#the reason i keep my hair short. my enemy. hair brushing

[dukeofthomas]

i think hot women should be allowed to be gross n unhygenic. as a treat

[kamaluhkhan]

you are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

pairing: young!coryo snow x fem!reader

summary: clemensia dovecote has a theory that you and snow are destined for an enemies to lovers arc. you're sure it's completely, absolutely not true...right?

warnings: 18 + smut; biting + mention of blood ; both reader and snow are not the best ppl and have some very classist/elitist opinions

a/n: finally!! i wrote one of the ideas that has been haunting me ever since i've been back in my hunger games obsession + watched tbosbas...needless to say this will likely be a series inspired by taylor swift's reputation album. also i am so sorry this is unedited bc ofc it's 3am when i had the motivation to write this but i hope y'all enjoy ♡

i've had enemies so intense it felt like love, so mutual it felt romantic (chelsea hodson)

"what in the name of all the gods is he doing here?"

you're practically seething when coriolanus snow walks into your foyer. he's wearing an ensemble made with crisp white silk and intricately embroidered with gold thread - elegant, eventhough its silhouette would have been fashionable last year. a single white rose sits in the pocket of his jacket. he surveys the crowd, like he's calculating who's most worthy of his attention, platnium blond hair perfectly curled and practically glowing under the light of the chandelier. he looks beautiful, almost angelic.

you absolutely hate it.

"oh, i invited him," clemensia dovecote informs non-chalantly.

coriolanus makes eye contact with you from across the room, and you turn your head sharply to your best friend.

"why would you think it was okay to invite him?"

clemensia smiles mischeviously, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing silver tray. she hands one to you.

"i know the two of you have your petty squabbles — "

"they are not petty, nor are they squabbles," you grumble, taking a sip of your drink.

your contempt towards coriolanus was perfectly reasonable and absolutely mutual. he had some ridiculous notion that snow had to land on top, that it was his right to be there instead of yours. your relationship, if you could call it that, was limited to nothing more than snide remarks, sarcastic comments, and scornful stares. you both hyperaware of the importance of keeping up appearances, but the older you got - the closer to life outside of the academy and the higher the stakes - the more any sense of civility between you two faded. just earlier this week, you'd gotten into such a heated debate about the best way to increase viewership for the upcoming 10th annual hunger games, that your professor excused you both from the class early due to the disruption. it seemed that no one knew how to make you burn with anger quite like coriolanus snow.

clemensia rolls her eyes. "whatever you want to call it, i actually think the two of you would get along if you really tried."

one of the things you admired - and, frankly, loathed - about clemensia was her determination to always prove herself right. she had this theory - one you would call ludicrous - that the tension between you and coriolanus had nothing to do with academics or status and everything to do with wanting to rip each other's clothes off.

your eyes catch coriolanus' icy blue ones again and you down the rest of your drink. obviously, clemensia was wrong about this. so, very wrong.

"well," you huff, setting your empty glass down on another silver tray that passes by. you brush invisible dust off your dress - a deep red lace, short and form fitting with exaggerated long sleeves - and add: "you'll be lucky if i invite you to my next party."

clemensia might have had the sense to apologize then, but you walked away before she had a chance.

you allow yourself to weave through the crowd, greeting every guest with an equal facade of enthusiasm and grace. you smile as brightly at one person as you do the next, showing off your newly bleached teeth and making sure that everyone feels special. silver trays of food and drinks appear and reappear throughout the crowd, being carried by nameless waiters. there's a table overflowing with gifts concealed by crisply folded wrapping paper - you expect at least half of them will be worthless.

you put up a good front, but soon enough your lipstick needs reapplying and your hair readjusting, so you briefly excuse yourself lest anyone notice a crack in your perfectly constructed image. the door to your room is slightly ajar, and you open it to reveal none other than the person you'd deliberately, but not so successfully, tried to ignore all night, his white silk shirt stained a dark crimson that happened to match your dress.

coriolanus was furious when he found out you'd invited the entire graduating class, except him, to your birthday party. you'd even invited sejanus. it wasn't that he particularly wanted to celebrate you, of all people. you were the most brilliant, biting, enfuriating person he knew, but to be excluded in such a way was insulting. when clemensia extended him the invite, he jumped at the chance to prove to everyone, to you, that he belonged here. tigris curated his outfit, and it would have been perfect had arachne crane, vapid creature she was and ever the lightweight, spilled an entire glass of red wine on him. he hurried away before anyone could see him in such a humiliating state. coriolanus is in the middle of calculating his options when you walk into what he now realizes is your bedroom.

you don't say a word at first. you haven't said one to him all night. instead, you close the door behind you and your eyes graze his figure.

"you show up to my party, late no less, and now you're parading around in what looks like a bloodstained shirt that is far too outmoded to be appropriate attire for this occasion," you remark, displaying that signature fierceness. "are you trying to ruin my birthday, snow?"

"don't blame me," coriolanus scoffs. his shoulders tense and he makes a point to stand up a bit straighter. "blame arachne for not being able to hold her alcohol while she's complaining about the food."

"oh?" you raise an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

"something about people in the districts having better options."

"vapid bitch," you mutter under your breath. you walk over to your closet, disappearing for a few seconds before bringing out a fresh shirt. you extend it to him, but he doesn't take it.

"i can't very well have a good time when one of my guests looks like he just got killed in the hunger games," you huff. "so either you put this on or your leave my party. now."

coriolanus holds your gaze, his jaw clenched, before giving in and taking the shirt from you. he goes to undo the buttons of his shirt, but stops when he notices that your eyes never leave him.

"some privacy would be nice," he says sharply.

you roll your eyes, muttering something about it being your house and your room, before sitting across the room at your vanity. as he undresses and throws his soiled shirt on the floor, coriolanus watches you closely. you meticulously apply lipstick, the shade of red almost as dark as your black nails.

you were attractive, there was no denying that, but ultimately dangerous. because you weren't carelessly cruel like arachne, nor did you wear your heart on your sleeve like sejanus. you didn't use your family's status as an excuse to avoid hard work like felix, nor were you a spineless know-it-all like clemensia. no, you were different from the rest. you had a fiery ambition and a sharp tongue, a wicked streak with just enough charisma to lure people in. sometimes when he thinks of you, coriolanus recalls stories his grandma'am once told him and tigress, about sea monsters who would tempt sailors with their bewitching voices and enchanting beauty, enticing them to risk everything - to jump into the ocean and never be relevant as anything more than a midnight snack. you were a constant, suffocating reminder of how quickly he could lose everything if he lost control, if he gave in.

coriolanus watches you set down the tube of lipstick before picking up a compact. you lightly brush the shimmery powder inside over your face to accentuate some of your gorgeous features.

the desire that burns throughout his body now has to be a side effect of the few glasses of liquor he managed to drink, allowing himself the appearance of having a good time alongside everyone else without losing control.

your eyes leave your reflection momentarily, and you finally catch coriolanus staring at you. you wink at him from across the room just as he's finished with the last button. the way you look at him makes the collar of his shirt feel tighter.

he can not give in....but what's the harm in admitting, just for one night, that he would let you drown him? devour him? beg on his knees to give you pleasure, and then thank you after the fact?

coriolanus clears his throat. "this feels wrong. i should be the one gifting you with a new shirt. it's your birthday, after all."

you let out a breathy laugh, setting down your makeup. you walk over to him, until there are only a few inches between you despite the vastness of your bedroom.

even you had to concede that coriolanus snow had such a gorgeous face for such a vicious person. you're infuriated by how elegant he looks now, in your shirt. your hands busy themselves in smoothing down his already perfect collar and you take note of the intensity of his heartbeat. you notice the way his jaw remains clenched, his posture stiff, his skin flushed. you realize that he must be trying so hard right now to retain his composure around you and you feel something that can only be described as triumph.

you smile at him, sickly sweet, and remove your hands from his body. "the best birthday present i could get is winning the plinth prize over you, snow. we both know you're not good enough, let alone better than me."

he hesitates slightly before responding.

"sorry, valerius. that's the one thing i can't give you. is there anything else you'd want from me?" he whispers, words dripping like honey.

"that depends, is there anything you want from me?"

he hums, moving his hand to cup your cheek. he begins to trace your lips with his thumb, ruining the look you had so meticulously crafted.

if only you knew.

"you're the birthday girl, sweetheart," he chides. "i'm supposed to be the one giving the gift. you do know how birthdays work, don't you?"

he's mocking you, you know that. he's trying to make you feel weak and small. you had the power a second ago, his heartbeat in the palm of your hand, and normally you wouldn't stand for him turning the tables. you'd push him away, storm out the door. but right now all you want is to tug on his perfect blond curls, to bite the smirk off his lips. maybe it's the way he's so close and can't seem to take his eyes off your lips or the calculated amount of wine you drank that's made your head a bit foggy, made you put your guard down. made you start to entertain the idea that maybe possibly clemensia's theory had some truth to it.

"why don't you surprise me?" you suggest.

coriolanus surges forward and kisses you with such ferocity, he might as well be a man starving. teeth on teeth on tongue. you instantly tangle your hands into his hair, pull on some curls just to see what he'd do. he retaliates by biting down on your bottom lip, hard enough that you taste the metallic tang of blood mixed with the remnants of honeyed wine on his lips. you whimper and pull away slightly. he holds your face firmly between his two hands, so you cannot go too far.

"sorry." but he smirks, and you know he doesn't really mean it.

eventually, you've both stumbled onto the bed half-naked. coriolanus positions himself above you, effectively caging you in with his arms and legs. you take note of his lean thighs, his bare torso with skin taut around his bones. you're almost taken aback by how frail he looks - like a malnourished teenager from one of the districts. you reach out to trace the outline of his ribs, your nails scraping against his skin, and he shudders. your hand moves lower, teasing the waistband of his underwear. he stops you before it slips underneath the material.

instead, coriolanus begins to indulge in his deepest fantasy. he kisses and sucks and bites down your body, his tongue trailing down your chest, over your breasts and around your nipples, across your stomach. he laps up your soft whines, the curses that tumble from your lips for him to do something more. you sink further into the silk sheets when he arrives between your thighs. you raise your hips, desperate to find any sort of relief, and you feel his nails dig into your hips.

"patience," he teases, his breath fanning over where you needed him most. "so needy." you could practically feel coriolanus roll his eyes.

"i swear to god snow, if you don't do something soon. i-i'll go find someone else to fuck me. felix, or maybe sejanus --"

you yelp when his teeth sink into your inner thigh. he looks up at you, eyes the darkest blue you've ever seen them.

"don't," coriolanus warns, and he gets back to work, lips actually arriving at where you needed them most.

after you've reached your high, he comes back up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. when he pulls away, you take note of how his lips and nose shine with remnants of you. the way he looks at you while he licks his lips shows you that he wants more. you move your hand down, and you're deeply satisfied when you feel him half hard, already sticky with his release.

"oh." you smirk. "you already finished."

his eyes widen, skin flushing pink. you could feel his heartbeat grow faster above you. you could imagine he was debating the best way to restore his dominance from before. yet, here he was, nothing but a horny teenage boy who came untouched as he was eating out his worst enemy. you find it in you to not call him pathetic, but instead decide, in your post-orgasm haze, you find it endearing.

"i-i didn't mean to, but --"

"i'm just that sexy when i cum," you suggest, running your hands through his curls to calm him down. "how about we try again, pretty boy?"

soon enough, he's sitting up with his back against your headboard and your legs wrapped around his waist, his length fully nestled into your warm cunt. coriolanus' blunt nails graze your hips, moving lower to your ass to guide you with each thrust. you love seeing him underneath you, seeming completely mesmerized by how your breasts bounce up and down in front of him. he leans forward to wrap his lips around your nipple, but you beat him to it. you bend forward and suck bruises onto his skin, everywhere and anywhere: underneath his chin, across his collarbone, where his neck meets his shoulder.

his moans are so loud, and you're sure he's not going to last much longer. you're also worried that some of the other party guests might catch you, so you pull his head away from your shoulder and crash your lips back onto to his. you swallow his moans as best you can, tongues fight for dominance, but he lets out a deep groan, and lets you win. you bite down on his bottom lip just as you reach your climax, causing him to let out a deep groan once more.

you gasp when he suddenly flips you over, pulls out of you and stokes himself a few times before painting your body with his release. coriolanus all but collapses on the bed beside you. you're both breathing heavily for a few moments, on your backs looking up at the ceiling, before he turns on his side towards you. coriolanus trails hs fingers down to your abdomen, sticky with his cum.

"i told you: snow lands on top."

"was that a joke, coryo?" you guffaw, genuinely surprised at the mischievous but playful glint in his eye. a bit surprised at yourself, too, for using his nickname that you'd so carefully avoided. you had to remind yourself that he was still the same coriolanus snow you'd grown to hate.

the boy tangled in the sheets beside you, his messy curls translucent under the light of your chandelier, his skin glowing with sweat and decorated with lipstick and rose-petal bruises. the boy who now smiles at you with dazzling blue eyes, leans closer and whispers:

"don't get used to it. it's a special occasion." coriolanus kisses you sweetly, and you shiver before he adds: "happy birthday."

this boy in bed with you now is the same manipulative, power hungry snake who would stab you in the back if need be. and, the truth of the matter is: you aren't much different, either.

you get up to grab his wine-stained shirt, use it to wipe off his release and toss it back down to the floor.

his eyes follow you the entire time, even as you come back to straddle him again. almost instantly, you feel him harden underneath you. you hold his head in your hands, kiss him deeply, tease his bottom lip between your teeth as you pull away.

"snow lands on top, huh? not for long, if i can help it."

[galaxyedging]

College Max Phillips x f!reader. Friends to enemies to lovers.

WC:2.3k

Max is the ideal roommate until he isn't.

Warnings: Smut. Male and female masturbation. P in V sex. Dub con if you really squint. Overstimulation.

Roommate Agreement

“Max Fucking Phillips!” The roar leaves you as soon as you slam the door.

It echoes through the stylish yet modest off-campus apartment you can afford now that you have a roommate. An apartment that you will sorely miss when you can't afford it because you've murdered your roommate.

“If you're going to summon me like that, at least use my correct full name, Maxwell Fuckington-Phillips.” A head of over gelled hair comes around the corner to narrowly miss being hit by one of your shoes. “The third.”

“Don't! Just don't! Did you tell my date that I have baby fever and I'm just in college to earn my MRS?” Your tone is even and calm despite you wanting to rip Max's head off. He'll get what's coming to him, first you want confirmation.

“I was joking with the guy. You know, like when you told my date I was a STD ridden man whore.” He shrugs sliding onto the sofa.

“I told you that I didn't know she was your date. I know her from one of my classes. Plus, I wasn't joking. I saved her a course of medication and probably months of therapy from the serious regret she would have the next morning.” Your dig didn't even phase Max. 

The endless to and fro of barbs had started about three months after Max moved in. Before that the two of you were practically inseparable. Max had tutored you for a few months. To break up the monotony of studying, you would go grab something to eat and idly chat. For some reason, even though you were very different people, you got on well. When your friend pulled out of renting the apartment the day you needed to sign the lease, Max was the first person you offered it to. He took one look at the place and signed on the spot. The owner was an older lady who was just happy to have someone living above her store. The people who rented that from her commuted from the suburbs, leaving the whole building empty at night. Perfect for a couple of college kids. Until you realised that you couldn't stand each other.

“So what? You're just going to punish me?” You huff at him.

“Hey, if I don't get laid, why should you?” There was an undercurrent of genuine annoyance in his tone.

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know if you know this….but women talk. My dick is blacklisted.” He looked sorry for himself at his admission.

It only takes about two seconds for the laughter you were trying so hard to keep in bursts out. “I'm sorry. It's just funny.”

“I'm glad I've found some way to amuse you rather than you being an uptight bitch to me.” 

“I meant the blacklisted dick part was funny. Not the situation, asshole. So is that why you're ruining my dates? You're jealous that someone else might get some? Fuck you, Max.”

“Maybe that would solve the problem. You caused this dry spell. Maybe you should moisten it.”

Trying hard not to gag at the imagery or the word moisten, all you can think to do is flip him off while you find your words.

“Oh, so you're the other kind of jealous. Not of me, of the guys I might bring home? Do you want me that bad Max?” Your pout at him leaning over in your date night dress so he can see right down the front of it and your lack of a bra.

“Please, if I wanted you. I would have had you months ago.” Max tells your cleavage.

“Yeah, right. My eyes are up here.” Walking deeper into the apartment, you head for your room. “Since my date didn't go well, I'm getting my best toy out. Her name is Jessica. I usually wait until you are out but I guess you'll just have to wear earplugs to bed.”

“You have fun with Jessica, try not to think about me too much.” Max bites at your heels as he catches up and brushes past you down the short corridor to his own bedroom.

Jessica glistens in the low candle light, fully covered in lube and ready to go. Even the scented candles and relaxing oils hadn't loosen you up enough to be able to give Jessica the welcome she deserves. 

‘Fuck. Who does he think he is?’ Trying your best to calm your thoughts you undo your robe and let it fall from your body. Licking your fingertips, you idly trace one of your nipples until it reacts under your touch. The other one gets the same treatment before you take the full breast in each hand and knead them gently. Eventually you feel the pull of your pussy needing your attention. As soon as you reach your folds, you find that Jessica might be up to bat sooner than you thought. Now that you're looser, your pussy is practically dripping. As you slick up your clit and begin to circle it, you tell yourself your arousal has nothing to do with Max. Nothing to do with the thought of him being all pent up and how easily he would come apart underneath you. Nothing to do with the thought of taking his pretty cock in your mouth. And it was pretty. You accidentally walked in on him getting out of the shower and may have dragged your feet, just a little, getting out of there. There is no denying that Max is hot but he is still such an asshole. Fresh anger flares in you as Jessica nestles deep inside you. The first button you tap brings her head to life rotating inside you. The second makes her ears twitch against your clit. Usually you would let the woman work and build you to a steady, satisfying climax. Tonight was different, gripping the base of her, you angle her where you need her and begin to pump her in and out, hard. With your free hand gripping the metal bed frame above your head the whole thing begins to squeak with your movements. There is not one single fuck to be spared for Max as your moans sound out just as loudly. It barely takes any time at all for you to reach the edge. Going over it a litany of curses spill from your lips. Laying there, head thick from your high time seems irrelevant until you need to pee and have to gingerly remove faithful Jessica from being tightly gripped inside your body. After you get the two of you cleaned up, you slip back into bed. Sleep tugs at you until you hear the rhythmic thud of a headboard against a wall.

Max already had a chub on at the sight of you poured into that dress but once he got a good view of the swell of your tits and a peek of your nipples, he was fully hard. He did intend to jerk off quickly, so he could just get to sleep and forget your fight. Then he heard it, the distinct low buzz of a vibrator. Fuck. He thought about your teasing your cunt until you came writhing and twitching on the cheap substitute for his dick. He listened as he raided his bedside drawer for some toys of his own. He filled his sleeve with some lube and pumped his long, thin dildo inside of it ensuring they were both covered. His pillows became makeshift pillowy thighs as he placed his cock sleeve between them in the middle of his bed. His cock twitched with interest as your moans grew louder. His own utterances of fuck and shit as he sheathed he cock were hidden under yours as you came. Max had to take a moment to squeeze his cock so he didn't blow his load there and then. When he felt the need pass he spread his legs to push his own dildo between his asscheeks into his greedy hole. He lays flat to catch his sleeved cock between his body and the bed. While his hips work back and forth he keeps the dildo still so he's either fucking or being fucked with each thrust. He doesn't give a shit if his moans sound pitiful. They are. He's so pent up and this feels so good. The sounds of your enjoyment still free in his ears and the sight of your tits still on his eyelids is the icing on the cake. He pants, moans and whines his way to his peek as he jack rabbits into the mattress. 

“Oh! God!” he moans when his eyes roll back in his head and his balls empty into the toy. 

He's so loud, he doesn't hear the door open or your footsteps on the floor. He only realises you're there when the bed dips next to him. In his blissed out state he doesn't care that he's laying completely naked with a dildo sticking out of his ass. He cares a little more when you nudge it further into him.

Whatever Max says is lost in his pillow. 

“Don't say a fucking thing. Don't spoil it, just shut up.” You make it clear that the last thing you want to hear is his voice. Unless it's whining in pleasure.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He grins stupidly.

“What did I say?!”

“Don't be so grumpy.” He teases. “Are you going to play with my ass or what?”

You answer by pressing the tip right up to his prostate and rolling it up and down over the gland. 

“Fuck. Stop. I can't…” Max pants.

“Oh, poor baby. Are you over-stimulated?” You tease right back working the toy harder.

“Fuck. I'm serious. I…” his annoying complaints are cut off by your lips. 

As Max's lips melt into the kiss, the rest of his body tenses. His head snaps away from yours to bite down on his pillow as he comes again.

“‘uck me!” Is all he can grit out until he releases the thick material. “Fuck. That was…fuck. How did you…? Come on.” Max's earlier bonelessness dissipates as he drags you toward him while turning over and simultaneously removing the toy from his twice spent cock. 

“Come on. Sit on my face. Suffocate me with your cunt until I'm hard again then you can show me how to do that.” Half of that shouted from between your legs.

“Max! I…oh!” You almost squeal as his hot muscle goes straight for your hole. His tongue swirls through your release while he drinks it down like some crazed mythological creature who feeds on bodily fluids. He only pauses to beg you to blow him. Which you oblige to since the sight of his cock getting hard just from eating you out makes you eager to bounce on it. He grows bigger and thicker in your mouth while you do your best to suck in-between moans. Max has moved to sucking on your clit now the sudden intrusion of two thick fingers has you coming on them. 

Max might be a loser in the personality department but he's definitely a winner in refractory period stakes. His cock is rigid again in an impressively short amount of time. Swinging your leg back over his head you shuffle down the bed ready to straddle his hips and eagerly ride his cock.

“I want to be on top.” Max complains.

“Tough.”

His length drags against the heat of your core as he tries to buck you off. “Max!” You half moan, half chide. “No!”

It's Max's turn to moan when you trap his cock between your wet core and his body. He can't help but grind against you a little.

“This is getting us nowhere.” You huff. “Speak for yourself.” Max sighs, gripping your hips to slide you on his length.

“Max! Come on. Guess we could compromise. Doggy?” You supply.

“Fuck, yes.” Max ungraciously bucks you off of him to scramble behind you while you get on all fours.

Just as you get your balance, Max slides home in one fluid motion. For the first time in a long time the two of you seem to be in agreement. Both letting out sighs of contentment. Max starts to thrust and you stay firm to meet every one. It's rough and nasty, and everything you both need. The sounds of skin slapping and fluids gushing fills the room. The two of you moan, grunt and swear like vulgar animals. Sweat covers both of you from the effort of trying to out fuck the other. In the end the two of you climax in perfect sync. Max doesn't ask before finishing inside of you. His cum fills you deeply as he works you both to draw out your highs. 

“Looks like we found something we can agree on.” Max pants sprawling out over the bed.

Shoving past him to go pee you add “Yeah. Plus you are like seventy five percent less annoying during sex.”

“Wow. You keep flattering me like that and I'll think you're sweet on me.” Max called after you.

For a moment in the post coital haze, you think back to when things between you were good. At one point, you really did like Max. He was good company. Smart. Even sweet on occasion. He’s handsome, driven, great in bed. Entering the bathroom and not even stopping to flip on the light or close the door you move on muscle memory while the urge to pee gets stronger. You lower yourself down to the toilet….and almost fall in because the toilet seat is up. “Maxwell Fuckington Phillips…the third!”

[artficlly]

a dish served cold (mini series - part four)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, guns, violence, kidnapping, murder/death, attempted sa, head injuries, choking, vomiting, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, alcohol, betrayal, bounty hunters, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: part four!! things are starting to get moving now. let me know your thoughts sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

If you had expected peace and quiet once the sun set, you were sorely wrong. After being cramped up in a saddle for hours on end, you’d hoped exhaustion would take you the moment you were returned to solid ground. But aside from Barnes, it seemed like you were the only one who was fatigued. 

Your captors hooted and hollered between themselves, gathered around their small fire as they greedily swallowed down whiskey. You had never thought bounty hunters to be so lax. They did not seem to fear the security of their catch, simply relying on the strength of their knots. There was no fear of an attack from a roaming gang or that you or Bucky might slip from your binds. 

You lean against a fallen log a few paces away from them and wonder if they knew how you schemed. In every moment of travel, you pictured increasingly violent ways to escape. You were just waiting for a moment of vulnerability—a moment where you could strike and end this ordeal once and for all. Your thoughts had always been conflicted previously, a silent, crawling worry of judgement. It was a sin to kill; yes, the Bible and preachers always said so. But what of self-defence? What of the rising dread you felt, the knowing in your bones? Deep down, you knew. You knew that if you did not act, you might become yet another corpse that littered the deserts. Or you might be subjected to a range of much worse fates—the ones women truly feared. 

It is the crunch of boots against the rocks and sand that alerts you to one of them drawing closer. Not the ringleader, but another. Rumlow. The man pauses in front of you, crouching down to your height. You swallow hard, your posture straightening. He has a drunken grin, one rather close to a sneer. He brushes a strand of tangled hair from your face. 

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t ya?” Rumlow muses, his eyes scanning across your dirty face. “I do wonder if we keep ya around after this bounty business is done. Could be nice to have some… female company around.”

You shift away as far as you can, but despite your efforts, you feel his hand reach under your skirts. You lift your leg, intending to kick the man, but his spare hand grips your shin, pinning it down. Filthy hands graze across your skin, up past your knee. Bile burns in your throat, your hips squirming as you try to put further distance between the two of you. Rumlow chuckles, fingers ghosting across your thighs. 

You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together to trap his hand in place, hoping and praying that he would not try to reach any further. “I would sooner put the barrel of a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger than be your whore.” You hiss.

The man goes to laugh but stops abruptly. The phlegmy wheeze caught short as you spit in his face. He froze, as if in disbelief. He releases your shins, his hand rising to his cheek, wiping the glob of saliva with one swipe. You watch in disgust as he brings the finger to his lips, sucking the fluid off with a twisted grin.

You are revolted to find that Rumlow appeared… delighted by your sudden will to fight.

He raises his free hand, swinging it down and cracking it firmly across your cheek. Your neck cranks as your head is struck to the side. The shock of it jolted you; your thoughts somewhat momentarily dazed as pain quickly radiates across your skin. You gasp, staring at the ground beneath you. Hesitantly, you run your tongue over your split lip, wincing as you taste blood. 

You feel heat flare across your cheeks, the steady hum of rage flooding your veins. He had released your shin. With a grunt, you raise your knee in a sharp, abrupt motion. Rumlow groans as it connects with his gut, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thigh. “You’re gonna regret that, you stupid bitch.” 

Before you could react, he rose to his feet. One hand seizes a fistful of your hair, and you let out a yelp as he tugs. Rocks dig sharply into your skin as he jerks you onto your stomach, grunting as he drags you across the clearing. You twist in his grip, letting out a gasp as he finally releases you. Your shoulders ache as you desperately tug at the binds keeping your arms tied behind your back, a blind panic setting in. 

You feel him tower over you, his hands digging into your sides. He flips you from your belly onto your back, and you let out a winded squeak, wriggling as you try to break free. 

“Get away from me.” You manage to gasp as the man huffs out a laugh, gripping you by your ankles as he tugs you towards him. You struggle in his grip, managing to free one of your feet, and kick him solidly in the nose. 

Rumlow pauses his movements, the crunching sound of bone reverberating across the campsite. 

He lets out a pained wheeze, his hands rushing upwards as blood streams from his nose. You watch mesmerised for a second as the crimson liquid spills over his hands, dripping down his forearms. 

With a grunt, you flip onto your stomach once more. You wriggle forward, hoping some distance might change your situation for the better. Your victory was short-lived, as you are left frozen as a pair of leather boots stand in your line of sight. 

“Ya know, I’m gettin’ a bit sick of you, little lady.” Pierce snarls, leaning over as he grips one of your arms. Without so much of another word, he hauls you across the ground. You wince and yelp as the rocks and twigs dig into your skin, tearing at your skirts. 

But, to your relief, the ring leader sits you upright once more. Gasping for breath, you are leaning up against a pole. Pierce pauses to stare at you, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. 

“You best stay put now, or I’ll set my boys on ya.” He warns, his eyes moving to look at something behind you. “You’ll keep an eye on her, now won’t ya Barnes?” He sneers teasingly.

You turn your head to look behind you. In your struggle, you haven’t realised the outlaw was tied up directly behind you. Barnes doesn’t respond, and you watch the profile of his face as he stares broodingly into the night. Pierce walks away to return to the fire, and you notice how the outlaw's fist and jaw are clenched. 

Quietly, you catch your breath, your head leaning against the post as you close your eyes. Your heart is beating wildly, and your chest is rising and falling as you try not to focus on the sting of your wounds and the pounding in your skull.

“You alright?” The low, gravelly voice of Bucky spoke up into the silence. You crack your eyes open, sighing heavily through your nose. You were surprised—very surprised, actually—that the outlaw was even interested in speaking to you. 

You run your tongue over your teeth, then your bottom lip, as you contemplate. The behaviour of your captors was elevating at a dangerous rate. If you remained with these men any longer, you weren’t sure you’d be lucky to escape as you had tonight. There was no way for you to untie your binds yourself, not without help. Mere days ago, you would’ve sworn Barnes was your enemy. You’d have to bite the bullet and consider a temporary allyship. 

You could not say you knew the man; you only knew the small acts of kindness he had shown you. You could offer a truce and hope that, in the end, he didn’t turn on you out of revenge for this whole messy situation. 

“Can I ask you a favour?” You hesitantly breach the silence that has fallen, ignoring his previous question. You might’ve answered yes, just to ease his mind that you were, in fact, okay. But you were too shaken to lie. It was hard to forget Rumlow’s dirty fingers had ghosted up your thigh. It was easy to picture what he might’ve done if you had not fought back.

“A favour?” Barnes asks. You could feel him shift behind you, adjusting his seat and trying to lean closer. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me, but I have a feelin’ the only way we can get out of here is to work together.” Your words were met with a contemplative silence. You swivel your head back again, your neck straining as you try to get a peek at his face to see if any emotion crosses his chiselled face. 

“And what were you proposin’?”

“My knife, it’s still in my boot; they missed it. I can’t grab it with my hands tied, but maybe you’ll be able to grab it.” You huff, snapping your head forward once more. Sliding your legs carefully underneath yourself so your feet were closer to where his hands were tied. Then, you shuffled backwards until your back was pressed against his shoulder. 

The outlaw bends closer to you in return, his hands blindly feeling around your calf, shin, and ankle, searching for an angle to stick his fingers into your boot. You keep your jaw clamped shut, ignoring the goosebumps that rise across your skin. You were thankful for your stockings, which prevent Barnes from feeling how your body reacts to his touch. It perplexes you how his unintentional caress felt so different from the type of touch Rumlow had subjected you to. 

“I get the knife, and then what?” Barnes puffs as he strains against the rope. His fingers press into your boot, searching for the thin blade tucked snuggly between the leather and your stockings. With your back arched, you tilt closer, trying to give the outlaw a fighting chance to retrieve the knife. The whalebone edge of your corset cut into your skin, and your breathing grew strained as your ribs were squeezed at the awkward angle. 

“You hold it for me, and I can cut myself loose, then I’ll cut you free.”

His fingers pause, as if he were suddenly second-guessing your proposal. “And what’s to say you don’t bolt the second I cut you free.”

You sigh, squeezing your eyes together in frustration. Your back and hips ached from the position in which you were bent, and your legs were cramped and quivering as you tried to stay upright. 

“I promise, okay? I know it ain’t worth much. I just know I can’t get out of here without your help.” You say, near begging. Your breath comes out in short pants, the tight lacing of your corset showing no mercy. His fingers are still frozen in place, and you can imagine the frown that has fallen across his face. “I am scared. Is that what you want to hear? Those men… those men are only get worse each night, and I ain’t gonna be able to fight them off much longer.”

You wait for his response, expecting him to ask how it would benefit him—other than the obvious possibility of him escaping his fate of swinging once the party reached civilisation. To your surprise, he doesn’t appear to question you. The outlaw grunts, as if not even able to find the word to reply, and to your relief, he begins digging for the knife once more. You release a sharp breath, clenching your jaw as you strain to stay twisted in place. 

When he finally manages to grip the blade after a few more minutes of fumbling around, you nearly sob out of joy. The outlaw succeeds in plucking the knife from your boot, and you moan in relief, flopping against him as you flex your legs back into place. Barnes is tense at your touch; his body is stiff as if it had turned to stone. 

“Hold still.” He mutters. The coarse fibres of your binds rubbed at your wrists, the pull of the knife tugging them back and forth. The two of you are dead silent as he works, eyes locked on your captors, who were still huddled around the fire, drinking and oblivious. They don’t notice anything amiss. 

With one final tug, the strands of the rope come apart. You gratefully pull your wrists apart, rolling your shoulders subtly with a relieved sigh. Your moment of bliss is short-lived, as you do not want to draw attention to yourself before you are able to free Barnes. You make quick work of his rope, your fingers gripping the blade expertly as you quickly cut. Your head snaps rapidly between the rope that disintegrates between your fingers and the group of captors. 

Only when the outlaws binds are removed do you shift back into your original position, so as to not rouse suspicion if they glanced over. Your pulse sounds like a drum in your ears as you lean back onto the wooden post. Half of you had expected the outlaw to leap to his feet, materialise a gun from thin air, and take them out expertly like a gunslinger of legend. Another half expected he might turn on you, that vengeance for your actions might outweigh his common sense. 

Barnes did neither. Instead, to your surprise, he presses your small knife into your palm and mutters to you in a low voice, “We should wait until they fall asleep. Easier to shoot without ‘em shootin’ back.” 

“You want to kill them?” You say, horrified. 

Even if you had pictured your captors deaths repeatedly, you did not actually intend to kill them. There was rage, frustartion, and fear inside of you, yes, but you did not want to become a murderess. Maybe there would be some satisfaction in causing them to be arrested and watching them swing, but were you truly capable of killing? Having a violent thought was no sin, but only if you did not act upon it. 

“As far as I’m concerned, they deserve it, darlin’.” Barnes replies gruffly. 

You think back to how the outlaw has watched as these men beat and torment you. How he had grit his teeth and clenched his fist. Your captors had found enjoyment in his suffering as equally as yours, laughing when he stumbled and dragging him by his neck. Thinking back, you recognised there was a growing darkness in his gaze, a hateful, vicious thing growing within him.��

“I think it’s up to the law to decide who deserves what.” You say, but deep down, you are unsure of your own words. Even if you escaped without killing your captors, what was to say they would give up the chase? How far would they travel through this godforsaken desert just to get to Barnes? And you could not simply let Barnes slip away; you still needed him. 

“Those men hurt you, hell, they were gonna do a lot worse. You’re tellin’ me that you’re not the least bit upset about that?” He asks, irritated. 

You cannot find the heart to reply.

—

It didn’t take long for your captors to fall asleep—a mixture of the exhaustion of the day and the indulgent pours of whiskey they allowed themselves. You were surprised; you’d never expected bounty hunters to be so sloppy. Maybe they could afford it due to their numbers, more firepower, and strength. You wondered why your captors didn’t have the foresight to leave one of their own awake to stand watch or why they didn’t sleep in shifts. Maybe they had too much faith in their knots or even their ears to wake them at the slightest noise. 

You had decided you would not kill. No. You would have Barnes do the dirty work if necessary. Whatever watched over you would have to forgive you for that sin, but at least you would not have blood on your hands. 

The camp grew silent until only the crackle of the fire, the nickering of the horses, and Barnes slow, deep breathing joined you. It was only when you heard the soft snores that Barnes nudged you with his elbow. The outlaw glances over his shoulder at you, his face dusty and eyebrows knit together in a look of determination. 

The two of you slowly rise to your feet, careful and purposeful with each step as you navigate your way through the small camp. One of the captors had fallen asleep next to the fire, while the other two had miraculously made it to their beds. 

You clutch your small knife in your hand. You had decided it would be suspicious if you left yourself unarmed—you didn’t want Barnes to suspect your plan to use him. Based on what you had heard from stories and personal experience, you did not think the man was particularly remorseful about using violence and taking lives. However, you did not want to give him any more reason to distrust you than he already likely did.

Trust would be key, as much as it disgusts you. 

You watch on like a hawk as Barnes hesitantly leans down, retrieving a pistol from the belt of one of the men. You hold your breath, momentarily captivated, as the light from the fire illuminates his side profile, strands of messy hair sweeping over his forehead. There is a strange feeling in your gut that was unfamiliar to you, one that made you feel weak in the knees. Without disturbing its owner, he withdraws the gun from its holster with deft, cautious, and slow fingerwork. 

You release a long, slow breath, and Barnes rises to his full height once more. He does not even glance in your direction, instead assessing the gun and checking the number of bullets left. You creep towards him, a small, anxious voice within thinking he might turn the gun on you. Those thoughts are quickly dismissed, the knot in your chest loosening as Barnes gestures his head towards one of the men, and you nod in response. 

You go to creep backward a few paces to allow the outlaw the space he needs to commit whatever crime he envisions, but find yourself frozen in your tracks as warm flesh wraps around your ankle. You glance down, your mouth opening in horror, as you realise the man next to the fire has awoken. With one hand clutched around your ankle in a vice-like grip, the other reaches for his second pistol, raising it to point it directly at you. You yank your leg backward sharply as his finger comes to rest over the trigger. Your whole body jolts as a loud gunshot rings through the camp, the scent of smoke filling your nostrils. 

Your hand flies to your stomach as you gasp, fear prickling across your skin. You quickly realise that, despite the sudden shock, you are unharmed. Wide-eyed, your head snaps upwards, and you see Barnes standing with his gun aimed squarely at the now deceased man. Blood splatters, bone, and brain matter paint your boots, skirts, and the soil. You could’ve sworn you heard the sizzle as droplets of blood sprinkle the open fire. You gape at the scene, fixed in place from the shock. Your joints feel frozen—a chill that not even the campfire could melt. The shock hits you in a rush that leaves your chest pounding as you gasp for breath. Only when you jerk your head upward to look at Barnes do you find the will to move. You pull your ankle free, your legs wobbling as you try to step over the body. 

There is a look of worry that haunts the outlaws features. 

He thrusts out his hand to assist you, his fingers brushing your hands. You gratefully grasp at him, your knees nearly buckling as he supports your weight. There is a strange comfort in feeling his arms wrap around your waist, hoisting you away. You look up, hoping to thank him, but your gaze moves past his concerned expression as you notice a dark, looming figure standing behind him. 

“Bucky!” You shriek and dive to the ground as his grip on you slips. Your palms meet the earth first, with rocks digging into your flesh. A choked gasp leaves your throat as you realise your hands were slippery, thick, crimson liquid painting your skin. For a moment, you think it is Bucky, and a sob rises in your chest. You look upward, but by some miracle, the outlaw is unharmed. He has gained his bearings and jumped forward to tackle Pierce. Bucky’s sculpted arms wrap around his middle as they begin to tussle on the ground. 

Your eyes flick back down to your palms, realising the blood you knelt in was from the body next to you. Mistakenly, you look at the corpse, then make a small gagging noise as you gain your footing. Bucky and Pierce are still brawling like a set of wild dogs, all teeth and claws, as they both struggle to reach a misplaced gun. You contemplate reaching for the pistol to assist the outlaw, but before you can do anything heroic, a large mass slams into your side. You let out a yelp as your shoulder smacked hard into the ground below, biting pain radiating up your arm. The heat of the fire is scalding, and your head has nearly fallen into the pit.

The man above you is Rumlow, still as loathsome as you remembered him. There was a thin layer of sweat across his forehead, his nose was bruised, and his yellowing teeth revealed an angry grimace. With one of his hands raised and his palm flat against your face, he attempts to shove your head into the fire. You grit your teeth, struggling to find your knife, which fell from your hand during the tackle. The heat from the fire continues to sear your flesh, and the flames are inching closer as your captor pushes your cheek closer and closer to the flames. The light blinds you, and in a moment of desperation, you bite down hard on one of his fingers, spitting blood as he yowls in pain. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, slam your knee into his stomach and roll out from under him. 

Your knife is discarded nearby, the glint of metal calls to you. You scramble towards it on your hands and knees, crying out as Rumlow grips you by the back of your head. Your scalp wails in agony as he takes a fistful of your tangled hair, yanking and tossing you to the ground. Your head cracks against the hard earth, a ringing in your ears as you roll onto your back coughing. 

Rumlow chuckled, lowering himself onto you. He straddles your waist, pinning you in place. You kick out wildly, trying your best to squirm your way out, but are unsuccessful. Wrapping his hands around your neck, he squeezes hard. Panic begins to rise as you fight for air, clawing at his hands desperately. Your vision zones in on his face, his crooked teeth, wrinkles, and slicked back hair. You turn your head, searching desperately for Bucky. Deep down, you knew he had no reason to help you, not while he thought you were some kind of bounty hunter. The edges of your vision begin to fade, the world growing grey as your lungs burn, your chest heaving in agony. 

Just moments before you consider closing your eyes and accepting this cruel and violent end, you notice a small light. A glint, not apart of the fire. A piece of metal, sharp and well-cared for. You knew this, as you had sharpened it yourself. Made in your Pa’s forge. It called to you once more. 

You reach out desperately, your palms dragging across the rough soil, until you can finally grasp between your fingers. With one last push, you clench your fist, driving the blade into the throat of your captor.

His mouth opens, eyes wide in shock, as he grabs at his neck. You gasp in air. Your throat burns, and your body suddenly grows possessed as you cough and heave. Blood spurts across your chest, neck, and face as Rumlow slumps over you. Still choking for air, you grunt loudly as you push the man off. Taking in large gulps of air, you roll onto your belly, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment to breathe. The earth below you was warm from the fire, and you pres your forehead against it, not caring as you breathe in sand and dust. Beside you, Rumlow splutters, chokes, and gags before finally falling silent. 

These people had corrupted you. You were only a few weeks away from home, and you had become one of the characters in a cautionary tale your church would preach. There was blood on your hands; there was blood all over you. You were dripping in it, as if you had submerged yourself in a bath filled with it. It coated everything—your very being, your very soul. What would your Ma say? Her daughter, her only child, a sinner? You would surely go to hell for this, self defense or not. You could’ve stabbed him anywhere—the arm, the shoulder—but you chose the throat? It was never supposed to go this far, this… this idotic fantasy. You were a killer, a murderer. Had you completely abandoned your morals? All for what? Vengeance? 

Your arms shook as you rose up on all fours, gagging and heaving as you vomited up bile. You could not remember the last time you had a proper meal. Your stomach aches, and your throat stings from the acid. Eyes watering, you sniffle as you wipe at your face, pushing yourself to a kneeling position. 

Bucky stood over you, his hand extended. The outlaw looked as though he had been thoroughly tussled, his hair messy, and the beginnings of a bruise across his cheek. You take his hand, feeling like a ragdoll as he pulls you to your feet. His hand raises, coming to gently and hesitantly touch your shoulder. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice laced with concern and hesitation. He seemed to regard you like a spooked horse, making slow and purposeful movements so as not to scare you away. You held his gaze, knowing there was a likeness of death within them.

“Yes.” You lie through your teeth, your voice hoarse. As if he can sense your lie, he shrinks back and grunts in response.

Any expressive or lively emotions from the outlaw moments previous were lost. Now, you were met by a brick wall. His visage was darkened and stoic. A void of a man. He took a seat in front of the fire, slumping as his back turned to you. Rage bubbles within you, the boil large enough that you consider biting your own fist as not to scream. This man had already taken everything from you, and now you were caught up in this mess. Innocent, you were no more. You look around at the destruction around you—blood and bullets littering the ground. 

He had caused this. He had caused this destruction in your life and led you astray into the desert. You stare at the back of his head, your skin crawling as you imagine how you would crack it open. Allies, you were no more, now that your captors had been dealt with. 

Hands shaking, you let out a sharp breath and turn around. 

You needed a drink. Something, anything to stop the pounding in your skull. 

You worked your way through camp slowly, checking the dead bodies, the tents, and then the saddlebags. There was no more whiskey to be found, and more alarmingly, there were little to no supplies. You had wondered if the lack of food and water given to you and Barnes while in captivity was purposeful, but now it seemed rather like a lack of provisions. No wonder they had been living off whiskey the entire journey. That, and it appeared that your captors had been dead broke, other than a few measly coins tucked into a saddlebag. They didn’t even have any damn cigarettes left.

Unfortunately, it left you in a similar predicament. They had brought along your saddlebag, but it was as bare as their own savings. There was little to no money—just a couple cans and half a waterskin full of warm water. Thankfully, they had tucked your rifle into one of the saddles, which you gratefully retrieve. Crimson Junction had certainly bled you dry, having to pay for a room, food, and stabling your horse while you waited for the roads to open. 

It seemed ridiculous now, thinking back to when you thought this would be easy. Hindsight was a cruel maiden. 

Stroking a hand down the wooden grain of your rifle, you wondered where the valuables Bucky and his companions had collected had gone. All the fancy jewellery that was stolen during the robbery... had it vanished into thin air? Was that their victims’ legacies? Maybe he had spent it all while on the run, or maybe the group of them had hidden it somewhere in the wilds. Either way, it didn’t seem like your captors had had the foresight to bring his saddlebag, which was presumably with his horse still loose in the canyons. 

Your hands tremble, and you grip the rifle in your hands harder. Taking deep breaths, you stalk over to Barnes, who obliviously stares into the shrinking flames. You gaze upon him and still feel grief squeeze your heart. The outlaw had been kind to you and even saved your life. But what of justice? What of your foolish mission that led you to this desert?

What of the retribution you deserved?

You had tried to be the girl you were raised to be. You had tried to be innocent, true, and kind. You had tried so hard to be what was expected of you—to marry well and be a good wife or even a mother. But there was so much anger within you—a rage you did not know how to smother. The flames burned higher and higher until they spewed from your mouth and engulfed you whole.

You were no longer gentle. No longer that girl you left behind in Aramiah.

“What were you diggin’ around for?” The outlaw asks, but he doesn't bother to turn his head. Probably for the better. Had he really regained faith in you that quickly? So blind to the different sides of you? He did not even know you, or maybe he thought he did? 

In that moment, you were unsure if you even knew yourself.

You raise the rifle and swing it over your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” You croak out. 

Bucky turns, but it is too late. You bring your arms down and strike him hard across the head. His head snaps back, a gash splitting across his temple. 

He is out cold before he can hit the ground.

PART FIVE

[clickerflight]

The Price of War - Part 1: Field Medicine

Author's note: New storyyyyyyy! Below I have tagged all of my active whump story taglists including the story I just finished so people can see if they're interested in reading this story. If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments or sending in an ask. You will not be tagged in future parts unless you tell me you want to be.

Masterlist

Content: Elf whumpee, minotaur carewhumper, manhandling, abdomen injury, fantasy racism, passing out

.......................................

Alo’ad huffed, falling back behind the other members of his war party. He wasn’t as big as them, so keeping up with them was harder after hours of trekking through the thick woods while the elves attacked them over and over again, trying to get them surrounded. 

Due to the leader of the party, Underar, having superior wood lore under his belt, they had made it this far relatively unscathed. In fact, they had the elves on the run now which was the only reason Alo’ad allowed himself to slow down. That and any other minotaur that was hurt could slow down and get some healing from the half-taur now that it was safer to do so. 

Alo’ad stretched his arms, looking for Taurs that had fallen behind or collapsed because of an unnoticed injury. 

He smelled blood in the air and snuffled, trying to find it quickly. It smelled dangerous, whatever wound it came from. 

He ducked his head a little, his short horns brushing under a branch as he stepped through the last of the tall grass in the clearing. 

The tree the branch belonged to loomed overhead, and at the roots sat a man. A small elf, thin and willowy though as short as any of his kind, clutching at a deep wound in his abdomen. 

The elf’s eyes went wide, long ears tipping down and pinning in his long pale hair as he drew in a short breath. 

Alo’ad moved quickly, grabbing the elf by the face and gently pinned his head to the tree. The elf whimpered, Alo’ad’s hand, while smaller than a full Taur’s hand, was still big enough to almost entirely cover the elf’s face. 

Alo’ad looked over his shoulder, making sure he was crouched far enough that no one in the war party would be able to see him. If the elf was heard or spotted they would take him back to camp to interrogate him. They wouldn’t torture him, but it would be torture as his wounds  would be left unattended. And he would die before he could tell them anything interesting. 

No, that would be a waste of life, and Alo’ad had been taught by his human father, against Taur culture, that life was endlessly valuable. Even that of the enemy. His mother had rolled her eyes at such claims, but she never stopped old Hesikaia from teaching their son such things, a soft look in her eyes as she watched her husband do so. 

Alo’ad reached into his pack, ignoring the elf’s scrambling fingers, slick with blood, on his wrist. 

He pulled out a small satchel full of poultice soaked pads and pulled one out, gently tugging the elf’s war tunic up out of his belt before applying the pad to the wound. 

The elf tensed under his fingers, small hands grabbing at his wrist, though he was no longer fighting back. 

Alo’ad didn’t dare make much noise, so he leaned in and whispered, “Please be quiet. If they hear you, you will be taken prisoner. Understand?”

The elf sat there frozen before tapping twice, the common sign for yes. 

Alo’ad released the elf’s face, who took a deep breath, eyes wide, but he did not scream. 

Alo’ad nodded and turned his attention to the wound, lifting the pad to check the damage. It was deep, but it did not smell of bile like it would if any organs had been ruptured. 

The half-taur grunted, happy enough as he replaced the pad, grabbing the elf by the upper arm to lift him away from the tree, reaching into his pack for bandages to wrap around the elf’s stomach. 

The elf squirmed a little, opening his mouth, but one stern look from Alo’ad quieted him. 

The elf stilled as Alo’ad finished wrapping the bandages, pinning it with a long thorn from a plant in the underbrush near the tree. 

The elf looked very strange indeed, sitting there with the bulky bandages meant for a minotaur wrapped around his middle. 

“Why?” the elf whispered in accented common. 

Alo’ad tilted his head a little. He just gave a little shrug. “Stay here,” he whispered. “I will find you a staff.”

He got up to hunt quickly through the forest for a stick for the small elf, looking up at branches with his knife in hand to cut one if he found a sturdy enough branch within his reach. 

………………………….

Bettelenian watched in amazement as the half-taur left to look for a staff. He rested a hand on his bandaged stomach, still trembling in the aftershocks of fear. He had been certain he was going to die when he looked up from his wound to see the enemy standing in front of him. Laying wounded, out of energy entirely to cast any spells, far away from the horses he trained and cursing the reckless decisions of his peers that brought him here, he thought he was going to die. 

When the half-taur had moved, quicker than a horse striking out with its back hooves, Bettelenian was sure he would wake up on the other side, wrapped in the robes of the dead, but instead he had only been slightly smothered as the half-taur messed with his wound. 

Bettelenian had been stupidly lucky. So very very lucky. He should have died, really. He had been thrown from his horse, upset by the attacking Taurs and difficult terrain and some Taur had managed to stick him, leaving for dead in the grass, a sneering face imprinted in Bettelenian’s head. He’d crawled to the tree before he’d run out of energy entirely. 

And here he was, patched up by a half-taur. It looked as though it were true that the human blood in any species made them softer. Maybe even foolish. 

Bettlenian shuddered at that thought. Now was not the time for blood snobbery. Really, he should be on his hands and knees thanking whatever human helped create this man who had come to save him. 

He heard a cracking of branches behind him and he turned his head to see the half-taur coming back, a sturdy branch in hand, tucking a huge knife away. 

His huge hand encompassed Bettelenian’s whole shoulder, hauling him up more than helping, giving him the staff and holding him until the dizziness had passed from him. 

“That way should be safe,” the half-taur said, pointing into the woods. “I will make sure they do not search this way for a while. Here.”

He pulled out a small bottle with something white and pearly inside. “Take a sip of this.”

“What is it?” Bettelenian asked, trying to hide his disgust. 

“It will give you energy to get back to an elven camp,” the half-taur said. “Take only a sip. It’ll feel like a kick to the chest.”

“I’ll do without,” Bettelenian said, trying to take a step away, but he was so tired his hands slipped on the staff, sending him to his knees. 

The huge enemy crouched by him, a huge hand on Bettelenian’s lower back, clearly able to grab him all the way around if he wanted to. The bottle was shoved under Bettelenian’s nose. “Take it.”

“No! I won’t have a barbarian’s brew! I-”

Something angry flashed through the half-taur’s eyes and he grabbed Bettelenian by his long hair, pulling him back and putting the bottle to his lips. 

The potion dribbled like honey into Bettelenian’s mouth - a bitter, numbing honey - sticking to his molars as he haltingly swallowed, and then the bottle was ripped away again. 

“Go,” the half-taur said darkly, pushing Bettelenian back up and shoving the staff into his hands. 

Bettelenian gasped as energy slammed into his body, indeed feeling like a kick to the chest as his heart pumped quicker and his urge to run kicked in as powerfully as it did when he found himself at the end of a spear. 

“Go,” the half-taur growled again. “May my father’s brewing knowledge carry you from here after the insult you gave to it. You are lucky I chose to let you go to live with your people instead of dying among mine.”

Bettelenian stumbled away before turning and fleeing as fast as he could, heavily using the staff as he did so. 

…………………………………………

“Alo’ad!” Underar called as the healer came back to meet with the other Taurs. They were setting up camp, laughing and singing together as they celebrated their victory and even Underar’s blood swam with the alcohol he had allowed himself to share in. “There you are! Where were you?”

“Likely finding a river to clean off in!” another Taur called. Kiadhi grinned at Alo’ad in a friendly, teasing way. “Just like your father, hey?”

Alo’ad rolled his eyes, though it was clear he had found a water source of some sort to clean off as he was somewhat damp and no longer smelled of the chase or war. “Perhaps, but you want your healer’s hands clean if he’s going to be digging around in your organs.”

“Only if the healer is in camp in the first place,” Underar said, a little bite in his tone now. “You were gone for a long time.”

Alo’ad shrugged, muscled shoulders rolling in a sleeveless tunic. “I was tired,” he admitted.

Underar scowled, stepping forward and putting a large hand on Alo’ad’s small shoulder, leading him away from camp as the Taurs who had been paying attention went back to their celebration. 

“Alo’ad,” the leader said softly. “You told me that you could keep up with us. If you have lied for the glory of running with the herd, I can understand that, but-”

“No, it’s fine. I can keep up. I just need longer breaks,” Alo’ad said firmly. “I have not slowed you down yet, and I do not intend on slowing you down in the future.”

Underar looked Alo’ad up and down, judging the small half-taur’s words before nodding. “I believe you, Alo’ad. Try to rest closer to the camp, understand?”

“I understand,” Alo’ad replied, nostrils flaring with some relief. 

“Good. Come join the celebration. We will need your voice to sing the victory chorus.”

……………………………………….

Bettelenian stumbled into an elven camp as the moon began to rise, the potion worn off now. He had no idea who’s camp he was in, but he wanted to cry in relief. 

He called out in pain, falling to his knees, his staff clattering to the ground. 

A tent near him lit up with mage light and soon elves were running to him, helping him up and calling for a healer. 

Bettelenian forced himself to stay conscious through pride alone as he was taken into a tent, a healer, wearing the symbols of the second highest order, pulled back his tunic only as far as necessary to deal with the injury. 

“These aren’t elven,” he said, confused. “What happened out there?”

Bettelenian opened his mouth to answer, but the Lord of sleep was already coming for him, taking his vision before carrying him to rest. 

Part 2

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list

[countrymusiclover]

28 - Loyalists of Queen Vaella

Part 29

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

“Mommy, why are we having a feast today?” Rhana asked while I helped her slip on a light red dress and tied her hair into a braid.  

She was always curious about the world and why we did the things that we did here.  Reminding me so much of her Uncle Tyrion who I missed very much.  “Because the Lords of this Island made a vow to me exactly six years ago today.  To swear their loyalty to me every six years since the day we came to this place and they named me Queen of the Dragon Island.” 

“Does that make daddy King?” She asked me. 

Brushing my hands down the front of my gown I sighed hearing someone knock on the chamber door outside. “Your father doesn’t wish to be called King.  So he is just called Lord Lannister.”

“But why?” She asked me, wanting to know more. 

Calling towards the door letting the person come inside and interrupt our conversation. “We’ll finish this later.  Come in!” 

“Your dragon is ready for you, your grace.” Lady Mandy slightly bowed to me.  Sending my daughter off with one of the guards I knew I had a short window of time for me to take a fly on Amethyst.   

Once inside the dragon stables my dragon lowered her wing letting me climb on her.  Over the many years of ruling this place I had switched my free time of flying with her to teach my children how to fly instead.  Amethyst flew through the white clouds and we circled the castle tower that we now called our home.  “I’ve missed this, my girl…oh there’s Jaime.” Tugging on her reins she dived down and we landed a few feet in front of him. 

“The Lords are already gathered in the throne room.  I must say you always look suited on dragonback.” My husband extended his hand helping me slide down her wing meeting up with him on the grassy ground. 

Keeping my hand in his, I kissed him quickly with a smile. “You did marry a dragon princess.  I only wish it were possible for you to be on a dragon of your own.” 

“The possibility of me ever riding on a dragon is slimy unless I wish to be burned alive.” He remarked a valid point considering in the old histories only someone with some Targaryen blood could ride and not be injured.  That’s one of the reasons the people believed Targaryens were gods being able to ride dragons. 

Squeezing his hand in mine I sent him a half smile. “I would never let Amethyst hurt you.” 

“We should go before the children start eating all the food in the throne room.” Jaime nodded leading me into the castle and the throne room that had been formed out of the old dragon skulls rather than have them be thrown into the seas.  Jaime stood off to the side with our four children watching me slowly sit down on the throne and the lords come forward to pledge loyalty once more. 

A silver seahorse on a sea green chest plate belonging to the former bastard son of Velaryon lowered himself down on one knee before me.  “I , Aurane Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Ships promise to be faithful to Queen Vaella and her children.  I shall defend them against all enemies and use all my abilities to protect the Dragon Island from harm from this day until my last day.” 

“I, Jayse Quherys , Lord of Harrenhal, promise to be faithful to Queen Vaella and her children.  I shall defend them against all enemies and use all my abilities to protect the Dragon Island from harm from this day until my last day.” The sigil was a flaming saltire colored red and yellow between four white skulls. 

The sigil that next addresses me is an orange phoenix on a purple background with a black border.  “I , Garrel Macklyn, Warden of the South and New Valyria War Chief , promise to be faithful to Queen Vaella and her children.  I shall defend them against all enemies and use all my abilities to protect the Dragon Island from harm from this day until my last day.”

“I , Tymber Barlaeries, Master of Dragonlords, promise to be faithful to Queen Vaella and her children.  I shall defend them against all enemies and use all my abilities to protect the Dragon Island from harm from this day until my last day.” His house sigil was a sphinx that was shown on his chest plate. 

Finally the last sigil sworn to me was a horse with wings. “I , Kavvin Valtigar , Lord of Valtigars Rest , promise to be faithful to Queen Vaella and her children.  I shall defend them against all enemies and use all my abilities to protect the Dragon Island from harm from this day until my last day.”

“I, Vaella Lannister , first of my name, formerly of House Targaryen , Lady of Casterly Rock, Adventurer of the Summer Sea and Sothoryos, Lady of The Dragon Island, take note of your constant support of me and my children.  And if the day ever comes where I wish to take the Iron Throne I know you all shall follow me across the Summer Seas to claim it.” Standing before my loyal men every time on this day the idea of me sitting on the Iron Throne became more real than the other days of the year.  The black crown no longer a foreign weight and nightmare that reminded me of my father who wished to set the world on fire.  

The sun had begun to set when there was loud music and people dancing in the lager hall near the throne room we had claimed.  Jaime and I were sitting at the head table but I had removed my crown for that time.  Watching our children dance around the other trying to win a dance contest between the four of them.  Someone tapped my shoulder causing me and Jaime to  turn our heads seeing a Velaryon master holding out a sealed envelope outward to me in his palm. “You’re grace, a Raven brought this from Dragonstone.” 

“Thank you, grand Master.” Taking it from his hand the older man bowed and left me and my husband alone at the table to read whatever it said.  Jaime tour the dragon seal off unfolding the paper holding it before me so I could read it beside him.  I was a much faster reader than he was. “Dear Sister,  I have not heard any word from you and your husband for some time.  I must either assume you are dead or that you are conspiring to take the throne out from under me.  If you are alive then prove your loyalty or I may have to do something to your brother in law.” 

“She wouldn’t lay a hand on Tyrion would she?” I could hear the terror in my hush voice.  He had always done whatever he could to protect his little brother. 

Brushing my fingers through my hair I leaned back in my chair re-reading over the letter a few more times. “Fire and Blood are her nature.  I’d like to say she wouldn’t hurt him.  But that might not be the case.” 

“Are you saying the words I’m thinking?” He questions me. 

Meeting his green orbs. “We have to return to Westeros, but not alone - the Valyria houses shall follow us until the day they die.” Jaime’s nervous slightly faded in awe at the love of his life finally embracing the nature of being a true Queen. 

[redgoldblue]

for the drabble spotify wrapped game, if you want: i rolled my rainbow d10 twice and we have a 75 🌈

❤️ 🌈

75: America's Sweetheart by Elle King

uh. I don't know where this came from. i apologise, my partner-in-fluff 🫡

Also I am obviously not abiding by the technical 100-word definition of drabble here, but instead the much looser 'short piece of writing'.

spotify wrapped drabbles!

Steve doesn't know when he stopped caring about killing people. It didn't bother him until he started caring again.

It's not anyone unusual, is the thing that gets him. It's a nameless, almost-faceless drug smuggler that he didn't even mean to kill, but he shot with intent to disable and a little too much carelessness in a rush to stop the ship they came in on, and when he finally loops back around there's a pool of blood and a corpse with a busted femoral artery.

He's kneeling down, checking a pulse even though it's clearly absent, removing weapons even though he'll clearly have no use for them, when his fingers brush against a thin edge in the inside pocket of the off-the-rack grey suit jacket the guy's wearing.

When he pulls it out, it's a photo. He has to look down to check that it's the same guy in it, partially because death rictus changes a face, especially when your comparison is smiling and happy, and partially because he just hasn't looked at his face properly. It's the same guy, his arm around a similarly smiling woman shoulder-height to him and so close in features she has to be his sister, with a chubby-cheeked frizzy-haired kid straddling his shoulders and holding onto the woman's hand.

One of the first things the military teaches you, explicitly or not, is to erase personhood. Your own, and your enemy's. Numbers, statistics, body parts and targets and usefulness.

He puts the photo back into the dead man's jacket and moves away. A tech comes at some point, body-bags him, and Duke is there and the rest of his team have it well in hand, so he goes back to where their cars are parked, boosts himself onto the hood of the truck, and waits.

Kono walks past at some point, but they're still in the midst of cleanup and HPD handover, so even though she does slow and ask, "You okay, boss?", when he replies in the affirmative she nods and keeps moving.

He remembers himself before. He remembers when it would never would have occurred to him not to think that every person with a bullet in them is a person with a family. A person with a life, at least before they were a person with a death.

He doesn't bother trying to count. The impulse washes over him, but it would take hours with military records and Five-0 reports to calculate anything even close to accuracy.

Himself before was decades ago, but also not that long ago. It was target practice at the Academy and work behind computers in Military Intelligence and crawling through mud with a similarly young Freddie by his side.

Himself after, apparently, is sitting on his own truck at the edge of his own city watching his family and his family's family and his friends and his friends' friends move efficiently through shipping containers and body bags.

Eventually, Danny finds him. He takes one look at Steve's face; he doesn't say anything, just leans against the hood next to Steve and waits.

Eventually, Steve finds the words. "I don't think the military would like me anymore, Danny."

It's not all that new a state of affairs; he got driven by revenge and tattoos in non-regulation places and too many personal attachments and he remembered how to have fun in quiet spaces and how to love in loud ones. He started caring again.

"Good," Danny says, harsh and definite, and Steve realises with a start that the things that would debase him in the eyes of his country are probably exactly the same reasons Danny - not just Danny, his whole family - would cite for loving him. Except the tattoos, maybe.

He can't bring himself to be upset about it in the face of that.

[averseunhinged]

i realized this week that, in true s4 form, the bulk of this longass fic takes place over approx a three hour period, but it just keeps going on and on, because klaus will not sit down and stfu. at least he and caroline are in the same room again?

24/7 sylvia plath

snippet 1 of insihta

snippet 2 of insihta

snippet 3 of insihta

snippet 4 of insihta

very short snippet 5 of insihta

snippet of a later post-graduation installment

this falls after snippet 5. not super long, but it starts to get into the meat of why caroline went home with him after he tried to kill her. it's kind of a rumination on what it really means to be an immortal monster.

"So, you...what? You have whims! And the worst temper ever."

"Because I can't!" he hissed. He set the cup in his hand down before he could give into the urge to throw it. To cause some manner of satisfying destruction. "Once. In over a thousand years, I turned off my humanity one time, when Katerina escaped and I failed to break my curse. Do you understand that?"

By the frown on her face and the furrow in her brow, he knew she did not. "But I thought only younger vampires could turn it off."

"Yes," he agreed. "Typically. The older the vampire, the more difficult the process, buried as the original superego becomes under time. It requires an extraordinary set of circumstances. Despair beyond reckoning. A near complete loss of hope. Of self, even."

"No," she denied, shaking her head. "You wouldn't have."

There were moments when he cursed her cleverness, her unwitting insightfulness. Even when he led her there, her knowing of him was still an uncomfortable ache.

"I would have."

"You wouldn't! Not over me."

"Yes," he insisted. "I would. It was already coming. I could feel it. A creeping chill of the spirit. As you faded, the numbness spread. Like hypothermia. I've nothing left to look forward to. That's the truth. For a thousand years, I had a mission. Protect my family. Break my curse. Build my army. Kill my father. Straightforward, really, for all its complications. And now I'm done. It's all resolved itself one way or another, for good or ill. What else is there for me?"

"You can't make me your only reason to go on." Her hands flexed between them, as though she wanted to grab him and shake the foolishness out of him. "People can't be that for each other. I'm just me! I'm not...it's not supposed to work like that."

"Why shouldn't it? We're not people, Caroline. We're monsters carved from our mortality. In time, I will find new endeavors. There will be more threats, more enemies to sink my teeth into. But for now?" Klaus leaned towards her, looming despite their similar heights. Her eyes were wide, reflexive breaths coming shorter in her agitation, but he didn't stop, as merciless in this as she'd ever been with him. "You wanted to understand why you no longer fear for yourself. Instinct. It's as simple as that. The monster inside knows there is an even more terrible creature here to protect you, even from itself." He lifted his hand to her face and hovered above her temple, wanting to memorize her--the shape of her eyes, the line of her delicate nose, the cut of her stubborn chin--with his fingertips, and when when she did not flinch away, let himself have the pleasure of touching her hair and brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. "You will not end. I will not allow it."

[kanerallels]

For my 501st follower celebration from this ask, a fic for @ladywren7! Au #73, the Time Travel Au. Rated G, with major character death implied

The first time it happened, he didn’t really understand.

One minute, he was on the bridge of the Chimaera, facing off with Thrawn. Or, rather, he was defeating Thrawn. And launching himself into the unknown with a ship full of enemies and a handful of purrgil as backup.

Generally speaking, it wasn’t Ezra’s best idea.

But it was the only one he had. It was the only way out for his home. Sometimes, you had to make the sacrifice. Like Kanan had taught him.

So he’d done it. And as hyperspace had rushed to meet them he felt this awful twist, and—

He reeled backwards, his head spinning. Every bone in his body hurt, like he’d been shoved into a small space he didn’t really fit in. Stumbling backwards a little, he caught himself on the low wall behind him and gasped for breath. Ow. What just— wait.

As he blinked the spots out of his vision, Ezra registered the familiarity of his surroundings. He wasn’t on the Chimaera any more. He was on a rooftop in Lothal.

What? Frowning, Ezra cautiously stepped forward, looking around. There was something strangely familiar about this particular rooftop, like he knew it somehow. Is this real? Or is it just a Force vision? He was too familiar with those to totally rule that possibility out. Swiping his hair out of his eyes, he started towards the roof’s edge— and then froze again.

His hair. His hair was supposed to be short. Cut close to his scalp.

So why was it long enough to brush his jawline? Like he hadn’t had a haircut in months. Like… when he’d first met the crew.

No way, Ezra thought. That’s impossible. But he remembered how he’d rescued Ahsoka, and how the hyperspace jump had felt, like he was being shoved into a too small space.

Or… a too small body?

Reaching up, he touched his cheek where the two scars from the Inquisitor’s lightsaber were. But his fingers met only smooth skin. Oh, crap. Does that mean—

Taking a step forward, he peered over the edge of the roof— and saw the ponytailed figure of Kanan Jarrus. His dead master. Looking years younger than the last time Ezra had seen him.

This was the day he’d first met him. Somehow, Ezra had wound up in the past.

He did his best to keep up after that. Followed along with events similarly to how they’d gone the first time through. But it was so much harder to just toss Kanan a snarky salute and zip out of there, instead of hurling himself into his master’s arms. His master, who he missed so much.

Still, Kanan didn’t remember him— Ezra’s prevailing theory was that only people on the Chimaera, or possibly only him and Thrawn, since they’d been most directly involved with the purrgil, could remember what happened— so he played along. Pretended like his heart didn’t leap with joy at the sight of Sabine, and Hera, and Zeb. Force, he was even glad to see Chopper.

He stuck to the timeline as long as he could.

And then, he didn’t any more. Ezra figured he was here for a reason. It was his job to figure out that reason, and help as many people as possible.

So he saved lives. He helped them evade the Grand Inquisitor, and Gall  Trayvis. He tried to save Kanan at the comm tower— but his master wouldn’t leave. Ezra reluctantly let him, knowing they’d get him back. And they did.

He managed to prevent Minister Tua from dying, and got the Rebellion important intel. He played mediator on Seelos and kept them out of the way of the two new Inquisitors. When the question of a base came up, Ezra nudged them towards the planet where Chopper picked up AP-5.

He hadn’t been sure if it was the right idea. But when they made it to Malachor, and he ran into Maul again, Ezra let him come with. But when Kanan voiced doubts, he made sure his master knew he agreed. “Just stay out of his way,” Ezra begged him. “Be careful, okay? Trust that I can keep myself out of danger.”

A confused Kanan had agreed— and somehow, made it out with his eyesight intact. Ezra breathed a sigh of relief. The months between Malachor and Kanan’s return had hurt, and he knew it would still hurt, even knowing what he did.

Things had gotten… a little confusing at that point.

Mainly because Ahsoka made it out alive.

And Ezra was pretty sure that was something he did.

So he did a little casual snooping, while Kanan and Hera reunited, and everyone else tried to figure out what was next. And it turned out that the Ahsoka who was here? This wasn’t the Ahsoka who’d been fighting with them the past few months.

This was the Ahsoka from Ezra’s timeline. And she had her memories, same as him.

She still needed a little catching up, but it was nice to have someone else who knew what was going on.

Unfortunately, there was someone else who knew what was going on. Sort of. And he showed up right on time, in all his red-eyed, blue-skinned glory. Thrawn had his memories, same as Ezra. But he seemed to be playing it safe, just to see what Ezra would do.

So Ezra kept going, kept saving people. He handled Maul, made sure Sabine found the darksaber, supported her through that. (And still teased her a little. This was the one area he was better at something than her— was he supposed to resist it?)

And when Thrawn’s fleet found Atollon, Ezra was ready. He made sure everyone escaped safely, even Commander Sato. And when the crew, plus Kallus, made it out, he let out a sigh of relief. Maybe this could be better this time.

But then. Lothal came. Hera still ran the blockade, the Rebellion still refused any real help until the last minute, and Pryce still caught Hera. 

Ezra did everything in his power to convince Kanan to stay. But his master wasn’t about to let the woman he loved be in danger and do nothing.

So, for the second time, Ezra lost his master. And despite everything, despite all his frantic working and planning, he still wound up on the bridge of a Star Destroyer. Just him, Thrawn, and the purrgil.

But then he woke up as Kanan helped him and the crate of blasters onto the Ghost. And that was when Ezra realized it.

He was stuck in a time loop. This wasn’t a second chance. This was a “get it right and you get your second chance, otherwise you’re stuck reliving this over and over again”.

So Ezra went to work.

It didn’t really go as planned. For one thing, Thrawn seemed to have put this together, too. And he had decided to hound Ezra as long and hard as he could, ruining every plan he could. But Ezra was stubborn, too. He would go through this loop as many times as he had to— a loop that he quickly became aware was growing smaller with every go round. Every time he woke up, time had passed since his previous awakening— in order to get it right.

He grew bolder. Prevented bigger things, or at least he tried to. Some things seemed to be a fifty-fifty chance, like Kanan going blind. He got rid of Inquisitors and… well, he tried to get rid of Maul. He seemed to be pretty consistent, though.

But Thrawn kept throwing bigger things at him— more Inquisitors, more troops, more everything. And Ezra was finding it hard to keep up on his own.

And then he did something that he hadn’t tried before. He brought someone else into the time loop with him.

~~~

Sabine knew what Ezra was planning. She’d seen the look in his eyes, and knew the odds just as well as he had. So she’d let him go.

And about five minutes later she’d regretted it.

And so, somehow— she still wasn’t quite sure how— she’d snuck onto the Chimaera after him. She’d made it onto the bridge just as the purrgil showed up, which she hadn’t expected. But Ezra had this really bad habit of making plans and then refusing to share them with others, so it wasn’t really her fault.

Diving under a tentacle, she pushed her way into the bridge, where Ezra had Thrawn pinned. Around them, Sabine could feel the thrumming in the air that was the Force— and something else, as the tentacles surrounding them flashed.

We’re about to jump to hyperspace.

This was his plan?

Ezra was saying something as she moved out into the open. A stormtrooper moved towards her, and Sabine shot him before he could take another step. The sound of blaster fire caught Ezra’s attention, and he looked towards her. His eyes went wide with horror. “Sabine?”

And then they made the jump and everything hurt, in a way that was Wrong. Sabine stumbled backwards, smacking into something. Her stomach churned, and she clenched her teeth, eyes squeezing shut. Don’t be sick. Don’t be.

The turmoil swirling around them seemed to still as Ezra’s voice came again, this time closer. “Oh, boy. Uh, Sabine? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Sabine mumbled, taking a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she said, “That plan was— AHHH!”

Letting out a very undignified yelp, she leapt backwards from Ezra Bridger. But it wasn’t her Ezra. It looked more like Ezra when they’d first met him— long hair, scruffy clothes and an overall scrawny look. “What the kriff?” she demanded.

“Don’t panic,” Ezra said, holding up his hands. “It’s okay— we just went back in time a little bit.”

“We WHAT? How? Wait, what color’s my hair?”

“Orange and blue,” Ezra told her. “I think this is… right after Zeb and I stole that TIE fighter?”

Sabine rubbed at her face as she blearily took in their surroundings. They were in the Ghost kitchen— but it looked different. Some of the paintings she’d done on the wall were gone, as were some of Kanan’s newer implements. This can’t be happening.

But she took another look at the much shorter Ezra, who was gazing at her earnestly, and knew it was.

“What. Just happened,” she said, propping her hands on her hips. “Particularly how and why, too.”

Clearing his throat, Ezra said, “So, in coming on the bridge of the Chimaera— like I specifically told you not to—”

“You did no such thing. Also, since when do I listen to you?”

“Fair. Well, when you did that, you kinda got yourself… caught in a time loop with me?”

Sabine’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I’ve been reliving my time with the crew repeatedly,” Ezra said matter of factly. Then he frowned. “Well, kinda. Some parts seem to kinda get skipped over. Like, I’ll go to sleep and you and Ketsu’s mission already happened when I woke up, and I was there. Some things are on autoplay, I guess. But other things aren’t, which is where I change stuff.”

Rubbing her face with one hand, Sabine said, “Okay, let me get this straight. You’ve been time looping your way through the past four years, and changing stuff?”

“Trying to,” Ezra said. The expression that flashed across his face was far, far too old for a fourteen year old to be wearing. Although Sabine supposed he wasn’t technically fourteen.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “It’s because of the purrgil, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, but Thrawn and I seem to be the only ones who remember anything,” Ezra said with a frown. “Well, except Ahsoka.”

“Ahsoka?”

“Yeah, she… long story short, she gets her memories of the original timeline back on Malachor.”

Sabine lifted her eyebrow at him. “What’s the long story?”

“Really, really long,” Ezra said. “But I’ll tell you someday.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sabine told him. Starting to pace back and forth, she said, “Okay. So you’ve been changing stuff. Like what?”

“Well, for one, Ahsoka doesn’t always come back with us from Malachor,” Ezra said. “For another… we lose people. Commander Sato, some of the others. I’ve tried to save him in as many loops as possible. In— in some of them, I even kept Kanan from getting blinded.”

The catch in his voice was obvious, and Sabine felt an internal pang at the memory of how much both he and Kanan had been through during those six months. But that hadn’t been the first time he’d handled that.

“Ezra— how many times have you done this loop?”

Ezra’s gaze flicked downwards, and his voice held a note of forced casualness as he said, “Oh, like eighty-six or so.”

“EIGHTY-SIX?”

“SSSSH! The others will hear you!” Ezra hissed. “But… yeah. Not all of them were the full loop, though. Turns out that when you die, the time loop resets.”

Sabine stared at him, shock stabbing through her. “You— you’ve died?”

“A couple times, yeah. First time Thrawn did a little orbital bombardment thing. A couple times the Inquisitors got me, and Vader did once. Oh, and Maul, obviously. And the fight on Atollon, once— what?”

Sabine shook her head. “Nothing, I just— you’ve been doing all this alone?”

Shrugging, Ezra said, “No one else knew. And no one would have believed me. I couldn’t really ask for help.”

“You have it now,” Sabine told him firmly, and a smile crossed his face.

“Thanks.”

“So,” Sabine said briskly. “How do we break this time loop?”

Sighing, Ezra said, “I have a theory. The one thing that’s been the same every time has been… Kanan.”

Sabine swallowed hard, pain shooting through her chest. He’s not dead here. Which means… we can save him. “Challenge accepted,” she said with a shrug. “We have a Jedi to save.”

[scattered-stardust]

Ahh! For the trope combo (whenever you have time, obviously). Kimchay. Enemies to lovers & accidental eavesdropping. :)

This was for some reason really hard to answer so this is version seven of me trying to answer this prompt. (the rest is on ao3) Also I hope you like omegaverse because that's what my brain desperately wanted to add to this.

Somehow hiding in the bushes underneath a window to make sure his - Rival? Enemy?- Porchay is alright is not the most embarrassing thing Kim has ever done. 

It’s not that he’s here to eavesdrop, it’s more that he’s making sure Porchay doesn’ get hurt. If those two things align then who’s Kim to question the universe. 

Porchay is talking too quietly for Kim to hear but his scent drifts towards him through the open window. It’s delicious and all consuming and it’s only one of the things that drive Kim insane about Porchay. Next to the way his short hair frames his face and always pulls Kim’s attention to his neck. Or the way he always finds something to critique about Kim’s singing or his songs or his performance. It’s maddingly annoying but still he doesn’t wish for Porchay to stop doing it. 

So here he is, listening to Porchay and some random woman talking. She’s an alpha, her scent is so strong that it’s almost pressing him down into the ground. Not that she’s doing it on purpose but Kim can’t stand alpha scents. Well he can stand his brother’s but that’s it. He’s so glad his suppressants work and no one seems to have realised that he’s an omega. Well Porchay gives him weird looks sometimes but, they’re always looking at each other so that. That doesn’t matter at all. 

“I’m not into you,” he hears Porchay say in an apologetic tone. “I didn’t even realise you saw me like that.” She snorts.

“It’s not like I wanted you to realise it. I just wanted to get it off my chest so I could move on. So don’t worry about it.” They fall silent before she says something too quiet for Kim to hear. He presses closer to the wall like that will make him hear it, but he only hears a door closing and then footsteps coming closer to the window.

Porchay leans onto the open window and looks at Kim. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says with a roll of his eyes. 

“It’s a party, I was invited,” he says defensively and Porchay smiles at him. A hint of danger makes its way into his eyes and Kim is hopelessly enthralled. He stands up and brushes himself off. “I should get back.” 

Porchay snorts at that and jumps out of the window to land next to Kim. He keeps staring at him and it unsettles Kim more than it should but he holds his ground. This is just Porchay who annoys him to no end, what’s he going to do? Annoy him to death?

What Porchay actually does, might actually kill him though, Kim realises when Porchay leans closer and closer until Kim has to look up at him to catch his eyes. And then he ducks his head until his nose brushes against the underside of Kim’s jaw. One hand coming up to brush Kim’s hair away from his neck, his fingertips touching Kim’s skin. 

And then he breathes in. Kim’s breath hitches and he can feel Porchay’s smile against his skin. “I knew it. You’re an omega,” he says softly, in awe, and Kim. 

Kim can’t help but kiss him. 

[bluepenguinstories]

Happiness Redux 4. Fail State

Turtle Dove examined the four training Selkies he was given: Plap Plapper, CBT, Onahole, and Fresh-Light Temptress.

That last one was odd. Why was ‘Fresh-Light’ crossed out and replaced?

“Um…” In a near whisper, Turtle Dove said, “Temptress?”

Nothing appeared. No Selkie, either.

“That’s weird…hey re –aah!” He tried calling out to the referee, but a little voice tickled his ear and made him let out a soft moan.

“Nothing weird is going on. I’m just giving you the help you so desperately need,” a ghostly, chilly whisper brushed against his earlobe. “I wanna start a rock band called The Vile Henchwomen.”

“What?” Turtle Dove asked, but it seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

“I think you should be the lead. So here’s what I can do: imagine Plap Plapper as the drummer. She pounds things. She fire rockets from her fists. Then, CBT could be the bassist. Because she really brings the vibes. She’s got a ball and chain, but also when her ball hits the ground, a cloud of smoke erupts. Then, Onahole, the keyboardist. You’re probably thinking she’d be the guitarist, but nope. Her whole purpose is enveloping around an enemy. It can delay them for a time but they’re sure to kill her. Basically, use her as a distraction and don’t worry about the broken parts. Now the guitarist...that would be me.”

“You? But I don’t see you.”

“I give you a reason to sing. Trust me: why do you need an onahole and a Fresh-light at the same time? The rest of us can be in the dark. You’re the one in the spotlight.”

“Thanks for the explanations,” Turtle Dove said, before seeing the Correctors on the horizon. “They’re approaching fast. I better do something soon. CBT, you’re up!”

Manifesting before Turtle Dove was a short Selkie with short, black hair in a in a series of buns stacked atop each other. Her ‘clothes’ were made up entirely of chainmail with nothing underneath. All Turtle Dove could think was, gee, she must be cold.

CBT detached her hair and rolled it into a ball as well as unraveled some of the chainmail from the top of her clothing and attached it to the ball that once made up her hair.

“Harumph!” CBT grunted with her cheeks puffed up and her dimples showing as her large nostrils flared. She held her ball and chain over her back and her boots, also made of chainmail, stomped against the ground.

“Miss CBT, how far can you throw?” Turtle Dove asked.

“As far as I need to. The less I remove of my clothing, the further I can throw.”

“I promise not to look, so remove as much as you need. What I need is for you to swing it about when the Correctors are halfway from where they are now.”

“No need for modesty. This is a war, not a monastery.”

Turtle Dove ignored the comment, although his blush gave him away.

“Don’t let them get close to you. Drop the ball if you need to and retreat.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not risking a single life.”

“That’s a fool’s errand,” came the tickling voice.

“I don’t care! I won’t let a single one of you die!”

“There is no ‘death’ for us. If we are taken apart, we only get rebuilt, or more copies are made. The only thing we lose is the memories of this ‘instance’. We are, in essence, disposable.”

“You’re soldiers! Not some tissues to wipe my nose with and throw away!”

“That’s not the only use for tissues, you know.”

Turtle Dove growled. He knew others may look down upon him for such methods, but that was the price he’d pay.

“Onahole time!” Turtle Dove called next and a Selkie of average height and translucent, stringy pink hair emerged, with white eyebrows and pink, winged eyelashes. She had on a pink, wet T-shit which exposed her pokey, pink nipples. Her arms were thin and she waved them about.

“What are you going to do with her if you plan to keep her alive? Her main purpose is to be fodder for the enemies. In other words, a living distraction.”

“Onahole, can you stretch yourself a few meters above the ground and cover up top?”

“Ha ha! Well, gee!” She giggled. “I’m flexible, but it’s the first time I’ve been asked to be a ceiling. Usually, I’m a wall, or I’m told to envelop the enemies.”

“You don’t have to hold out forever. Just as long as you can. It may hurt, but I’ll do my best to keep you alive,” Turtle Dove reassured.

“Ha ha! You’re insane!”

He didn’t turn to CBT, but only checked in with her:

“Are you naked?” He asked.

“This is about as far as I go, yes.”

“Good. I want you to swing it as far as you can. Don’t let it fall yet. Then, Onahole, however far it swings to, head that way and stretch yourself up.”

Both Selkies nodded.

CBT swung it as far as she could, while Onahole ran ahead.

“Don’t be afraid to hit the canyon walls,” Turtle Dove added. In that same instance, the large, black ball hit the canyon wall to the right and stones fell onto the ground. While the Correctors closed in ahead, Onahole leaped up by jumping between the canyon walls, then her body stretched as if it were made of elastic, and her hands held onto each side of the canyon walls.

“She doesn’t need to envelop them. Her shadow will do that for her,” Turtle Dove declared.

Back on Sapphire’s side, she was Scisso Ring’s bodies became one as she felt every rush of excitement and all the warmth that Scisso felt. Sapphire, through Scisso, lifted Torsion into the air and tossed her into a crowd of Correctors.

As Torsion spun around and tried to twist at the Correctors to no avail, they instead began to chew upon her twisted frame, bit by bit, and untangle her.

“Now’s our chance,” Sapphire announced and Scisso Ring ran in the direction of the crowd of Correctors feasting upon Torsion. With her shears open wide and raised, she began slicing and cutting away at any Correctors that were outside of the feeding frenzy.

Several Correctors were cut into many tiny pieces as several of the scissors on Scisso’s back pinched and tore through their flesh. Once the crowd was clear, Sapphire, through Scisso’s eyes, saw Torsion, less skin, and more mangled strips of flesh and wiring, mechanical plates and bolts littered about the field.

“You served your purpose,” Scisso stared down at the torn Selkie.

“Good job, Sapphire!” The referee called. “But don’t forget to jack off! This isn’t over yet!”

“That’s exactly why I’m not going to!” Both Sapphire and Scisso turned to behind them, and yelled back at the referee. In the same instance, four heavy hooves slammed down onto the ground as a pair of large Correctors with their loose wiring atop their head and gaping mouths. They roared and ran toward Scisso. Another horde of smaller Correctors ran behind.

“DP, focus on the small fries. Scisso and I will do battle with the big ones.”

DP nodded back to her commander.

Correctors lifted themselves over the rubble and as they did, CBT swung her ball and chain and knocked them back. Some of them were tossed up, only to be slammed back down when they hit against Onahole. They soon went splat against the ground, flesh and machinery squished like sliver laced pancakes.

Another wave of Correctors began running down the path, including a couple of large ones. Those same ones who slaughtered the boys. Images of their heads flying into the air flashed in front of Turtle Dove’s eyes.

I’m not going to become like them. And I’m not going to let my Selkies share that fate, either.

“Hey boss, can’t hold out much longer!” Onahole called to Turtle Dove.

Turtle Dove winced.

“Okay...turn back,” his voice trailed off and his chest pounded. Beads of sweat started running down his face and onto his cheeks. It felt sharp, like fresh blood.

“How’s that strategy of yours working out for you?” Temptress asked and he shivered. Resisting the urge to let out another moan, his voice, shaky, replied:

“Honestly...better than I expected.”

“Good girl.”

Turtle Dove’s face turned red and his breath grew more shallow.

CBT continued to swing her chain about and knock down more of the canyon walls.

I’d correct her, but why do those two words turn me on more than anything else she’s said?

Onahole caught back up with CBT and Turtle Dove.

“Onahole. How wet are you?” Turtle Dove asked.

Onahole, who waved her T-shirt while panting, replied.

“Wet enough.”

“Good. I may still need you. CBT, if they end up getting close enough to your ball and it doesn’t knock them down, go ahead and release your smoke. I’ll try to delay them as much as possible.”

“You will?” CBT sounded surprised.

“In a manner of speaking,” Turtle Dove grinned. “Plap Plapper, let’s jack on!”

Plap Plapper materialized; a small Selkie with a tie-dye thick hoodie which made no effort to conceal her large breasts. She had spiky, orange hair, and a multitude of freckles. Just as soon as she materialized, Turtle Dove’s consciousness floated into the perspective of Plap Plapper.

“Ora ora! Plap plap!” Plap Plapper pounded her fists together. Turtle Dove, through Plap Plapper’s eyes looked down at Plap’s fists.

“Wow. I really am inside you,” he commented. Through her consciousness, he knew what else she was capable of, and looked toward the horizon. “Let’s expand and pound these Correctors into oblivion!”

Plap Plapper’s legs grew longer and metal plating flew out from the pockets of her hoodie and attached themselves to her. Along with the rest of her, her fists grew larger, turning into large, titanium fingers and a circular fan covered her wrists.

Turtle Dove felt like he was piloting a mech as he, inside Plap Plapper’s consciousness, stomped through the battle field and swept away the smaller Correctors with her large fists. The wind rushed against Plap and Turtle Dove felt the rush alongside her.

“Wow! This is awesome!” He let his voice known. But just as he started getting into it, one of the larger Correctors leaped forward and almost sliced through Plap Plapper. Luckily, Turtle Dove saw the attack in time and leaped back to avoid the hit. However, Plap Plapper tripped and fell and so too did Turtle Dove. The Corrector was about to slice through them while Plap was down, but Turtle Dove called from afar:

“Jack off!”

And with their consciousness separate, he issued another command:

We’re cutting it real close, Turtle Dove thought and tensed up.

“Plap Plapper! Fall back!”

Plap got up and ran back toward her commander, with the large Corrector and several more close behind.

“CBT, toss your ball! Plap, jump! Onahole, stretch! Plap, get behind Onahole and blow your fan!” Turtle Dove began firing off frantic commands. He only hoped they followed along with this slapdash line of logic.

Sapphire was facing the same measure of near-victory followed by a tense struggle; all the small Corruptors, fallen. But the two large ones remained and had ganged up on Scisso Ring while she continued to try to fight. Sapphire felt the same struggle that her Selkie felt as the Correctors’ bladed arms tried slamming themselves down upon Scisso, only for her shears to block it and her multitude of small pairs of scissors to swipe away and push themselves against the other blade arm to the side.

Sapphire squinted and grunted, being pushed further and further back, but with no wall to back into, she falls over.

“This is getting tough, mistress,” Scisso winced and smirked as she tried to push herself back up.

“I know! But we’re fighting back! We can keep going!”

“DAMN IT, SAPPHIRE! JACK OFF!” Referee yelled, in desperation.

[arcticlegend]

Like the Movie

(Trigger warning: Death)

This was a short drabble I wrote because I watched a scene from fox and the hound and cried like a little bitch. So here's this mess lol lemme know if you liked it, if there's any critiques, or if you just want to interact! I love talking to people!

It was from a movie she had watched as a child, something about a fox and a hound. He remembered her talking about how the two were an odd pair, how the hunting dog shouldn’t have been friends with the fox for they would inevitably become enemies. The story felt not too different from their own.

She was a human, a weak, frail human that didn’t have much time left. There were plenty of reasons to stay away, plenty of reasons to pass her by and keep to himself, but when he saw the book in her hands, it became impossible, his curiosity burning too hot within him to resist.

“What are you reading?” He asked almost timidly.

She thought it was just as odd as he did and he suddenly felt ashamed for his awkward attempt at conversation. Instead of brushing him off, however, she happily showed him the cover of the novel she held.

“It’s a book of Robert Browning’s poetry! I had heard from your brother that you liked Blake… So I started sifting through some different works and settled for this one. He’s very good!”

He felt strange, delighted that you would develop a love for poetry because of him, yet thought it odd that it was because of him.

“I’ve read My Last Duchess… its not what I expected… His works are very dark, but I really like them!”

He stood before her grave, eyes caught on the name carved into the stone. He held the Yamato in one hand, her recently named “new favorite” book in the other. She was gone, slipped away while he had been out on an errand. He thought by some strange hope that she would just magically get better, as if some deity above were listening to his pleas, but instead he was spurned. She was taken away before he could even say goodbye.

“Goodbye may seem forever, Farewell is like the end…”

He recalled the song she would sing sometimes, the one from the film, and heard himself saying it without his control. His voice breaking under the pressure of his grief.

“We met it seems, such a short time ago… You looked at me, needing me so…”

Her eyes peered up at him beneath her lashes, hair slightly disheveled from sleep.

“Do you ever sleep, Vergil? You’re always watching… like some angel.”

He sat down beside her on the bed, the plush, white comforter like clouds beneath him. Her skin was paler than usual, the dark rings under her eyes more prominent.

“I do. You just aren’t awake to see, foolish girl.”

He says it endearingly, brushing a few locks out of her face. It made her smile, that soft, sad smile she gave when she remembered that she couldn’t give them the future they wanted. A future together was never meant to be.

“Yet from your sadness, our happiness grew…”

You both sat outside, overlooking the lake, the colors of the sunset rippled over the dark blue, some fish breaking the patterns with excited tails. The birds chirred to each other, the cicadas started to stir.

“What do you think it would be like? To have a family? To make one…? I know it’s a sensitive topic for you…”

He gave you a look, trying not to give you the impression that he pitied you, but understood why. It was a sensitive topic to him. It was never something he wanted to discuss as he never thought it possible for him to start a family. He never considered it… at least until he met you. How cruel it seemed that the one person he connected with, the one person he finally felt safe enough to let into his life, wouldn’t last long in it. She asked him because she wanted to think about what it would have been like. She wanted him to tell her how it could’ve been if she weren’t slowly fading away.

“I’m unsure… I have a son, but I am ashamed I didn’t play a bigger role in his life. I couldn’t guide him and in the end, I only ever hurt him.”

He paused, not wanting to get on the wrong track. This was for you to think about in your final moments, for you to dream about, for you couldn’t actually live it.

“If I could start again, it would be different. I would want a family I could protect… together. I wouldn’t want to be apart from them.”

He had gave her shoulder a light squeeze, hoping she understood he spoke of her.

“I’m… not sure how to express it, but I believe it would be a wonderful thing, to be a part of something, something I belong to.”

Tears had welled in her eyes at his dreadful answer, yet she smiled as if it were gold.

“And I found out… I needed you too…”

He held her in his arms, swaying to the soft sounds of the violins over the radio. Her legs were weaker that day, so she had difficulty, but he guided her as best he could, holding her as if she were about to fall, as if she could disappear any second.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Vergil. I’m glad I picked up that book.”

He felt it, that itch in the back of his throat, the pressure in his sinuses that tried to conjure tears. Successfully, he held them back, wanting to keep this moment happy for the both of them, before she inevitably grew tired and needed to stop. He nestled his face into the crook of her neck, smelling the soft smells of her favorite perfume, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against his cheek. He smiled softly as she returned the gesture, nuzzling her own cheek against him, giggling playfully.

“Your breath tickles, Verge!”

“I remember how we used to play…”

He kissed her tenderly, on his hands and knees above her, her thin fingers weaving into his hair. Their lips a symphony, they moved together, synchronized and full of passion. It wasn’t a normal passion, not one of fiery need as much as it was slow and intimate. He needed her to know how much he needed her, how much he’d continue to need her after she was gone.

“I love you… I love you, Vergil…”

Her words rippled through him like the water on the lake, the rasp of her voice tugging the fire in his gut sharply. He filled her, gently as if she could break, knowing full well that she wanted more of him.

He trailed his kisses down her jaw, his fingers interlocking with yours as he bottomed out, savoring the way she moaned, how her lips had parted in a silent “O.”

I need you. I need you. Please don’t go…

“I recall… those rainy days.”

He stood outside her door, listening to her weep into her pillow. It was if she were trying to remain reserved, as if she were scared he would hear, her muffled cries escaping and burrowing deep into his ears… into his heart. It tore him apart. It made him sick how powerless he felt. All the strength he had acquired, all the power he sacrificed countless lives to achieve… and for what? You still lie on that bed crying out, asking why you had to die. It made him wish he had learned something that could heal a person rather than break them.

It was a war in his mind deciding whether or not to turn the knob and console you or let you have your space. He was that way. Sometimes he needed time to think, to stew over whatever conflict was in his mind and try to find a solution.

“I don’t want to leave…. I don’t want to leave him… I can’t…”

He turned the door knob, opening it with a soft click.

“The fire’s glow… that kept us warm.. “

She grinned ear to ear when she saw the gift, not so different from the book of Blake’s poems that he carried in his coat pocket, it was a book of Browning’s works, one that had a similar cover to his own. The designs on the cover were gold and in the center was the letter of her first name. It was meant to be special, to connect the two of them, remind them of what brought them together in the first place.

“Vergil! It’s amazing! Thank you so much!”

She threw her arms around him, her frail fingers digging into the material of his coat, pressing into his muscles so delicately. It felt amazing, her touch reminding him that she was still with him, that nothing could take this away. He wished he could feel her embrace forever, making him hold onto her tighter when she tried to pull away.

“I’m glad. I’m glad you like it.”

She finally was able to pull back, looking up at him with those tired, doe eyes. He basked in the light that shined in them, loving how full of life they were. A part of him, deep down, dreaded seeing them without it, terrified of seeing them lifeless and dull.

There was no time to think about that now… All he could focus on was how warm you were in his arms and how happy you were flipping through the pages of your new favorite book.

“And… Now I find…, we're both alone.”

He made it back home, her little apartment she owned in town, not too far away from Dante’s shop. He had needed to take care of a job with Dante and also bring back her favorite snacks from the store. It took longer than he wanted to, the demons being more of a problem than either of them could’ve imagined, stealing away what little time he had left with her.

When he didn’t see her in the living room, he thought nothing about it, believing that she was probably resting. The only thing that accompanied him were the sounds of the brown paper bags crackling as he set them on the counter. He wondered for a moment whether or not she ate before she went to sleep. Of course he didn’t want to wake her, but something felt wrong in the pit of his gut and he wanted any excuse to check on her. After putting away the food and snacks he bought, he immediately went up the stairs, not bothering to take his boots off. He hoped she’d forgive the bit of dirt on the carpet.

Something felt off. The hallway felt too wide, the air felt too thick, and the upstairs felt too dark even though the lights were on.

No!

He pushed open her door, peaking inside. Her room light was off, but the light from the hallway poured into her room, spilling over the bed and rolling over her body as she rested underneath the blanket. She was on her side, the plush comforter up to her chin. It made him feel relief in the moment, yet he needed to be sure, so he sat on the end of the bed, knowing she’d sit up and smile at him. He knew that she would wake up and tell him he was so rude for almost sitting on her feet.

She didn’t. She didn’t move a muscle.

Panic stabbed deep into every bone in his body, bile rising in his throat.

"Sweetheart?" he asked, trying to hide the anxiety that tried to fracture his voice. “I’m home. I got what you asked for.”

Nothing. No response. Fuck. Was she breathing? She had to be breathing.

He pulled the blanket down off of her, thinking she’d groan and pull it right back up, but she didn’t, her fingers stiff. It made Vergil reel back in shock for only a moment before he jumped back into action.

“Baby!? Darling! Come on… You’re okay, don’t do this to me…”

He checked for a pulse, but knew there’d be none for closer inspection of her face made it clear that she had to be gone. She was blue and her skin was unnaturally cool, her lips were parted and her eyes were open just slightly.

“No… No!”

What was he supposed to do now? CPR? She gave him instruction, but he wasn’t sure if he could do it right or without hurting her. Hurting her? She’s gone….

“Don’t leave me… Not like them… Don’t leave me alone again… Please, my dearest…”

She did. She was already gone.

“Goodbye may seem forever. Farewell is like the end… But in my heart is a memory… and there… you'll always be.”

He knelt down in front of the marble stone, unable to stand as he ran through all of the memories like a marathon. His heart pounded in his chest as it seemed to have been moments ago when he had her wrapped around him, talking to him, giving as much as she could to make him happy, to make both of them happy. This was all that was left after everything… a stone and her memory. He was scared to lose it, wanting to run through it like a recording, rewinding and rewinding until it burrowed in, never to come out.

“Be safe, Vergil. I love you.”

Her last words rang in his ears as he looked down at the mound of soil he knelt in, not minding how it dirtied his leather pants, caring more about being closer to her. His grief felt frantic, like she needed to pop out from somewhere and tell him it was just a prank, that it was all a prank orchestrated by his foolish younger brother. He wanted this to be a joke.

It wasn’t. It was over like he knew it always would. He knew this was coming and it was foolish of him to think this way, but that human heart of his still desperately cried out for the feeling of her skin against his own, for the sight of her excited and passionate rambling, and the soft way she sang that dreadful poem.

It would take time… a long time to get over it, to move on from the pain of the empty hole in his heart. She wouldn’t want him to hurt. She would be upset If she knew he was in pain because of her. He thought about the song, about how though they wont see each other again, she’d always be with him in his heart, watching over him.

“There you’ll always be.” He said one final time, sliding his hand over the name.

[ah0rmone]

dazai osamu x fem! reader

warnings: nsfw, minors, dni! dubcon if you squint because the reader finds dazai annoying but attractive, non-consensual touching (at first), enemies/rivals to fuck buddies I guess?, fingering, vaginal penetration.

there are literally two self-defence techniques from here and here

"Why it has to be you?" you grumbled looking at the person who stood in front of you.

"Oh, who else would you like to see as your teacher? Kunikida-kun who's doing everything according to instructions, even fighting? Ranpo-kun who won't lift a finger unless it's a murder case? Or Tanizaki-kun who's always followed by Naomi-chan?"

The obnoxious man in front of you was called Osamu Dazai and, to be fair, you'd actually prefer any other agency member over him. Sure, he definitely had combat experience and, probably, wasn't that bad at teaching, given that Atsushi was still following him. But something about him was off and you didn't like it. Nor that you had any choice, Dazai was there for a reason and that reason was Fukuzawa's order.

"Whatever," you sighed. "Can we get to it already?"

Today was the day when you were supposed to learn some self-defence techniques. Your ability wasn't really of a combat type, so you never participated in fights but it didn't mean that you had a zero possibility of running into problems. It was your own request to be taught how to protect yourself.

However, you didn't feel quite confident at all. You genuinely hated conflicts and tended to avoid people, so all of this was a somewhat essential but still itchy experience. Your sporty shorts and a skintight top wasn't helping the situation either. Especially, since a person with who you were going to get quite close physically was a rather attractive young man. You and Dazai weren't that close, just colleagues who barely communicated. For you he was just as attractive as he was annoying - you wouldn't mind having a fling with him but nothing more. Maybe it was the way he carried himself: overly cheerful, loud and noisy. Or maybe it was the things he was hiding: his true mischievous, manipulative personality.

Taking a deep breath you reminded yourself that it was your idea, something that your survival depended on and that you just had to get over it.

"Usually you're not the one who fights, y/n-chan. So what are we doing here?" Dazai asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

His eyes were gleaming with a vicious sparkle. Your power imbalance was uncomfortable to you. You shrugged, the feeling that he was a big cat and you were his meal strongly sat in your guts.

"I'm here to learn how to defend myself. Like some easy techniques. I'm not very strong, keep it in mind," you reminded with a well-controlled flat voice but some notes of irritation would have been apparent even to the densest person.

Osamu didn't answer, instead, he let his fake smile turn into a smirk. For a moment the room fell into silence and you could swear that your heart was beating too loud. Both of you just stared at each other for some seconds until the smile returned on Dazai's lips and the man joyfully clapped.

"Okay, gotcha! First of all," he took a step closer. "The most important thing in fighting is a stable stance. Stand like this," he put the left leg forward and motioned you to follow him.

Hesitantly you mirrored his stance, the feeling of embarrassment washing over you. It wasn't even the physical activity that you hated but the way Dazai was gazing at you. Predatory eyes were gliding over your skin like he was analysing your tiniest movements. Like he was about to pounce.

Just as you anticipated, once you've finished copying him, Osamu clicked his tongue and stood up.

"No, y/n-chan, you're doing it wrong."

You were about to argue but Dazai was already behind you. Suddenly painfully aware of the warmth of his body you tried to move from him but he was quick to put a hand on your hip.

"Let me help you," his hot breath ran over the shell of your ear making you flinch a little.

While you were contemplating whether you should allow him to be that close, Dazai had already brushed his palm down your leg. Now he was standing next to you, your bodies touching.

"There," he encouraged, moving your leg a little further by the back of your knee. His other hand was still placed on your hip and such a position was taking away any personal space you had before.

"Thanks," you muttered, feeling the light smell of his cologne.

"Now you're standing rather steady, aren't you?" he beamed with his hand still on your leg.

"Ah, yeah," you muttered, grabbing him by the wrist and pushing it off yourself then taking a step back. "Guess, we can move to the actual stuff now."

"Y/n-chan!" Dazai exclaimed. "The stance is very important, I didn't show it for fun!"

You saw the man's lips curl into a pout but either than that he didn't display any sign of irritation by you pushing him away. Keeping that in mind you decided that even though he might not have any ill intentions you should stay on guard.

Something dropped behind the door and as you inverted your gaze to the sound you felt your hair being grabbed.

"What," you didn't even have the chance to end the question instantly being pushed to the wall.

Your colleague's right hand was holding firmly your hair, the other one gripping your waist. You tried to push back, but to no avail - his whole body was pushing you to the wall.

"Dazai," you growled.

"Too bad, y/n-chan," he cooed. "How can you protect yourself when you have such a short attention span? Look at you - one move and you're helpless."

The sting of resentment piercing through your heart encouraged you to grumble through the teeth:

"I told you I'm weak."

"And stupid apparently," he gibbed.

"Listen," you tried to free yourself but instead just shook your hips clumsily. "If you came here just to insult me, let's end it, I'll ask Fukuzawa-san to send someone else," voice full with venom, you wanted to be as far from Dazai as possible but instead felt with dread as your hips bucked into his. You jolted forward fighting for the tiniest bit of space.

If Dazai noticed, he didn't show it as there was no reaction whatsoever. However, your little touch wasn't the only thing he ignored:

"Let me instead show you how to deflect it," he proposed, paying no heed to your words.

He backed up and you got a chance to glance at him with unhidden irritation. He met your gaze with a cheesy smile like he wasn't a person degrading you a couple of seconds ago. However, giving it a little bit more thought you exhaled and nodded. After all, you should've picked up something from this lesson, not just the revelation that Dazai was a total dick and you wouldn't want him to be near you ever again.

You moved from the wall and this time he gripped your hair slowly.

"What you want to do now is to grab my hand by both of yours, then stand back to the stance I showed you earlier, turn underneath the arm, so that you twist it and when the person lets go, just bolt. Got it?"

You hummed in acknowledgement. Perhaps it wasn't that difficult. Perhaps, at the end of the day, the lesson would be fruitful.

"Try it then," he prompted and then tugged at your hair lightly.

Following his instructions, you grabbed his hand and as you were about to go underneath his arm, he spun you. His arm was firmly holding your throat.

"No, y/n-chan, I've told you your stance was wrong," he whined. "Let me show you again."

"What just happened?" you asked confusedly but he already was spreading your legs.

Osamu didn't answer, too busy putting you in the right stance. And you tried your best to concentrate on how your legs were placed instead of his fingers brushing over your ass a couple of times, once getting a little bit too close to your clothed vagina.

"Just like this," he said and his hand slid up from your knee to your waist getting under the top a little.

From your point of view, the skinship was completely irrelevant but you decided to keep your sharky comments to yourself. For now, you were going to follow his instructions and maybe you could avoid the conflict.

Maybe not.

This time around when you were trying to deflect his arm, once again he outpowered you. You cursed as he said with disappointment in his voice (you were pretty sure it was the fake one, he was enjoying it, that bastard):

"You're too slow, y/n-chan. Do you think attackers would just stand there and watch as you crawl your way out of their grip as a turtle in slow-mo?"

"Dazai, I'd appreciate it if you-"

"Again," he cut you harshly, puppeting you around like you were nothing but a doll.

His attitude towards you was so demoralizing you were fighting the urge to end it here and there. Losing all the motivation and looking exhausted, you tried to go through the motion again but Dazai wasn't having it.

"Hm, y/n-chan, kinda feels like you're not trying hard enough. Should I give you a motivation boost?" he exclaimed cheerfully but before you could say that he should go fuck himself he had already pushed you to the wall. Again.

You were expecting harsh words pouring from his mouth, but instead, it was the kisses as he roughly pulled your hair baring your neck for him. The hot tongue travelled from your shoulder to the globe of your ear, prompting you to jolt. Once again you attempted to push him away but could barely move. His left hand was pinning your wrist and his right one was painfully tagging at your hair, cranking your head to the side.

"Dazai," you wanted to let him know that you understood his intentions but he needed to stop when a not so gentle bite quickly shut you up.

He was licking and nipping leaving hickeys at your poor neck. You were squirming and whirling under his touch not giving up yet, so he thrust his hips into yours. There was no way you could keep any sounds in, so a whiny moan escaped your lips. You felt Dazai stopping, a satisfied smirk on his lips, then without saying a word, he continued torturing your sensitive neck. Two things were clear to you: a strong lust was taking over your body which meant that you were slowly losing yourself and that Dazai had just started playing with you, there were more to come.

Dazai. Dazai! Realising who was the man behind you, you tried to gain back control. Osamu was just being a bully, whywere you letting him see you in such a state? He certainly didn't deserve nor your moans, nor your hips grinding his.

You were thinking this but it took everything in you to not just give in to his touch. While you were having an internal battle, Dazai pulled away with a loud pop.

"Five."

"Five what?" you mewled weakly.

"There are five hickeys on your neck," Dazai murmured. "You look so good, all red and moaning. When you can't even do anything. You've been definitely enjoying it, sure you still want to continue learning self-defence techniques?"

You widened your eyes at his words.

"Excuse me?!" you exploded. "What the hell are you implying?!"

With all force, you shoved him in the side with an elbow. Dazai hissed and even though the attack was fairly weak he let go.

"I mean, no kink-shaming," he put hands in the air surrendering.

"What's your problem?!"

It was hard for you to overcome your desire of slapping him but no way in hell you were staying in one room with him for another second. You bolted but Dazai was quicker, catching your hand.

"Where're you going? For a moment there I thought you didn't agree and wanted to continue," he quipped. "Come on, that was just one technique."

"Dazai, let me go," you growled yanking your hand free. "I've had enough of you today, I'm leaving."

You had already turned to leave when he pulled you to the ground. You snorted in frustration, your legs fiercely kicking but the lack of strategy played against you and there you were - trapped under him. Osamu was sitting between your legs with his arms pinning yours to the ground.

You felt unbearably hot and weak, your cunt throbbing against his groin. His face was hanging right above yours, so close you could feel his breath. Unintentionally your eyes focused on his lips then you looked up. Only now you noticed how lustful his gaze was. He clearly was a winner today and he was about to enjoy his prize. As you licked your lips, your recognised your mistake - now your eagerness was more than obvious.

"I'm just parched," you faltered but it sounded pathetic even to you.

"I'm sure you are," Osamu whispered, sitting back. "One more technique and I'll let you go." His fingers gripped your thighs.

Since his weight was off you now, you felt kind of cold. Not knowing where to place your arms, you were about to put them next to your sides when Dazai commanded you to keep them still.

That position was too sexy for your liking - arms are placed next to your head, legs spread. All of it without his control felt like you were offering yourself to him. Like you were submitting. The man was clearly savouring it because his gaze was so intense, in the end, you even had to avert yours.

Dazai clearly didn't like it, tapping your left thigh:

"Look at me, y/n-chan, how else are you supposed to learn?"

You slowly turned back, embarrassed as your eyes darted all over him until they abruptly stopped at his crotch. There was a visible boner in his pants. When Osamu followed your gaze and loudly chuckled you felt your cheeks grow hot and desire growing stronger.

"Concentrate, y/n-chan," Dazai said amusingly but the only thing you could concentrate on was the wetness between your legs. You feared it might start to be visible through your shorts.

"Look, if someone got you into this position," Osamu continued like both of you didn't want the same thing and that thing was to fuck. "You have to keep your arms straight and put them on your shoulders, like this," he gently took your hands and placed them as he instructed. "Then you should put your leg on my hip," he tried to do it for you once again but your leg was wobbly. All the strength you had was wasted on keeping your arms straight.

Dazai sighed theatrically but he couldn't keep a vicious sparkle in his eyes.

"Y/n-chan," he whinged. "You're such a bad student. Weak. Stupid," his fingers were slowly stroking your thigh. "Having a short attention span. Don't you think that you should have concentrated on learning some stuff instead of thinking about my cock?" With this question his arm groped your ass, pulling you closer.

He gripped your hips and you let out a moan. Now you weren't trying to hold back. You were already a loser, might as well enjoy it. Being a tease he was, Dazai wasn't ready to give you everything right then and there but you were having none of it. You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him closer by his collarbone. Osamu certainly wasn't ready for such a force so he confusingly complied.

"Call me stupid one more time and I'm leaving," you warned him, a confident smirk playing on your lips.

Dazai's face quickly changed from surprised to a perverse one. He dropped down on you, pinning you with his whole body and slammed his hips into yours. As you moaned he caressed your face, lovingly brushing your hair, and then whispered:

"I'm gonna break you, pretty doll."

With one swift motion, he put your wrists in one hand pinning it above your head, his tongue running over your lips then dragging you into a deep kiss. As you two were hungrily kissing each other you felt his fingers crawling under your waistband. You jolted, an instinct of placing your hand over his acting up but he was still holding you firmly. He ran one finger over your cunt but you were already shaking, silently begging for more.

"Dazai," you moaned desperately asking him to get down to business.

"You're so wet, y/n-chan," he licked your earlobe making you writhe. "I wish I teased you a little bit more," he started to kiss your jaw getting lower and lower. "I said that I'd break you but it seems you're already at your limit," he chortled, helping you to take your top and bra off.

"You look so beautiful," he murmured once you were almost fully naked in front of him.

Suddenly his gaze turned soft and you felt even more aroused than you before. Gladly the man wasn't planning on wasting any time as he started to lick, nip and bite one of your nipples, playing with his fingers with another. Moaning lewdly and rutting your hips you put your hand into his hair, curling soft strands in your fingers.

When he finished playing with your tits, he wanted to go further down, to place kisses on your lower stomach, but you decided to get back at him. Placing your straight hands on his shoulders, you put a leg on his thigh just as he instructed and squirmed out of his grip.

"You talk about me but look at yourself," you shoved a knee between his thighs, pushing it at his boner. "You were hard even before I started to feel something else besides irritation."

Now it was Osamu whose breath hitched. You were savouring your little win when he looked back at you with a dangerous grin. That was when you realised you fucked up. He quickly grabbed your leg and turned you over on the stomach. Laying down on you, he harshly seized your hair and hissed:

"A+ for learning the technique, but your attitude towards you teacher," he took off your shorts with pants nearly ripping them. "Needs some correction."

That was when the sound of a loud slap broke the silence of the room. You jolted, a gasp leaving your lips. You tried to crawl from him but his grip on your hair was strong.

"Come on, y/n-chan, it was just one slap. Don't you think you deserve it?" The hand that hit you was stroking your bruised ass cheek.

"It fucking hurt," you spit.

"Was it?" Dazai chuckled. "Say that you're sorry."

"For what?" you raged but another hit was your answer.

"Dazai, stop," you sobbed.

"Wrong," he retorted slapping your ass again. "Plus, if you don't like it why are you leaking so much?"

You embarrassingly bit a lip at his remark.

"A little bit of masochistic, are you?" Dazai noted. "Well, if you insist, I can keep on going."

You knew that both of you were barely holding it, so you decided to submit. Just this once.

"I'm sorry!" You squealed after another hit.

"Good girl," Osamu placed a soft kiss on your back still not letting go of your hair. "Now it's time for a treat."

And with that, he finally pushed the first finger into you. Since you were so wet there was a little pool under you, Dazai successfully pushed another finger shortly after. You quivered and jerked your hips begging him to move. This time around your colleague decided not to tease you.

As his fingers were pumping in and out of you, you were trying to push your head down to steady yourself but Dazai didn't let go. You were completely at his will.

"'m close," you mewled, your eyes rolling back.

Dazai hummed in acknowledgement and withdrew his hand. You groaned offendedly but heard the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped and then felt something else rubbing at your entrance.

Finally, Osamu positioned himself behind you and pushed inside, your pussy stretching obediently. The fullness made you gasp pervertedly. As he started moving your mind went completely blank. The only thing that existed for you at that moment was Dazai and his cock inside of you. He let go of your hair, one hand now was holding your hips and another one was giving attention to your clit.

You had no idea how he was still holding on but once your sensitive bud got stimulated you quickly come undone.

"Once more," Dazai panted while moving and playing with your clit simultaneously.

Even though you were tired, you had actually felt desire growing again. Osamu was just way too good for you to resist. You thought that the only thing he was chasing was his high, but he didn't cum until you orgasmed again denying himself every time he got too close. That's why when you cummed for the second time you did it toghether.

He rolled off you, but you couldn't move even a finger, for a moment you've gone completely numb. Your chest was going up and down with heavy breaths, your heart was racing. None of you spoke because you didn't know what to talk about. Especially, since you, personally, felt way too embarrassed to admit that you had just cummed two times because of an annoying Dazai Osamu.

"Looks like we ended in time!" Dazai chirped after some time and you looked at the clock realising that you spent here one hour. Just like it was promised.

"Wish I had actually learned something though," you remarked lazily, trying to pull on your shorts back. You just had to make it to the shower room and then wear your casual clothes. However, your pants were completely ruined.

"Well, if you think that you need another one, just let me know," you looked back at Dazai and his smirk told you that he wasn't meaning the self-defence lessons. You felt your cheeks grow hot again.

"Yeah, sure," you muttered, awkwardly leaving the training room.

From now on you intended on avoiding Dazai whenever it's possible.

Little did you know he had other plans.

[moonshineboyz]

[17:40]

Pairing: volleyball player!Juyeon × volleyball player! fem reader

Genre: Smut, enemies with benefits

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: swearing, unprotected sex, rough/hate (?) sex, usage of the word slut, mentions of choking and spanking, lowkey public sex, brief fingering

a/n: i know juyeon is not holding a volleyball but let's just pretend. i got this idea from listening to lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off by panic! at the disco 🤠 i'm not sure if i like the ending but,,, (@annyeongffs enjoy bb)

masterlist ♡

“Okay guys, let’s wrap up for today. Both teams did great!” The coach called and everyone got out of their positions, stretching out the tense muscles and walking out of court. “Nuh uh, minus you two Juyeon and Y/N.” He called again making you stop in your tracks. “You’re gonna take the volleyballs and net to the equipment room and pump up the basketballs. That’s what you get for arguing and swearing at each other every five minutes even during practice.”

You cursed under your breath sending a death glare towards Juyeon, who just looked at you expressionless. ‘Stupid son of a bitch.’

The coach left the court with the remaining of your team mates that waved at you from afar. You waved back and went to collect the scattered balls letting the boy get the net, since he was taller.

“If you weren’t so annoying, I could be going to my dorm right now.” He said when you walked past him on your way to the equipment room. You thought in giving a rude reply but bit your tongue not to curse back at him, already feeling your blood boil. “I'm talking to you.” You turned on your heel to face him.

“What do you mean? It’s your fault! You were throwing the ball too far for me to catch it in time!” You snarled.

“Isn’t it the whole point? Make the ball touch the floor on your adversary's side? I think you're just complaining because you're not that good of a player." Juyeon had just finished getting the net out of the first pole and glared at you with a raised brow. He really was getting under your skin.

"For your information, I'm the second best in the female team. I just can't deal with bullshit coming from a jerk like you."

Fuming, you turned your back again, walking away to fight back the temptation of throwing one of the balls in your arms directly at his annoying handsome face. Juyeon knew exactly how to get on your nerves and you couldn't stand having to be in the same room with him for too long without getting annoyed or bickering.

You were looking into the lockers searching for a second air pump, since there wasn't any other way and you had to pump up the balls, the best option was to you two do it separately so you could go home as soon as possible. While you were at it Juyeon entered the equipment room bringing the net and you quickly thought of a way to get yourself out of that situation.

"Here, the air pump." You handed him the object, to which he accepted but kept looking at you puzzled. "I didn't find another one, so, you do it."

"And what you're gonna do?"

"Go home!? What else do you expect me to do? Blow out the balls like they're balloons?" Your eyes rolled at how he scoffed at you, arms crossing in front of your body.

"I mean, I know something else you'd like to blow." A cheeky grin grew on his lips and past scenes of his dick on your mouth flashed through your mind.

“Shut the fuck up, will you? You’re so fucking annoying.” You raised your voice taking the boy aback for a moment, your jaw clenched and brows furrowed. “I can’t even stand looking at y-"

The words died at your throat as Juyeon dropped the air pump to grab your jaw firmly, pushing you up against the nearest wall. He was close, his tall figure towering over yours as he looked down at you with dark eyes.

“If you want to yell at me so bad, then I'll give you a reason to do so.” He muttered through gritted teeth and you could feel he was getting mad as well.

“Fuck you.” You scoffed trying to masquerade the fact that your heart was beating fast.

“Oh, you just did on semi-finals night, darling.” Juyeon let go of your face to brush his knuckles against the skin of your cheek, trailing south till it reached the side of your neck. You wished you didn’t shiver at the light touch, making it obvious to him that you enjoyed it. “Speaking of which, where have you been these past weeks? Were you too busy with that asshole from the basketball team?”

You didn’t even notice when you started to hold your breath but you were already feeling intoxicated by the low tone of his voice, knowing exactly what he was implying. His longs fingers wrapping around your throat not helping at all, and you thanked the sound of your racing heart wasn’t audible.  

“Why? Jealous much?” It took everything in you to let that out in a disinterested voice, sticking to an attitude not to let him win in any circumstance.

“C'mon, doll, you know I'd never date you; this is just for the fun. You’re just someone to hook up with.” He took a step closer, few inches away to press his body against yours. His skin was still glistening from the after practice sweat and you could almost say he looked hot, even though your mouth told otherwise.  

“And that’s all you can get after all. You’re good in bed but you’re as charming as a rock. No surprise you’re single.” Juyeon quirked a brow, his eyes dark as ever.

“Aw, you’re not attracted to me? Yeah, keep lying to yourself, darling. This is the most fun you can have besides taking your clothes off, isn’t it?” His breath fanned at your lips as the grip on your throat tightened, making him chuckle when a small moan dared to scape you. “Gosh, I really missed your pretty little pussy swallowing my dick and you screaming my name.”

You hated Juyeon to the moon and back with your whole being. He was arrogant, full of himself and egocentric, but what you hated the most was the fact that he knew how to touch you and make you feel things in a way you’d never experienced before, and you’d never admit that out loud. You'd never admit to his face how you also missed him pounding into you while you hooked up with other guys.

It was hard to recall when or even how you two started having this type of relationship, an 'enemies with benefits' kind you could say, because you clearly weren’t friends at all. You would pay not to have to spend the practice time looking at his face, and Juyeon would rather die than bumping into you in the hallways.  

But both couldn’t deny the sexual tension, and maybe that’s what led you to it, or maybe that was only a tactic to release stress, and you just happened to be there for each other. What’s a better way to calm your nerves than fucking your enemy? The sex was great after all and you couldn’t name any other boy who has ever made you cum so hard. Perhaps the hate towards each other really did add fuel to the fire and made things more interesting, competing who could make the other orgasm the fastest.

"I hate you so much." You said trying not to moan again when Juyeon pressed his torso against yours, sneaking his knee between your thighs, to which you rolled your hips grinding down on it.

"It's reciprocal, I just like to fuck you dumb." His hands went to your waist, grabbing hard and pulling you more into him. You were already melting at the tip of his fingers and didn't think twice before crashing your lips together and tugged at his hair with force as he moved his leg to cause more friction on your core. His big hands roaming all over your body roughly and squeezing your ass. A hiss came out of Juyeon's lips when you scratched his back underneath the shirt, sure to leave red marks. "Don't start a game you know you're gonna lose."

Juyeon pulled you by the wrist to the old desk to careless bend you over it. You couldn't lie saying you didn't like how everything was rough with him, it made a shiver run down your spine every time he kissed you hard and pulled your hair as you cursed at him digging your nails into his skin. He never cared about whether or not he was leaving bruises on your hips, neck and inner thighs, but neither did you. You secretly enjoyed admiring them later in the mirror.

“Here? Really?”

“It’s not like we haven’t done this before. Plus, everyone left, you can scream all you want.” A hand came down hard on your right ass cheek making you yelp. Another smack on the left side and you winced in pain arching your back. “You look good in the team's uniform, but look even better when I'm filling you up.”

He massaged your ass before harshly pulling your tight shorts down to your ankles and you stepped out of them, feeling his hands travel up your legs and holding your hips to press his hard on on your clothed core. You sighed grinding against him, your mind already getting hazy.

The boy brought you up to leave hungry kisses down your neck and bit on the curvature. Your breath hitched when his short nails raked the skin of your belly and you let your head rest on his shoulder, closing your eyes lost in the sensations. “Now tell me, is it still me that makes you sweat? Did you think of me when you were in bed with them?” He growled in your ear biting your lobe, making you grind harder.

“Not even for a second, didn’t even cross my mind.” Lucky you your mouth worked faster than your body so you didn’t dumbly nod agreeing with him. “You’re good but not the best.” You weren’t even ashamed in lying.

Juyeon let out a dark chuckle and grabbed your throat while the other hand squeezed one of your breasts. “We both know I've got a hotter touch, a better fuck than any guy you’ll ever meet. Or else you wouldn’t be coming back begging for my cock whenever you feel horny.”

“You wish.”

“Then why are you still here?” He teased licking your neck and smirked when you shuddered.

“Didn’t you say you missed my pussy? Then fuck me already.” You huffed impatient to which his only answer was to rub circles in your clit over your damp underwear. Juyeon pushed you back to bend over the desk, quickly and roughly pulling your panties down that you’d had stumbled if you were standing straight. “You’re gonna rip my panties, you asshole.”

He scoffed, slapping you once again. “You didn’t complain the other times I did.” His hand palmed himself through the shorts while the other went to your core, fingers playing with your wet folds. You whimpered when he slid one digit inside and added a second right after already moving, making your back arch. “Think I need to remind you that you’re just a fuck toy, not some porcelain doll. They must’ve treated you so nicely, but you like it rough, don’t you?”

Juyeon removed his fingers from you and pulled his own shorts down just enough to free his member and teased your slit with the tip, making you bite your lip in anticipation. Your breath got cut short when he gripped your waist and pushed in in one quick thrust, his cock disappearing into your warmth and your pussy clenched at the feeling of every inch of him stretching you open.

He didn't give you time to even take a deep breath and started moving in a fast pace, grabbing your hips with force. You could feel your whole body getting hot, sweat starting to form on your temples, skin prickling. "How someone so annoying like you have a pussy so good?" He groaned giving a hard, sharp thrust making you gasp and lifted your right leg to put over the desk. You were there so open for him; bent over that he could do anything. And you enjoyed every part of it.

Breathy moans were leaving your lips mixing with obscene wet sounds from your dripping cunt and his hips slamming yours recklessly now, going deeper and deeper inside you. Juyeon was holding you so strong and digging his nails in your skin that you were sure it'd leave bruises. "F-fuck, Juyeon!" You screamed out when he pulled almost all of his length out just to pushed it back in with a quick motion. He smirked to himself and kept repeating it, just to see you writhe and lose your mind.

His hand pulled your ponytail to which you winced but couldn't contain a moan. Your knuckles were turning white holding onto the desk for dear life as Juyeon completely rammed into you. "Not so talkative right now, huh?" He grabbed both your arms, pinning them behind your back with his own hands. "Look at you clenching so desperately. Gonna cum on my cock like a good slut?" His voice was low, watching your whole body shake as you approached your high, loud and breathy sounds escaping your lips.

You came crying out his name, shaking violently and trying to roll your hips back to get more of him. Juyeon pulled out slowly, feeling your walls fluttering and you whimpered at the emptiness. Even though you were sensitive, Juyeon's dick was so good that it never failed to make you want more and more.

A last sigh left you before you got pushed to your knees facing his cock. "Now be the good little slut and you are and put this mouth to a better use."

[cheekygreenty]

A Little Death - The Darkling x Reader

Enemies-to-lovers, one bed trope AND smut. You’re welcome 🖤

The mission went terribly, just as you said it would. You were always known to voice your concerns during meetings and this one was no different but he hadn't bothered to take your criticism into account.

The big bad Darkling couldn't stand you for that very reason or so he told himself. You were loud, outspoken, rude, and a control freak. You clashed and fought but he kept you there for perspective reasons, even though he never listened to you, like ever.

You laughed when the mission turned sour, earning yourself a glare from everybody, including him. If it wasn't the hours of sleep you lost to carry out the stupid mission in the first place, you would be heading toward Os Alta by now, but no. Everyone was tired and hungry and practically begging for a proper bed and not a makeshift cot in a tent, you included.

Vacancy was lit, the guests were checking in

You waited as the colorful keftas dispersed into the inn and as you approached the innkeeper to grab your keys, he hesitated.

'Only one room left.' He looked afraid to say it, does he think I need more than one? The confused look on your face kept until you saw General Kirigan appear out of the corner of your eye, looking right at you with a displeased look.

'Will it fit two people?'

'Yes Sir'

'Alright then, Y/L/N you're with me.' He took the keys and gestured for you to walk through the archway but you couldn't believe your ears. This man was the General of the Second-Army, almost as rich as the King but he had to share a room, with me no less?! Of all the bloody people on this journey, it obviously has to be me.

You bit back the rude remark that sat at the tip of your tongue and gave a curt nod. It's just one night and I'm ready to pass out.

'After you General' You forced a smile and watched as his irritation grew. Although you hated the man, you had to admit he was incredibly handsome, you weren’t blind. His dark onyx eyes always stood out against the pale of his skin, and the perfectly quiffed jet-black hair practically begged to have your fingers running through it.

His cape whirled around him as he walked past you, breaking you out of your trance. You guessed he knew where he was going as he ascended the wooden stairs and climbed to the top. Out of boredom, you counted the room numbers you passed not paying attention to him and stopped when you walked right into his rock-solid back. 'Saints- I'm sorry.' You blundered. I think that's the first time I've ever said sorry to him. He ignored you and walked into the room, inspecting it closely. You did too, but were cut short when you noticed the absence of another bed.

The room was fit for two

'There's only one bed' You dead-panned. You thought for a moment, looking around for a couch, an armchair, anything, but came up empty-handed. 'This is just great.' You sighed and looked to him. He had shed his heavy cape and donned his black kefta, staring at the one bed the same way you did.

'Well? What are we going to do?' You threw your hands up in exasperation 'Perhaps they have a tub I can-'

'Don't be ridiculous Y/N.' Y/N? I think that's the first time he's called me by my name.

'I meant to go wash, General. It's been a long week.' As opposed to some of the others, including the General, you had stayed in a tent over the past 2 days to gather intel. He and his flock stayed in inns and hotels, bathing in luxury and warmth.

'Yes, of course.' He stared into your eyes, holding your gaze for a hot minute before you looked away, suddenly feeling shy.

You put the bed situation at the back of your mind as you fetched some warm water and washed the grime of failed missions off. So much wasted time, all because nobody would listen to you, he wouldn't listen to me. If he weren't so gorgeous, I would kill him in his sleep.

Once you felt clean enough and your hair began to dry, you walked out of the washroom, enveloped by a towel as you searched your pack for anything you could sleep in. Perhaps the bath fogged up your mind, for you completely forgot the General was sharing the small space with you.

'You know you talk to yourself?' His voice scared the living daylights out of you. He was sitting back lazily against the headboard of the bed in his shirt and breeches smirking to himself. 'I think conspiring my death is reason enough for prison, is it not?' You couldn't tell if he was joking.

'I never said I would.' You bit back, grasp tightening around the flimsy towel.

'Because I'm too gorgeous?' He stood up from the bed and walked over to you. You never registered how much taller he was than you as his eyes scanned you up and down, like a predator hunting its prey.

'I need to get dressed, General'

'Hmmm, yes I can tell.' He took a bit of hair that hung in front of your face and held it between his fingers, the action sending waves of arousal through you, What- No. He was dangerously close, you could feel his breath tickle your ear and he was bound to hear your pounding heartbeat. But alas he moved away, sashaying into the washroom leaving you alone. I need a cold bath.

***

You were dressed for bed now, curled up on the left side of the bed. You were trying to sleep, really trying, but knowing he was laying right next to you only heightened your insomnia.

You knew he was awake too and he did little to hide it amongst the deafening silence of the room. You could feel the heat coming from his body, radiating an invitation for you to join him. You huffed loudly and turned again for the umpteenth time that hour, attempting to escape the weird tension in the room.

'Can't sleep?'

'Obviously.' Even in the dark, you knew he was smirking.

'I know something that would help.' Suddenly he was on top of you, caging you in with a hand at the sides of your head. You could feel the bare skin of his arm and chest as he slightly pressed down onto you, signaling that he wasn't wearing the black silk shirt anymore. Wherever his skin brushed against yours, it ignited that longing and need in you and it felt addictive.

I want you to touch me

'What are you doing? I thought you hate me.' Your proximity allowed for you to see the slight glistening of his eyes. They had an edge to them, a darkness you'd never seen before or never paid attention to.

'You're one to speak.' Taking one hand from beside your head, he so very slowly traced the side of your face, and your breath caught in your throat as he continued his way down your neck and further, stopping at your thigh where your nightgown had bunched up. 'I think it's time we stop this charade of ours.' As you concentrated on the feel of his fingers against your burning skin, he moved his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and exhilarating as he spoke.

'What charade' Your words came out with a deep exhale in anticipation of his actions.

'The one where we both pretend we don't want to fuck each other's brains out.'

Your eyes flew open at his crude remark but shut right back again as his lips gently kissed your collarbone and made their way up to your jaw, getting increasingly rough as he traveled. His hand at your thigh sneaked its way under the gown and now gripped your bare hip in a tight hold. 'What do you say?' His lips were now at yours, touching them as he spoke. All your logic flew out the window of the dingy inn. You didn't care that this was your General, or that he could kill you in an instant, all that mattered was that you needed him, and he wanted you.

'Ye-'

Before you even finished, his lips were hot on yours, devouring you in a bruising kiss. He pressed into you harder and if you had any reservations about his feeling towards you, they were flushed away as he made his arousal for you obvious. It fueled you, awoke your need to control with a jolt.

You fought for dominance, letting your mouth duel for any scrap of authority you could have over the man, but he kept you wrapped around his finger, tightening his grasp on you while simultaneously letting your mind run free with thoughts of him and only him. He was dangerous; intimidating.

She sought death on a queen-sized bed.

He began to pull away but to your surprise he only hauled you up with him, taking your thighs and forcing you into a straddle around his lap, not once letting his lips leave your body.

'You do it on purpose, don't you? Vexing and riling me up in front of others-' He took hold of the nightgown and pulled it up over your head before roughly grabbing your chin and letting his lips brush against your now swollen ones '-I swore to myself if you did it again, I would've thought you a lesson right before their very eyes.'

The General was quick to pull you back into him, bare chests pressed together and heartbeats merging into one. Your hips moved on their own accord, slowly drawing circles around his bulge.

'General I didn't take you for a man that stalled.' You spoke against his lips. You were done with his words, you needed his actions.

I want you to touch me there

Make me feel like I am breathing

At that, his hand let go of its deathly grip on your waist and quickly went to your core. Letting a deep growl out at your dripping wetness, he plunged a finger deep into you as his palm stroked your clit at an excruciatingly painful pace, too slow for your liking. You couldn't help keep the whimper down and he had the audacity to chuckle at your neediness.

'And I didn't take you to be so impatient.' He nipped at your shoulder as he picked up his pace, earning a series of moans from you. It was like music to his ears.

With your head against his chest, you rode your wave of pleasure out with his fingers still inside you, milking your first orgasm of the night.

Almost immediately he had you under him again and before you could register with your eyes, you felt the head of his cock nudging at your sensitive bud, as if begging for entry. It sent shivers up your spine, seeing him there at your mercy. He ran across your wet folds again and a throaty moan echoed around the room. Are you sure he's at your mercy?

You coaxed him to enter and once he did you felt euphoria. He stretched you out to your limits, filled you until you bottomed out. His eyes were tightly shut as he basked in the comfort of you. It felt just as good to be buried in you as it did to kiss you. You enveloped his senses and his mind. You were the only thing that mattered to him at that very moment.

'Saints Y/N.' His forehead fell against yours as he thrust in and out of you, bearing his weight on the arm not holding your thigh up.

Despite the pleasure clouding your mind and vision, you managed to grab at his vulnerability and flip you both around. He didn't fight back, only grabbed hold of the back of your neck to kiss you deeply as you pounded down onto him. His hold on your hip was deadly, bound to bruise. He liked the thought of marking you as his.

You came with a strangled cry, the pulsing around his length sending him into a frenzy of his own as your name spilled out like a prayer from his lips. It took a while for you to catch your breath and return to your natural state. But it didn't last long before the events of the night were repeated and more marks were littered across your body.

It was only then that you fell asleep, thoroughly spent and exhausted, awaiting the next time you could defy him.

_______

Taglist (Tell me if you want to be added!!)

@aleksanderwh0r3 @theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx @pansysgirlfriend @pansysgirlfriend @justmesadgirl

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

can you please write an imagine for nigari?? he have a love/hate relationship with a girl where they throw shades to each other but they always have the other's back during games, and one day a guy flirts with her at the beach and he gets mad

I’d love to. Thanks for requesting! 😉

A Bullet Between The Eyes | Suguru Niragi

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Character(s): Niragi (ft. OC’s)

Summary: Niragi and you have a bickering relationship with each other. One night a guy tries to buy you a drink, not noticing the psychotic man standing nearby.

Warning: a lot of swearing, smoking, violence, threatening

Word Count: 2.6k

*reader is female

Niragi gif credit

Music was blaring through the speakers at the highest volume possible and made your ears almost bleed. You swore you could feel the bass in your bones, shaking them against each other to the beat. You had become immune to the deafening dubstep music and the annoying yells of everyone in the large crowd. People were pushed up close and personal to one another, grinding against each other like a pack of horny animals. It made you sick.

You leant against the neon-lighted bar that was fixated about twenty metres from the dance floor. You watched as people pushed each other into the pool nearby as you took a large puff from your cigarette. You had never smoked before being thrown into this horrific world, but the stress and worry brought you to consider the damaging habit.

“Bunch of idiots,” you muttered angrily under your breath. “How the fuck are they having fun? Do they not realize their brutal fates are waiting to creep up on them?”

Your close friend Sara sat in the stool beside you. She glanced at you and then in the direction you were staring. “I mean, I guess that’s why they’re having fun. They only have such a short life ahead of them,” she responded, turning back to the bar and taking a swig of her drink.

“I mean to be honest Y/N, I’m surprised you’re not letting loose of your cold attitude and having fun,” Sara stated over her shoulder to you.

You broke your gaze from everyone else and looked at her from the side. “Why is that?” you asked, curious as to what she meant.

She looked at you and smirked. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen you,” she chuckled.

“Huh?”

“You and that militant. You’ve been getting awfully close to the psychopath. When did it all start?” she sneered.

You pulled a confused expression before realizing what she was referring to. “Oh you mean Niragi,” you said, “We just help each other out at games, it increases our chance of surviving.” You brushed off her accusation and took another puff of your cigarette.

“Sorry if I’m being nosy, but it’s just strange,” Sara assured. “In the months I’ve been here, I’ve never seen Niragi warm up to someone. He’s always remained the same unempathetic, abusive bastard that I’ve always known.”

You stared at her side profile, not being too sure what to say.

You wouldn’t say that you had a good relationship with Niragi, considering the fact that he really did know how to push your buttons. If anything he was your enemy. But for some reason when you two were placed into the same groups to complete a game, you work together and against the others.

It was like he completely changed his persona from a cold-hearted prick to an overly protective (still a prick) figure. It gave you whiplash at times.

You let out a small chuckle and smirked at Sara. “And how would working with Niragi make me want to go and dance more Sara?” you questioned, going back to the topic you started at.

Sara turned herself around fully and stared you down right in the eyes. “All I’m saying is, if you’re looking for a quick way to die, keep sticking around Niragi. You know how he is Y/N, and when he gets the chance, he’ll put a bullet between your eyes with that rifle of his.”

She stood up off her stool and strutted towards the pool with her drink in her hand, probably to have some fun herself, considering the games were beginning in the next couple of hours. No one knew which night would be their last.

Your eyes followed her figure as she walked away. “Huh, maybe she’s just jealous,” you muttered.

You turned around and leaned over the bar, asking the bartender to make you a drink. The blonde girl nodded and got to mixing it for you. You sat in the seat that Sara previously was and let out a big sigh. You honestly were getting tired of the constant parties every single night, it was starting to get old.

No matter how hard you tried to ignore it, your mind kept bringing you back to what Sara was saying about Niragi and you. Was it really getting that obvious? Were other people noticing?

The bartender slid the drink towards you and you thanked her. You lifted the cold drink to your lips and tipped your head back, taking a big amount into your body. You wanted to be at least slightly intoxicated when the games start. It always helped ease your anxiety.

As your head began to feel heavier and your limbs became a bit numb, you noticed that the usual warm chatter that surrounded the neon bar had dissolved, almost to silence. You were confused, whipping your head around to see the cause.

You felt your face drop into a scowl as you noticed the familiar face that you hated so much. Niragi’s black and white button up turned turquoise from the lighting, and his eyes which were a deep dark black as he peered around the bar looking for something. You locked eyes with the all too familiar rifle that hung on his shoulders effortlessly, obviously just there for show. 

You pointed that out to him one time which ended with your back against a hallway wall and the barrel of the rifle pressed harshly against your temple with Niragi’s disgusting spit in your eye. “You still think it’s for show?” he hissed.

He tried so desperately to get you to be scared of him at The Beach. Why in the hell did that brutal and bully personality of his fade at the games?

You swiveled back around in your seat, facing your back towards the frightening man.

‘Why can’t he just fuck off,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Why do I have to run into him everyday.’ It was becoming a bit suspicious, the amount of times you would catch Niragi around the corner of a room you’re in. He would always play it off as by chance but you’ve begun to think otherwise.

A hand slowly placed itself on your bare lower back and someone leaned in close to your ear. “Hey there sweetheart, I’ve been looking for you all night. A little birdie told me you would be here,” you heard Niragi purr into your ear.

You cringed at his sickening sweet tone and turned away from him. You could smell the slight tang of metallic blood on him. He’d probably ‘took care’ of someone some time earlier.

“What the fuck do you want Niragi,” you growled, not looking him in the eye. Niragi chuckled at your tone.

“That’s not a very nice hello. I thought you would’ve warmed up to me by now. You seem to put an awful lot of trust in me at games.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and pinched your earlobe gently between his thumb and index finger. You rolled your eyes into the back of your head in annoyance and slapped his hand away from your face.

“Piss off. If you’ve come here just to get on my nerves then you can beat it.” you spat at him harshly. He seemed taken back by your bold movements.

“Are you sure you want to speak to me that way? I might just leave you to die if you’re rude enough to me.” he snickered, keeping that smug smirk on his face that made you want to bash him over the head.

“So be it then, at least when I’m dead I won’t have to deal with your annoying ass.” You stuffed the rest of your cigarette into a tray on the table and stood up out of your seat to face the tall man head on.

He towered over you, that annoying and insolent smile never leaving his tanned face. Just his face alone created a rage in you that was indescribable.

“I don’t need some psychotic man with a machine gun to protect me Niragi. I am fine on my own. If anything, I could beat your cocky ass with my bare hands alone.”

“Well you seem awfully confident. Keep that same attitude when I have you cornered during a game, you might have to prove yourself right in order to survive.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s however you want to take it sweetie. A threat or a head-start.”

You frowned up at the man, not knowing how to respond. You walked back to the seat and grabbed your jacket that hung off it. “Have fun by yourself you prick. Why don’t you choose a fucking personality and stop switching between the two. You give me bloody whiplash.” You spat down at his feet, narrowly missing his shoe and marched away from him towards the pool to look for Sara.

You didn’t want to put up with his bullshit that night. You weren’t in the mood to start a verbal war with him, especially in front of everyone.

You found Sara sitting on the edge of the pool. There weren’t a lot of people around her, as everyone was either at the bar or on the dance floor.

You placed your hand gently on her shoulder and sat down next to her with your feet in the heated pool. It was a kind of awkward silence for a few moments before Sara spoke up.

“Sorry about before, I shouldn’t have assumed anything,” she started, looking into your eyes. “I understand that it must be hard for you, being the object of a psychotic man’s desires.” She said empathetically.

You appreciated her concern, as there were times where you were honestly scared for your life around Niragi. He really wasn’t the best person to be around, but you had already known that before you got closer with him. You never thought he would become as annoying and insistent as he had.

“I’m just worried about you. He’s a manipulative and untrustworthy person and I would hate to come back from a game one day to see your body with a bullet through your head.”

You stared into the water thinking about Sara’s words. “I know, I would hate that as well. I don’t trust him like that Sara. I would never put my own life in his hands, because I know he would hurt me with no remorse whatsoever.”

You both sat in silence for a bit with Sara leaning her head onto your shoulder. You wanted to spend this nice time together before leaving, just in case anything was to happen.

“I better go,” she announced after a while. She stood up and placed her hand on the top of your head. “Good luck Y/N. Make sure you don’t die out there. If anyone can survive, it’s you.”

You smiled at her words and looked up at her. “You too Sara. Love you.”

She said it back and then trudged off into the direction of the entrance to the hotel.

You wanted to be alone with your thoughts for a bit, but that didn’t last long when a tipsy young man with brown hair decided to plop himself right next to you, a little too close to just be friendly.

“Hey love! You’re looking awfully gorgeous tonight,” he beamed, placing an arm around your shoulder. You were taken back by his boldness, not knowing how to react.

“Oh, thanks I guess? I mean I’m dressed the same as I always am,” you said trying to keep the conversation light.

“Hmm really? Well I guess you’re just always gorgeous then,” he giggled and leaned closer to you.

You started to panic a little bit. This boy was a bit too flirty for his own good.

“Hey! Do you want to maybe come get a drink with me at the bar?” he asked in a cheery tone. You looked at him in shock and shook your head quickly. “No it’s fine really! I just had one so I don’t feel like another.” you insisted, laughing awkwardly.

“No really it’s fine! Actually you know what, I’ll grab it for you. You just wait here and I’ll be back soon,” he said with a big smile on his face. It seemed very contradicting to his pushy behaviour.

You started to get annoyed. “Please, it’s fine. I was just about to leave anyway,” you lied.

The young man still pushed. You found it quite pathetic really. Was he really that desperate?

Before you could even say anything else, you suddenly saw the man fly sideways and land in the pool. Your mouth fell open in shock and you watched as he came back to the surface gasping for air. “What the fuck? Who was that?!” he yelled out frustratingly. Everyone around the pool had gone silent to see what the commotion was.

You looked back to the side of the pool to see none other than Niragi himself who had a proud smile on his face. “It was me you little bitch.” The young man’s eyes widened in fear.

“Are you sure you want to go flirting around with a militant’s woman? You might just be looking to get your head blown off!” Niragi cackled psychotically. “Go find your own toy to play with.”

Niragi aimed his rifle towards the man and everyone surrounding the pool panicked and ducked down. The man screamed in fear and started yelling to do anything that might spare his life.

“My deepest apologies Niragi! I didn’t know she was with you! I promise I’ll stay away from her from now on!”

You felt somewhat belittled. How dare he apologize to Niragi but not you. You were the one that got harassed.

Niragi let out a giggle and pulled the trigger of his rifle. The deafening sound rang in your ears and you watched as the bullet narrowly missed the young man’s head by an inch, creating a splash in the water next to him.

Niragi kneeled down with an evil smile on his face and harshly gripped the boy by his hair to lift him closer to his face. “If you ever touch her again, I won’t hesitate to put multiple bullets between those annoying ass eyes of yours. You understand?” He growled.

“Yes! I understand sir! I promise!” the boy cried desperately.

Niragi let go of his hair and watched as he swam to the left of him to scramble out of the pool and sprint away from him towards the dance floor. Probably to hide among other people so if Niragi changed his mind about sparing him he would be harder to find.

You breathed heavily in shock, not believing what you just witnessed.

“What the fuck was that?!” you yelled at Niragi. He looked down at you with an emotionless expression.

“Huh?”

“That was so over dramatic! Niragi I don’t know if you know this, but we’re not together! We’re not even friends! You can’t go around threatening anyone who lays eyes on me!”

Niragi rolled his eyes and kneeled down to get closer to your face. “Look, that idiotic boy was just trying to get into your pants. He didn’t want anything else from you. I just did you a favor, you should be thanking me!” he exclaimed.

You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance. “I was very aware of that fact Niragi, but I had it under control!”

“Did you really Y/N? Because from the way you were shaking it didn’t seem like you did.”

You stared into his deep, evil eyes. For once, you actually felt small underneath his gaze.

“Whatever, I’m going back to my room.” You stood up from your position and scurried away from the scene. As much as you hated to admit it, you were partly grateful to Niragi from saving you from that situation. You would never admit it to him though. You just wish he didn’t do it with so much aggression.

“Would you like me to walk you back-”

“Niragi! Fuck off!”

Author’s Note: Sorry this one took a while anon. I really hope it’s what you wanted!