Pierce and his Reavers as they executed the rest of the plan, and get the hell out of dodge. 

Simple, if not exactly easy. 

The rest of the late day passed in the same gray blur as all your days at Transigen, different only because of your mounting anxiety. 

Nightfall found you in the lobby as a Reaver named ‘Kills’ dispersed earpieces to Reavers who waited impatiently by the door or cracked jokes in groups along the walls. There were less than a dozen in total; all the same rough, macho-sadist types who seemed drawn to the Reaver corps like moths to a flame. You stood out amongst them like a sore thumb, even as you tried to make yourself invisible. It would've been hard enough to keep a low profile as the only non leather-wearing, gun-toting one among them, let alone the only woman, mutant, and goddamn avian. As it was, you tried to look as cold and disinterested as possible in order to repulse their attention. Pierce hadn’t yet appeared, and it was with a mixture of dread and anticipation that you thought of running into him tonight.

Finally the Reavers began moving towards the lab’s doors, and you followed them out, the night air quickly snapping everything into hyperfocus. 

It was a warm, humid night, and the sounds of the city felt alien to you after days in the quiet sterility of the lab. It felt like ages since you’d last walked a city’s streets, and been a part of that noise. Some part of you wondered if you ever would again. 

Three black trucks were parked in a line down the lab’s drive, and the Reavers were moving around them and climbing inside. Someone directed you towards one, and you climbed inside, pulling your wings in tight to avoid brushing the doors. 

There were five Reavers already inside the truck, and all glanced up as you entered, save the man typing away on a laptop. Their faces were cold and dispassionate, but beneath that mask, you recognized a plethora of emotions. Disgust. Hatred. Malicious interest. Once again, your instincts told you to run –that this was a tiger’s cage, and you were a fool for stepping into it. 

But these assholes aren’t hunting me anymore, you thought to yourself, forcefully. They already won. I’m here by choice.  

The truck’s door slid shut behind you, and you set your jaw. Go figures the actual mission would be the least of your problems tonight. These men seemed primed for a fight, and you could feel their sights quickly settling on you. 

“You can sit down here, doll,” a man with a thick bullet-proof vest and an abundance of side holsters said, grinning as he nodded to his lap. “C’mon over.”

You glared at him, and lowered yourself into the nearest empty seat. “I’d rather not catch whatever brain-eating disease you have,” you snapped back, “thanks.” 

“Damned if we gotta work with a fucking mutey,” one of the other men muttered, clicking his gun into its holster emphatically.  

“Hey, she’s on our side, now!” Another laughed. He had stubbled cheeks and a purple bandana tied around his neck. “Gonna help us take out her own kind, just like that albino traitor,” he taunted lazily. “Ain’t that right, girl?”

A hot flush of anger overtook you, along with a sudden sense of claustrophobia at the van’s tight quarters. They don’t get to fucking mention Caliban. For a moment there was a loud buzzing in your ears, and a tide of memories and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Then you shoved the thoughts of Caliban back behind their wall , and turned on the Reavers. 

“We’re not hunting mutants tonight, piss-brain,” you shot back at the man with the bandana. “Did you miss the briefing? I know reading comprehension is above your paygrade, but it’s a fucking scientist you’re after.” 

It felt good to see the man’s gaze darken. “Guess that depends if we find any,” he replied, lip curling in a humorless smile. “Who knows what they’re hiding up there?” He leaned towards you conspiratorially, revealing the line of tattoos that stretched down his neck below the bandana. “Me, I'm hope there’s a few mutts,” his smile grew colder, and his eyes raked over your face in search of a reaction. “It’d be nice to have a little target practice.” 

Heat prickled down your spine, and you didn’t break his gaze. You weren’t going to be baited by this asshole. 

One of the other men–the bald one–was smiling, too; the same lazy malice written on his face as he watched you. “It has been a while since we got some hunting in,” he agreed. “Heard those kids gave quite the chase. But I’m sure ol’ Wolvey took the cake.” 

Your skin flushed hotter before you could get a handle on yourself. 

“How many shots did he take before he went down?” The bald man continued, turning to the other quizzically as bandana-man pursed his lips in thought. “Fuck, gotta be two-dozen?” He smiled, turning his gaze back to you as he let out a low whistle. 

The tension in the truck was thick as tar, and finally even the man on the laptop looked up, glancing between you and the Reavers. 

The buzzing in your mind felt like it was growing louder, like a freight train overtaking you; and all at once, the hot, prickling sensation on your skin resolved itself into something familiar. Something like crackling energy, and an awful golden light lurking just beyond your fingertips. 

The blood drained from your face. 

“You know ‘bout that, feathers?” The first man was asking, leaning forward as if in earnest. “Naw, she wasn’t there,” the other Reaver replied. “Missed the whole thing! Gotta tell her about it.”

What would happen if your powers returned, here and now? If your Ether flared inside this truck?

You had no idea, but you doubted there’d be any survivors. 

And would that be so bad? Some dark part of you whispered, lulling you towards the crackling energy. To end this awful game, and go out with a fucking bang? To take some of these assholes with you? 

Some distant, reasonable part of you was shouting for your attention, but far nearer was the forgefire of everything you’d shoved behind a wall in your mind. It was rage, and fear, and months of unprocessed grief–and that dam wasn’t going to hold forever. 

Somewhere outside the truck, there were voices, and engines revving–but they seemed far away compared to the dark, taunting eyes of the men before you. One little slip, one burst of energy–and they’d be gone, and you’d be gone from this place. 

The stillness of the truck was shattered as the front passenger door swung open, and a familiar figure climbed inside, blond hair tousled from the wind. The man with the bandana leaned back in his seat, breaking eye contact, and the bald man smiled sardonically as he shifted away, too. 

“Boys,” Pierce greeted, his gaze roving over the Reavers before settling on you. “Playin’ nicely?” 

The heat was high in your cheeks, and the buzzing in your mind still grappled for your attention as you tried to regain control. Now’s not the time to lose it, you told yourself, trying to shove the energy back behind its wall. Not with so much on the line. You couldn’t be so selfish. 

You could feel Pierce’s gaze on you, and from the corner of your eye you saw when the man on the computer glanced up, briefly locking eyes with Pierce as they seemed to exchange some sort of information. Pierce sat back in his seat, sighed once through his nose, then swung back out of the truck. You barely registered it when he appeared at your side door, sliding it open and taking hold of your arm as he pulled you back out into the night. 

Too surprised to resist, you landed on the sidewalk, and he shoved the door shut behind you, suddenly cutting you off from the scene within. 

“What are you doing?” You asked dumbly, slowly returning to yourself as he shepherded you down the walkway. Pierce only snorted, directing you towards one of the other trucks. “C’mon, baby,” he drawled, opening its door and herding you inside. “We're gonna ride recon.” 

***

The inside of the recon truck was quiet as it rumbled through the city streets, lights and the occasional bright storefront flashing past outside. The radio played a late-night mexican station and the transceiver crackled with brief messages and replies from the convoy, while the man in the passenger seat watched what appeared to be a live feed from outside Zenith Labs. 

They were headed to a drop point, from which you’d get airborn and make your way to the building while the Reavers followed from the ground. 

Pierce was listening to the transceiver's chatter, judging by the tilt of his head, and idly adjusting one of the components of his mechanical arm as the driver wove the truck through the midnight streets. The Reaver Commander wore his usual fatigues, black t-shirt, and leather jacket; but now with the addition of a kevlar vest, and holsters on either side of his hips. He was ready for a fight; but then again, he always looked ready for a fight. 

Finally, Pierce sighed.  

“I spent plenty of time around soldiers,” he said conversationally, shifting back against the truck's netted wall. “After a while, you learn the look of someone who’s about to break.” He met your gaze briefly, knowingly, as he twisted the metal dial that was his forearm in a series of smooth clicks.

You looked away, trying not to think about what had happened with the Reavers in the other truck. How you’d almost lost control. So easily, so quickly–and still, how the energy behind your mind’s wall seemed agitated, like a pot of water on too high heat. 

“Seen it happen,” Pierce continued. “Watched ‘em puke up their guts, or run for home…usually at the first fight, or first kill. First time facing bad odds,” he smiled drily. “And I wouldn’t care a whit about you going haywire on us,” he sighed, “except I seen what you can do when you break.” 

That day on the overpass. A car wreck, and an explosion of swirling golden Ether. 

You winced, and you could feel your usual composure eluding you. You knew that bits of your feelings were getting through; the shame. The anger. Fear. There was no stopping them. You swallowed, taking a deep breath. The least you could do was try to settle your stomach. There was a chance you might lose control and vaporize someone tonight, but you were not going to puke. 

Pierce was unfazed, staring at you as he leaned back. “Thing is, baby-" His mouth curved in an unfeeling smile. “-there’s a whole lot of people riding on tonight’s little operation. So I'll thank you not to blow the whole thing sky-high before we even get started.” 

“I’m not going to jeopardize your precious little kidnapping mission,” you snapped back. “I’m not going to break.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you returned your gaze to the window as you ignored the hollowness of your own words. 

In truth, you were relieved beyond measure that he’d pulled you away from the Reavers in that moment. You didn’t know what might have happened if you’d stayed, and didn’t want to consider it. Stupid, perceptive bastard. As it was, you still felt like your control was balancing on a knife’s edge–and the mission which that afternoon had felt impossible now felt like a death sentence. If you wanted to get through this, you couldn’t delve into your feelings. You had to do –not think. Not feel. 

“I’m not going to break,” you breathed, repeating it more to yourself than anyone else. Pierce sighed through his nose, not bothering to argue the point, then leaned forward and tugged at one of the straps of your vest, unfastening it.

“Hey–” you jerked away in surprise. His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes. “Let me help you, sugar. You done it up all wrong.” 

Your breathing grew shallow as he leaned forward, his hands working deftly to pull the strap from its loop.

This close, his stature was even more intimidating than usual; your entire world taken up by his tall frame and thick arms. As if sensing your thoughts, Pierce smirked. His face was shadowed in the darkened car, but you could feel it. Asshole. 

"Easy, baby. Can't have your gear on wrong, now, can we?" 

His arms encircled you as he crossed the straps behind your back, and for a moment the warmth of his biceps pressed into your shoulders, and you could smell the musky, cheap scent of his aftershave. You turned your eyes skyward, ignoring the proximity of his neck and jaw, and tried to keep your thoughts from straying inevitably towards last night. Futilely. Your cheeks reddened. 

Then he was before you once more, fastening the straps tightly; his face shadowed, though the flash of the streetlamps illuminated the skull and crossbones inked across his neck. You made a mental note to mention to him how tacky the tattoo was, as soon as you'd regained your focus. Right now, you were too distracted; torn somewhere between the vile, magnetic pull of him, and the unnervingness of his physicality. Even without his robotic arm, he was frighteningly strong-and exactly the wrong kind of person to wield that power.

Still, his proximity calmed a small part of you by some infinitesimal amount. For even after witnessing your near loss of control, Donald Pierce didn’t seem scared of you. And in some way, that helped you feel less scared of yourself. Even if his character tended to counteract that effect. 

He finished with the vest, and you took a breath, nerves zinging as he leaned away. 

“There you go, sweetheart. All good,” he said, half mocking.

You thought his assessment over, but then his gaze fell to your arm. You’d almost forgotten the armband, but Pierce reached forward to grip your bicep, turning it into his view. His hands were firm; clinical in their assessment, but still the smirk remained. 

“No one told you how to put the damn thing on?” He asked, fiddling with something on the armband so that it clicked more firmly into place. 

“I didn’t exactly get workplace training,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady and unbothered by your racing heart.

The truck was beginning to slow, finally, and you examined the sharp lines of his face in the halflight. “What is that thing, anyway?”

Pierce sat back, finally widening the space between you as he took his radio from the wall, slotting it into his belt. 

“Technical,” he replied. “Keeps your gear from emitting frequencies scanners might pick up while you’re on the way in.” 

You processed this information, idly straightening your shirt as the van rolled to a stop. Sometimes it was easy to forget that beyond the gun-obsessed, vaping, muscle-shirt wearing exterior, Pierce was smart. You'd worked as a mechanic, and were a dab hand at fixing basic wiring and the like-but Pierce was on another level. He'd designed his own mechanical arm out of advanced robotics, along with the enhancements on other Reavers-and seemed to have a disturbingly good understanding of things like energy signatures and transmissions. Power, in the worst possible hands. 

You heard other engines cutting off outside, and Pierce leaned forwards, pulling open the truck's side door as the night wind rushed in. You climbed unsteadily out, wings flaring for balance as you found your footing on the rocky ground. 

The place where the trucks had stopped appeared to be a dusty, dead-end road, slightly elevated from the rest of the city by a small hill. It was bordered on one side by a chainlink fence, and on the other by a grassy expanse which led down towards the roofs of some houses. 

“Now, you do what you gotta do to hold up your end of the bargain tonight, sugar,” Pierce said, swinging out of the truck after you. “No room for anything else. We’re gonna be right behind you.” He grinned. “In spirit, if not in the flesh.” 

The truck stopped across from you was the one from before, and as you watched, the Reavers from within climbed out to lean against the doors or hang from the windows. Purple bandana leaned against its side, while the bald man watched from the open door. His gaze was gloating, but you ignored it. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were all watching you-sizing you up; as if waiting for something.

Pierce leaned against the recon truck, his tall frame impossible to ignore at your back; and you realized what they were all waiting for. 

You. Of course they were going to watch you take off; for you were a freak, and they had front row seats to the show.

A pang of anxiety shot through you at the thought. You'd always known how much the Reavers hated you; hated all mutants-but it was a different beast to feel it. This was truly what you were to them. An aberration; some strange, depraved mistake that nature made, and on which they had the chance to profit. You didn't feel confidant under their scrutiny, but you sure as hell weren't going to show them how much it rattled you.

Might as well make it worth their while, you thought, jaw clenching. You took a few anticipatory breaths, and bounced on the balls of your feet as you worked up your courage.

Just do. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Take the damn sociopath's advice, and do what you have to do to get through the night. 

“Catch you on the other side,” Pierce grinned, wolflike in the darkness. 

Without waiting to reply, you took a running start towards the grassy slope. The air was cool on your hot cheeks as you sprinted, leaving all thought behind. The chainlink fence and red roofs of the houses at the bottom of the slope grew nearer, and then your feet left the ground, and the sudden sensation of weightlessness hit you like a wall as your wings fanned out on either side. 

They’d chosen a good take-off point. The natural updraft of the hill caught you almost immediately, carrying you effortlessly up and away from the shrinking roofs. 

Your newly-healed muscles ached at the exertion, but the ache was dull, dampened by the sudden thrill of flight. It felt like leaving it all behind; like escaping the tethers of your mind, and throwing fear to the wind. 

How long had it been, since you really flew ? But you couldn’t think about that now; only the task ahead. 

Far below, truck doors slammed as Reavers climbed back inside and the black vans pulled away from the drop point. And high above, you wheeled towards the city; focus honed to a single point of intent as you worked to pick out the dark shape of one specific skyscraper among the rest.

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Does Parish have to patch up your blorbos every time he gets into situations?

Parish isn't the only option! There are plenty of Doctors in town! So pick your poison. Based entirely on who you know, how much money you have in your wallet, or if you want some whump in your fictional character's life.

But yes. Parish is usually the one treating most of my blorbos. Especially Dallan and his friends! If you're friends with Dallan, you're mutuals with a very skilled (and expensive) doctor. ;)

Parish has been a practicing doctor for decades, (definitely longer than Remus since his lifespan is much longer than a humans) and Parish was Mr. Richard's primary doctor for his sickly wife until her passing. Due to him being an elf, he has easier access to magic based healing, and rarer plants and substances found only in lands that were originally cultivated by elves. Elven goods and services command a higher price. Parish, like most medicine practicing elves, is definitely a doctor for the wealthier side of society.

There's less of a stigma surrounding elven hospitals and care compared to the "houses of death" that human hospitals and facilities tended to be in the 19th century. They have (limited) access to very rare components that can be used for literal miracle-cures. But because elves are not human, there is some issue with human racism and many will not seek treatment there.

Dallan, having worked at Mr. Richard's greathouse for a long period regularly sees Parish, and they are all friends. The doctor will often treat Dallan's injuries free of charge, or at a reduced cost considering he works for both Mr. Richard AND Parish these days. Parish sees helping Dallan as both an act of kindness for a good friend, and beneficial for his own work to keep his routine going like a well-oiled machine that Dallan is now also a helpful component of. If Dallan is out of commission, his own work can get slowed down a little bit. Who else if going to run his errands to pick up ingredients, tinctures, parcels, or keep the office and his travel kit stocked up and tidy? Himself? Sure. He can, but he would rather be out practicing medicine and helping others instead.

Remus on the other hand is your usual slightly eccentric 19th century human Doctor and Surgeon. (Originally he was not made for this particular world setup, but has been repurposed for it so the above image isn't "fantasy-period accurate".)

He's done many amputations with success as well. (and regularly hires body snatchers for his own studies on human corpses to better his skills).

On the surface he's a perfectly normal Doctor. ...As far as Normal 19th century doctors go, anways. He's very used to the sight of blood, death, and gore, and considers average people who are more upset by it to be cowardly or beneath him in that "you could never stomach my job" kind of way that many doctors acted during the time period.

Due to the magical and supernatural aspects of the world being very hidden from human society (vampies, werewolves, etc. most humans don't believe they are real unless seen for themselves. Despite magic using elves being well known and somewhat common in human society) Remus has a fascination with the supernatural and wants to essentially dissect living and dead non-human creatures to further advance medicine for his own gain in developing treatments and medicine (and a little bit of chasing the appealing idea of inhuman immortality wouldn't hurt.)

He regularly hires a bounty hunter of supernatural or inhuman creatures to bring in "bodies" since Vampires aren't technically alive, or "animals for testing" like werewolves for experimenting new techniques or medicines on.

He sees non-humans as...well. Inhuman, therefore lacking the same kind of respect he would give to another human. Though elves are an exception in his case as he respects their more miraculous medicines and herbs, seeing them as equals in the profession or even looking up to some of them. Though, just because he thinks humans deserve respect does not always mean he thinks he has to be respectful to other humans, he ha a big of an ego and a narcissistic streak.

Flesh is flesh and a scalpel will cut without discrimination.