#when every leaf opens without any sound

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Severance - BTS OT7 CEO au Chapter 16

So did anybody guess what was on the news? I thought it was rather obvious (it’s getting harder and harder to find gifs I haven’t used)

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“Care to explain this Y/n,” Junmyeon says, reaching for the remote and pressing play.

You feel your world freeze, the newscasters lips moving but the thumping in your ears drowns her out. Footage after footage of your dates, the three maknaes and you at the airport, date stamped proving you played hooky, there was nothing you could say to disprove the videos, not when in every single one they steal a kiss.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, not even a breath goes in, you’re stuck. You don’t see anything but the screen where the secret you so desperately wanted to keep was aired out for the world to witness. You don’t see Jongin desperately texting Jimin under the desk, what you do see is the channel cut to a newscaster introducing the last woman you ever expected to see, the shock filling your lungs with air so fast it makes you dizzy. Your eyes sting with tears as she starts talking, was this karma? Was this the universe telling you you made the wrong choice, that you should never have fallen for them, that you were too greedy for their love. Was this the price, the consequences? 

“I think she’s hyperventilating,” the voice sounds muffled, your ears feel like they're full of burning cotton but at least someone has the sense to turn the screen off. Baekhyun fills your vision instead, hands on your shoulders with worried eyes on your form. 

“Cars coming to pick her up, back entrance,” you recognise it's Jongin that’s speaking but the word’s go over your head. 

Someone hands you a tissue but you don’t register the gesture until you hear a sigh. Chanyeol gently wipes your tears away, the stern look on his face softening when you look up at him. The sound of the phone ringing sounds so distant, like it was at the end of the tunnel. Jongin answers it before handing it to Junmyeon.

“Namjoon,” he greets through the line, the sound of his tone cutting through the fog you were drowning in. Joonie, you wanted nothing more than to be buried in his arms away from all this, but he wasn’t here. Whatever he was saying though the line made your current boss stare at you with an accusation that didn’t budge.

“We need to get her out without any more commotion,” he says to the others stiffly after he cuts the call. 

“I’ll sort out the employees,” Kyungsoo states walking out. 

The silence that follows is palpable, the lead CEO breaks it with a sigh, and you know it’s due to the aftermath he would have to deal with because of your decisions. He moves to walk past you, but you grab his sleeve before he can. You try not to flinch under his stare, your hands trembling where they hold him. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say as sincerely as you can through a hoarse whisper. He acknowledges your words with a nod before he leaves. You’re quickly ushered to the corridor by the others, the sight of them shielding you like your own personal bodyguards would make you chuckle on any other day, but you were still shaking like a leaf. 

All that work, all those years of making something of yourself, all the sacrifices and it came to this. Your life exposed to the world in a way that would cause it ruin. Your future at e.xo was done, no other company would ever employ you, you could never go back to work for bangtan. Everything was gone. 

—

“Yeah we’re in the car, we got her out safe,” Seokjin says through the phone while Yoongi drives, his eyes glancing at you with worry. 

A question Namjoon asks on the phone had Jin tensing, looking at you hesitantly. Is she okay?

“She’s not saying anything, she’s just shaking,” he sighs, he wanted to say more, how you were staring at the floor despondently, how when Jin tried to hold your hand to comfort you, you tensed and turned away.

The fear in their hearts that you regretted everything you had with them made Jin pull away, all he could do was be grateful they got to you before the media did, and in the tinted vehicle you were at least safe. 

“It’s safe to go back to the mansion,” Jin tells Yoongi when he hangs up the call.

The drive is silent, they didn’t know what to say, everytime they tried the words died before they could form. Security was back in full force at their estate, running out any media outlet that tried to sneak close, their lawyers were having a field day. Not to mention the commotion at the office as they walked out, the whispers conjugated together so loud, not even Namjoon’s glare could silence them.

The gates open to the estate, and Yoongi can hear his heartbeat thumping faster and faster in his ears, it felt like they were coming to an impasse and there was no going back. The car slows to a stop, and as he kills the engine all they can do is stare at you.

Move. You had to move.

You could hear a faint commotion outside, the three maknaes running towards the car but a stern look from Yoongi stopped them in their tracks. Worry, anticipation, anxiety, no one knew exactly what concoction of emotions paralysed them, what made them hesitate to reach out to you.

“Kitten,” Yoongi starts softly, “you need to talk to us.”

That made you move, the door opening without a word in return. Your legs work against you, feeling like lead on twigs, a second away from collapsing. You couldn’t speak right now, your whole body felt empty and yet the weight of thoughts in your head made you need to bury it. You wanted your bed, you wanted to hide, and you wanted to be alone. 

Yoongi shares a look with Jin, the hurt flashing between both of them at your rejection but they try not to take it to heart. You never wanted your relationship with them made public, not yet at least, you weren’t ready for the backlash, but now the choice was taken from you in the most heinous way. 

“Noona,” Jungkook calls for you gently, a sadness in his eyes at the way you were walking with your head hanging low. Jimin holds him back, understanding better than anyone how you were feeling. He used to do the same, when something went wrong, when he made a mistake, he cut himself off from everyone, it would be a mistake to approach you until you were ready, until the voices in your head either broke you or quietened down. 

The steps to the front door took so much energy from you, you didn’t think you had any left. You could feel them walking behind you at a distance, and yet it didn’t feel far enough or close enough. Something inside of you was tearing its way out and you didn’t know if you wanted to be embraced through it or to suffer it alone the way you had before so many times. 

“Y/n,” Namjoon didn’t get the memo, he tries to embrace you but feels you stiffen against him, letting go immediately to look at your face with worry. “Baby girl, we'll fix this, okay? We-”

You push him away and he looks at you in shock, you didn’t want to hear it right now, you were barely holding yourself together. Voices were pounding inside of your head, the same repeated phrases over and over about how all your work was ruined, it was all for nothing, all your dreams, all your efforts. You couldn’t handle anything right now, you just needed your bed and to cry yourself to sleep alone. 

“Y/n talk to me,” Namjoon says sternly, brows knitted at the way you didn’t even look at him. 

He blocks your path when you try to walk past him, why didn’t he understand what you needed right now? You hear him sigh, as if his patience with you was wearing thin. 

“Baby girl, you always do this,” he says, holding onto your shoulders to ground you, to keep you from leaving him. “You shut yourself down, you punish yourself, you push us away and then you break.”

“You can’t do that anymore sunshine,” Hoseok says standing beside you. “We’re in a relationship, we’re in this together, your pain is our pain Y/n.”

They watch you shake your head, bowing your head down so low as they hear the telltale sniffle that turns into a violent sob. Namjoon is quick to catch you in his arms, hushing your softly, stroking your hair until you calmed. All the while guilt ate him up, this was his fault, he could see it in all of their eyes as they watched you fall apart. 

—

The house was solemn and quiet, you had retreated upstairs to your room, Jimin staying beside you while you slept. 

“We underestimated that bitch,” Yoongi breaks the silence with what they were all thinking. They’re all scattered around the living room, Jungkook sitting deep in thought on the headrest of the sofa, Yoongi on the seat beside him. Namjoon sat opposite them with Hoseok on the armrest, Jin pacing the room slowly while Taehyung sat on the floor with his face in his hands. The black face of the TV on the wall stared at them, taunting them with what it held inside. The face broadcasted alongside yours and theirs was one that they barely remembered, but she had the audacity to be interviewed by any news outlet desperate enough for a story. They didn’t want to turn on the TV and see her face. 

“She signed an NDA,” Namjoon says, a headache forming, “we didn’t think she was going to be a problem.”

“That’s where arrogance gets us,” Jin scoffs.

“Flower worked so hard for so long,” Taehyung says quietly, mourning for you. They all knew it better than anyone. 

“We’ll fix this,” Namjoon states, he wouldn’t rest until they did. 

“Namjoon be real for a second,” Hoseok sighs, “we might not be able to fix it.”

“No company is going to take her without an agenda,” Jungkook pipes in stoically.

“Or without thinking she’s a corporate spy,” Jin agrees. 

“We can’t control everyone and everything,” Hoseok finishes, patting the lead CEO on the shoulder sympathetically. 

“And we definitely can’t ignore a problem away,” Yoongi scoffs, staring daggers into Namjoon. 

“Let’s not start this now,” Jin warns, feeling Namjoon’s guilt from a mile away.

“What does he mean?” Jungkook asks, feeling confused. 

“Namjoon’s been burning threats concerning us,” Yoongi continues accusatively. 

“We never opened those letters,” Namjoon argues back, “we don’t know what they contained.”

“Well we know now,” Yoongi says mockingly. He hated when you were upset, the feeling made his own claws unsheath, ready to tear into anyone who was held responsible. 

“We don’t know the two things are connected,” Hoseok tries to defend their lead. 

“Don’t be stupid Hobi,” Yoongi seethes, “Kitten’s whole career has gone down the drain because of us, what the fuck is she going to do if she finds out?”

“You best hope she doesn’t,” Taehyung snapped, his earlier melancholy now fueled by fear. 

“We can’t keep this from her,” Hoseok shakes his head, disregarding the point.

“She’ll hate us,” Jungkook states, terrified it would manifest before his eyes soon. 

“She’ll be angry at us,” Jin corrects him, “but we have to tell her.”

“Not now, it’s too soon,” Namjoon says quickly, his own fear warping his judgement.

“You should’ve opened one fucking letter,” Yoongi can’t let it go, all of this could’ve been avoided if it wasn’t for Namjoon’s stupid stubbornness. 

“What good is bringing that up now going to do?” Hoseok sighs again. 

“We don’t know if it’s connected!” Namjoon yells exasperated. “What we do know is Shin Suran leaked the photos and the story, and she is going to fucking pay.”

—

“So you’re saying the CEOs fired you because you threatened to expose their relationship to HR?” Solar, the newscaster asks her aghast. 

“Honestly, I didn’t want to expose their… relationship,” she can’t hide the disgust in her voice at the word, “but I was concerned for Y/n’s wellbeing, I thought maybe they were holding her job over her head until I found out she was only entertaining them to climb the corporate ladder.”

Both anchors were shocked, the information sending them reeling.

“I mean what self respecting young woman would sell herself like that? Y/n was never a team player, or very good at her job but somehow she was always favoured by the CEO’s. It should have been obvious really.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of information to unpack Suran,” Solar says. “Aren’t you scared of the repercussions, these are the world’s business leads you’re going up against.”

“I only want to convey the truth,” Suran lies through her teeth. “It isn’t fair that the women who have worked hard and devoted themselves to Bangtan corporations are not appreciated or given the opportunities they deserve.”

“But Miss L/n left bangtan corporations,” the other anchor Hwasa finally speaks after having watched the little snake for so long. Something didn’t sit right with her and this woman’s sickly sweet attitude, it stank of deceit and she wasn’t blind to it. 

“I have it on good information that she was sent to spy on the competition,” Suran’s eyes narrow, not liking her tone of voice. 

“That’s a wild allegation,” Hwasa replies, every bit the professional. “I hope you have the evidence to back it up.”

—

“Bangtan corporations are under serious investigation after allegations of corporate espionage came from their former employee…”

She smiles at the screen plating in front of her, the chaos unravelling in so many wonderful ways. The Sun was shining despite the winter air, how many interviews could she fit into one day? Many it seemed, and while the day was over there was always tomorrow to cause more havoc to your life. Now she would sit and bask in the TV light, watching all of her fire ignite. 

She had only gotten cosy when the doorbell rang to her little flat, groaning as she went to the door to answer it.

“Shin Suran?”

The three piece suit should give away something serious was in the brown paper envelope in his hands but she couldn’t bring herself to show any respect to the figure. She sneered and rolled her eyes, this man might’ve looked intimidating but she was currently on a high from ruining your life, nothing was going to bring her power trip down.

“Wi HaJoon,” he continues in the absence of a greeting, handing her the envelope. “You’ve been served.”

“What?” That elicits a reaction out of her, for some reason she didn’t even contemplate there would be consequences for her actions, deluded into thinking she was untouchable.

“You’re being sued for stalking, defamation and breaking the nondisclosure agreement you signed.”

That wasn’t part of her plan, her jaw drops to the ground and she realises maybe she played her cards all wrong. In the violent web of wanting to destroy your life she didn’t realise all her defences were gone. Maybe he was right after all.

—

When you wake up, the sun begins to set and Jimin’s warmth engulfs you. The feeling is comforting but fleeting, unfortunately real life problems don’t fade just because you’re in his arms. You wanted to bury yourself in his hold, have him take everything away until you were ready to deal with it. Jungkook’s favourite grey sweatshirt swallows you whole, his smell calming your senses, you try to focus on it when your mind tries to swim through the thoughts that wanted you to drown. 

The door creaks open, two figures cautiously peaking in whispering to themselves. When Tae notices you’re awake he takes a seat beside you, caressing your cheek in his palm gently, his thumb soothing your skin. His eyes are downtrodden.

Jungkook kneels on the floor next to you, taking your hand in his and covering it with hard kisses, resting his cheek where they intertwined.

You try to get up but Jimin beside you grumbles in discontent, shuffling closer mumbling something under his breath without opening his eyes. A chaste kiss to your shoulder where the fabric hangs off your skin, lets you know he’s awake but refusing to let you go. The gesture brings a small but genuine smile to your face, one that turns into confusion as the commotion downstairs gets louder.

The younger two give each other knowing glances, one you don’t miss.

“What’s going on?” You ask, voice still hoarse from crying.

The hesitation in both of them fills you with dread. Did something else happen? 

“They’re just trying to sort things out bunny,” Jungkook tries to reassure you, “it’s nothing to worry about.”

Despite Taehyung not wanting you to find out, something sickened him at the idea of keeping secrets from you. He knew how the truth always found its way out, and he knew if you didn’t hear it from them, it would have worse repercussions. 

“Tae?” you could see a storm in his eyes, a battle between the loyalty to the others and his love for you. 

“The hyungs…” he hesitates, Jimin now fully awake and sitting up at his deep uncertain tone. 

Jungkook looks at him imploring him not to say it yet, it was going to be too much to deal with so soon after this morning. You grab Jimin’s arm, pulling yourself up closer to Taehyung who now avoided your gaze.

“Guys what’s going on?”

“I’ve been here with you,” Jimin mumbles half asleep, his hair a soft mess on his head. 

“Kookie?” you turn to the youngest who bites his lips nervously, doe eyes begging you not to ask him. 

“You’re worrying me,” your nerves were shot, the trauma from this morning making you beyond paranoid. What could be worse than this morning, what weren’t they telling you. 

“Jimin, Jungkook and I didn’t know,” Taehyung starts slowly, not wanting to put his hyung’s under the bus but he wasn’t going to let them shoulder the blame when they were innocent. Plus when this was over he had a feeling you would ostracise the older four for a while, he couldn’t handle being a part of that. 

“Didn’t know what?” you ask tentatively, urging him to continue.

“I still don’t know,” Jimin grumbles, getting annoyed with the suspense. 

“Namjoon Hyung has been getting letters,” Jungkook says when Taehyung pauses for too long. He sighs, cursing the hyung’s for keeping this from you when he knew the betrayal would crush you. 

“What letters?” 

Something ticks in Jimin’s brain, his sleep filled eyes going wide with realisation. The other day in the office, when the hyung’s went solemn, it was to do with that?

“We think…” Taehyung tries not to stumble over his words, “they were threats, about you or us, but we don’t know because…”

Threats? You’re sent reeling, did Namjoon know this was coming? And he did nothing to warn you, or confide in you?

“Because what?” you breathe, your voice heavy, eyes watering as your thoughts ran away from you. Jimin places an arm around your shoulders, trying to soothe you.

“He burned the letters before he opened them,” Jungkook finishes, feeling a deep rooted shame for his favourite hyung, and for selling him out. 

“Angel…”

Jimin calls after you as you throw the covers off of you, storming downstairs to confront the men hiding things from you. 

“Sunshine-”

“You’ve been getting threats and you didn’t tell me?” 

They startle at your accusation, as right as it was, the four of them confounded until the younger three stumble in behind you. All four hyungs glance at them disgruntled and disappointed, this was not the way to handle things, the thought was hypocritical but justified in their minds. 

“You didn’t tell me?” Your teary eyes pierce Yoongi with so much sadness, of all of them you never expected him to keep it from you, and for some reason it stung the worst.

“Kitten,” he tries reaching out to you, a vulnerable edge to his voice. He would let you scratch and claw at him until you were satisfied, anything to keep you from looking at him like that again. 

“Babygirl it’s my fault,” Namjoon sighs, taking the edge of his hyung and shouldering all the blame. “I told them not to.”

You turn back to him with anger in your eyes.

“Namjoon you’re the lead at work but that doesn’t make you the lead in this relationship,” you snap. “You had no right to keep this from me!”

“I know,” he says, his voice small.

“How long have you been getting these letters?” You ask and he hangs his head in shame. 

“Months…” he replies, “since you left the company.”

You stare at him appalled and it wounds him.

“You have the gall to tell me how to behave in this relationship Kim Namjoon,” Your voice is strained through the onslaught of angry tears. “And you keep this from me?”

“I didn’t know what the letters said,” he says as an excuse, and he knows it’s a feeble one. 

You shake your head in disbelief.

“I thought you of all people would get it Joonie,” the way your voice breaks cuts through him with shame. “You built everything from the ground up, I admired you long before I loved you. So how the hell could you play with my future like this?”

“Baby girl that was never my intention,” he begs you to understand him now, that he didn’t behave nonchalant with a potential threat, he thought he was doing what was best. 

“It doesn’t matter what your intention was! There was a clear right and wrong, and you know it.”

He bows his head again, you were right, he disrespected you when he didn’t discuss the letters with you, you should’ve made the decision together as to what to do with them. But in his heart he thought he was protecting you, protecting your peace and happiness, but all of that was a bubble set to burst.

“We don’t know that it’s connected beautiful,” Jin steps in between you, speaking as softly as he can knowing you were full of rage and sorrow, but he watched Namjoon take the blow and needed to shield him a little. 

“We don’t know that it’s not,” you argued back. “We have no way of knowing, because instead of talking to me about something unpleasant, you guys decided to bury it.”

“Sunshine, I get that you’re upset-” Hoseok tries but the look of incredulous shock shuts him up.

“Upset?” you repeat, the strain in your voice carrying tears. “Everything I worked for, all my dreams, are gone.” 

It was a struggle to get out every word, having to take a breath between each one, but you were determined to. 

“No company is going to employ me, even if they do I’ll be subjugated to whispers and isolation and we know how that worked out last time.”

You sniffle, wiping your nose and tears with your sleeve. You wanted to appear strong but you were breaking down, didn’t they understand what they had done? Didn’t they care? Or were they so comfortable in their gold seats so far above you they forgot about their struggles on the way there?

“I didn’t join your company to seduce you, I wanted to work hard and make something of myself, maybe start my own company one day, but all of that is gone.”

“Kitten,” Yoongi dares himself to try again, to console you even if you pushed him away. He walks over to you, remembering all the times you seeked him out for comfort. It used to confound the others, how Mr Stoic Stone was the one that you reached for, and even though it was unusual for him to step into those shoes, with you it came so naturally. He wanted to be the one you searched for when you needed soothing, he never wanted to lose that connection he built with you, ever. He knew it was a privilege, one he never took for granted.

He hates the way you look at him now, it breaks his heart, those watering eyes showing how truly hurt you were while you tried to control the trembling of your bottom lip, tried to look strong in front of him. 

“Whatever you think is gone, we can rebuild,” he takes your face in his hands, kissing the top of your head softly before looking into your eyes. “I am so sorry for not telling you, but I promise you whatever dreams you had will come true. It's just going to suck for a while and that’s our fault.” 

“We know better than anyone how hard you work sunshine,” Hoseok smiles at you sadly, regretting not telling you. 

“If you want a company babygirl, we’ll get you a company,” Namjoon’s own voice thick with remorse. “Whatever you want.”

“There’s enough space in the office for another desk,” Jimin tries to lighten the mood with a teasing lilt to his voice, but he’s not joking at all. “No one would dare to whisper about our angel CEO.”

You shake your head, removing Yoongi’s hold on you. They didn’t get it. You’ve worked for everything you had, it was how you had always been. You didn’t want to be handed a title you didn’t earn, or have your powerful boyfriends buy positions for you. 

“Why would that be such a bad idea, beautiful?” Jin asks softly. “You’re more than capable.”

“I don’t need anyone thinking I slept my way to the top,” you scoff. 

“Who cares what other people think, Kitten?” Yoongi sighs. “No one can deny you deserve a CEO position.”

You shake your head again, breathes of humourless laughter escaping your lips. They really didn’t get it. It was so easy to say that when you were untouchable to people’s words. 

“You guys made the decision by yourselves to keep this from me,” you state, not looking at them but to the ground. “My career has nothing to do with you, whatever happens next is my choice.”

“Kitten-”

“You don’t have the right Yoongi,” you try to keep the anger out of your voice. “None of you do right now. I need to figure this out alone.”

“Are you breaking up with us?” Jungkook asks in a panic, not moving from the doorway, he would block your exit, he would fall to his knees and beg you to stay. 

“No,” you reassure him with a syllable. “I love you, I always will, I’m just angry right now.”

“And you have every right to be,” Namjoon agrees solemnly. 

“I just have one last thing on my mind,” you frown, an obvious question was left unanswered. 

You face Namjoon, knowing he would hold the answer.

“You destroyed the letters before opening them,” it’s not a question but it sounds like one. 

He nods, wondering where you were going with this. 

“So how did you know they were threats?”

He hesitates, trying to build up the courage to tell you how he knew exactly who they were from. 

“The return address,” Jin answers for him. “It was from the penitentiary.”

The realisation hits you, and for some reason it makes the whole situation so much worse. The accusation in your eyes returns as you gaze at Namjoon. He knew exactly what he was dealing with when he got rid of those letters, and looking at you now he knew he would have to beg for your forgiveness. 

—

Bonus scene flashback:

Dear Kim Namjoon,

You haven’t responded to the last 6 letters I have sent, so either you’re not taking me seriously, or you haven’t read a single one. Both choices are not in anyone’s best interest, I don’t think you realise the situation you’ve put me in, I have nothing to lose. 

The deadline is approaching for you to transfer the funds and secure my release. I am not spending years in jail because of your jealousy. Enclosed are copies of the images I will release to the media, I bet you’re wondering how I was able to get these when you locked me away. 

It seems I’m not the only one you thought you could cross and toss away. For your sake, I hope you make the right choice.

I look forward to hearing from you,

Alexander Pettyfer

“They haven’t responded to a single one of your stupid letters, what makes you think they will now?” Suran scoffs at the news that he sent another. 

“Just be patient,” he replies, the usually clean cut male looking rugged and rough. “We need something out of this other than just ruining their lives.”

“Look, the images I got are proof enough about what that whore is doing, I say we release them.”

“Not yet!” The rise in his voice gets the guards attention, and he takes a deep breath to calm down. Stupid woman didn’t know when to listen, it was unfortunate that he had to use her, although he should count his blessings the day she came and visited for the first time with an idea to take the CEOs down. 

[vezpr]

corporal: ch 2 - expectations

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (still not yet), references to cannibalism, angst, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sodapop182 ; @moonchhu

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 3.5k TOTAL: 7.7k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. lmk if I'm doing this right, I'm an absolute virgin and open to suggestions. Thanks for reading. 🖤

Tearing through the woods outside of the shrine, you don't think about your sister, this time. You don't think of your father or his men, your mother, nothing. No memories, pleasant or unpleasant, swim up through the ink of night as the trees claw at your clothes and skin. Your mind is eclipsed with a fear as hot and red as the fire in your lungs.

You have not known fear like this for a long time, perhaps ever. All the running that you did from your father and his men was done more out of spite than fear. You had certain expectations of them. You were familiar with their cruelty and the limitations placed on it by society, or by your mother, perhaps. You father was not a kind man, by any means, but his eyes softened somewhat when they looked at her. The only power that you had was that of being able to put them through their paces. Here, you did not even have that. The comfort of expectations does not exist for the monster at your back, no more than the limitations of ordinary men. 

So, you run, spurred by terror long after your rapidly depleting stamina should have forced you to stop. It feels like hours have passed when you finally come to a halt, hands on your knees, panting, muscles burning. Hyperaware of every sound, every sensation, even the trickle of sweat down the line of your back is enough to raise your hackles, but there is nothing but the ragged sound of your own breathing in the stillness.

As you try to slow your respirations, you ask yourself what it is you're so afraid of. Pain? You are overly familiar with pain. Your heart gradually slows as you come to the conclusion that Sukuna can only hurt you or kill you, just like any other man. Pain you can endure. And death? Well, if you are dead, then you won't be bothered, will you? You'll just be dead. What would wound you more is humiliation. Your mouth presses into a grim line as you ponder it.

Did the bastard confiscate your things and let you go, trusting that you would meet your own end in the forest without his help? Not the worst plan, you decide, as it occurs to you, for the first time, that you really have no place to go, no plan beyond running. Beyond escape. You've never had to plan beyond that because you've always been outnumbered, overpowered and dragged back.

Does he think you will return on your own? You scoff into the darkness at the thought. I'd sooner hang myself from one of these trees, you think to yourself as you look up at the branches, silver in the Autumn starlight. Still. Quiet. Unnaturally so, as if the earth itself is holding it's breath. Hiding. 

Even before you hear it, you feel it, looming large and lethal at your back. Larger than Sukuna, even. Much larger. It shifts it's enormous weight, rustling the leaf litter. As you peer over your shoulder, your eyes widen and your heart hammers against your ribs like you never stopped running. A reptilian chittering sound blooms out of the dark: a bony whisper, a rattlesnake kind of warning. The moon outlines it's dark shape in indigo, a moving mountain that tears trees right out of the earth as it moves after you. How you didn't see or hear it before is a mystery. 

Your feet slam against the shuddering ground with the slowness of nightmares as a scream claws it's way out of your throat. You don't make it very far before a root hooks your foot and sends you sprawling. A sickening snap followed by bright sparks of pain shoot up from your wrist as you catch your fall with your hand. When you look down to see splinters of bone jutting out of a ragged wound, a hysterical sob escapes your mouth. You clutch your injured limb against your chest as your heels churn at the dirt, propelling you backwards, too slow as the monster stops short in front of you. 

It is too awful to look at, a twisted amalgamation of drooling faces and colorless eyes shining with idiot hunger as it prepares to stuff you into its many jagged mouths. You dig your chin into your shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and baring your teeth as you feel it's hot, putrid breath against your skin. Thick, black saliva drips into the dirt between your feet and burns it like acid, white tendrils of smoke rising from the bubbling pool.

The chittering sound rises again, like a demonic chorus of cicadas. Distantly, you realize the effect is created by all of those throats babbling at once. You find yourself too breathless to scream as it's clumsy teeth try to find purchase in the flesh of your calf, only succeeding in lightly scratching and slobbering all over it. Perhaps in frustration, its crying slowly rises in pitch, high and keening.

Then, there is another, quieter sound, that cuts the wailing short. It is soft like a whip cutting through the air before it cracks, like the hiss of lightning parting the sky before the thunder of it crashing back together. Crashing like the quivering weight that descends upon your lower body as the monster inexplicably falls to pieces at your feet. You blink owlishly at the dismantled pile of flesh, hardly daring to believe that it is truly dead, even as its quivering breaths grow still.

Your legs throb under the lifeless weight of it. It is impossible to drag yourself out from under it with your one good arm, so you resort to wiggling on your back in the dirt, removing yourself inch by excruciating inch. You haven't yet had the time, nor the prescence of mind to worry about what lurking horror might have so effortlessly ended the dead thing that pins you to the dirt. That mystery is soon solved for you when a familiar voice comes out of the dark behind you.

"Tch. Pathetic."

You cease your struggles and crane your neck back, pressing the back of your head into the dirt to meet Sukuna's garnet gaze. He leans against a tree, as if he can't be bothered to hold himself up, looking only vaguely interested in the scene before him. 

"Me, pathetic?" You spit, redoubling your efforts to writhe out from under the dead thing. "Was I not easy enough to kill? You had to sic your pet on me?" The thought had only now occurred to you, that Sukuna had unleashed this thing on you, but the notion already has your blood boiling with rage.

Sukuna snorts, "Not mine." His eyes leave you in favor of examining the corpse. "Hm. A grade two, this one," he mutters.

Your eyes follow his and you notice a jagged, black fang, about the length of your outstretched hand, lying in the dirt by your hip.  Glancing back to ensure his eyes are still focused on the monster, you stretch out your good arm and wrap your fingers around it. The edges bite into your fingers, but you clutch it like a lifeline, headless of the pain. 

"Well, do you intend to finish the job, or are you just going to stand there, blabbering nonsense?" You sneer, craning your neck to look up at him. 

His eyes snap back to yours and he smirks, lazily peeling himself away from the tree and stepping towards you. "So eager to die, arent you?"

He lifts the bulk of dead flesh away from you with one hand as he hooks another into the pit of your injured arm and drags you to your feet.

Gritting your teeth, you swing your good arm, arcing your makeshift weapon to catch him in the back, but he snatches your wrist away with yet another arm. Now, you are leaning awkwardly against his chest as he supports most of your weight. You legs are not as useful as you might have hoped. They burn painfully and buckle at the knees as the blood rushes back to your cramping muscles. 

He eyes the monster's tooth in your hand with mild interest. "You want to hurt me with that?" He asks with a mean grin. "Go ahead."

With that he lets go of you and takes a step back.  You cry out in frustration as your traitorous legs buckle underneath you and you land on your knees at his feet. He throws his head back and laughs as you snarl up at him and swing your makeshift weapon at his legs, which dodge your clumsy blows effortlessly. 

"For weeks you lived in peace with me and now all these theatrics, for what reason?" He muses as he steps this way and that to avoid your rageful attacks. It doesn't take long for him to grow bored of this game, and you are taken aback when he sinks to his knees in front of you. Even so, he towers over you so that you have to hyperextend your neck to see his face. His lower set of hands snatch you up around the waist while the upper pain pin your arms to your sides. You grunt at the pain in your broken wrist, but he takes no notice.

"I asked you a question," he snarls, holding you at eye level. 

He huffs when you only writhe in his grip and scream in his face until your throat is raw and you are too breathless to continue.

"Fucking feral little rat," he mutters. "Is it because I touched your leg?" He asks, eyes dragging the length of your body. 

You scoff. Of course it wasn't just that it's...

"Are you throwing a tantrum because I didn't ask permission? Hm? And what was the plan? Where will you go?" He cuts off your thoughts by echoing your own thinking from earlier. It has you subconsciously biting into your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Infuriating.

He smirks. "Just a spoiled little princess playing at running away. Well. Time to grow up, little girl, and realize that you will always belong to a man. Before, you belonged to your bitch of a father, and now, you belong to me."

No longer able to hold in your rage you shreik and slam your head forward in an attempt to split his smirking lips. Of course, he leans away and you only succeed in tossing your hair, drawing another cackle from his mouth. 

"You want to hurt me? Try, brat," he bellows to be heard over your shreiking as he presses his forehead against yours hard enough to bruise. The moment he releases your good arm you sink the oversized canine into his temple and drag it down, flaying his cheek. A second swing and his larger, upper eye is reduced to a wobbling jelly running into the bleeding wound. Slick with gore, the tooth drops from your hand and Sukuna slams you down on your back with enough force to steal the air out of your lungs. 

Then he is folded over you, hand on your jaw tilting your gaze to his wounded face. "Look at me," he instructs and your stomach lurches as the flesh bubbles and warps. Then it is takes its old, unmarred shape, as new and smooth as ever. You stare at it, blinking as if that brief interruption of sight might return it to ruin, as it was seconds ago. As if to dispel your disbelief another of his hands grasp your broken wrist, lifting your hand so that your fingertips brush his new skin. At the same instant, your injured joint transforms the same way his wounds had until it is new and free of pain.

Speechless you stare at your hand on his cheek until you realize that he is no longer holding it there. He leans in until his lips are nearly brushing your ear. "I can touch you however I like, whenever I like," he says, slipping a hand from your waist to trace the angle of your hip bone and the curve of your outer thigh through your ruined kimono. "I can break you and mend you, break you and mend you and never, ever let you die." His hand slips from your jaw to your throat where he squeezes briefly before, suddenly, he hauls himself off of you.

"So, brat," he says, standing over you haloed in the pink light of dawn, "if you are ever so lucky as to have me touch you again, try not to overreact."

All you seem to be able to do is slide your eyes stupidly from your healed wrist to his unblemished face until all the breath decides to leave your lungs at once. The sky, blushing with dawn and tattooed with skeletal branches, fades to black.

...

Emika, grinning, face tilted toward the dappled sunlight, laughter bubbling out of her throat. It is a musical sound until it changes, distorts into a horrible chittering, vacous and reptilian. Her mouth opens, impossibly wide, a poisonous womb that delivers a wailing many-faced blackness that swallows the world. Closer, the newborn horror leans in until all you can see is a single wet, red maw screaming its hunger and eager to feed on you. It is made of hunger and fear. Its tongue lolls out and begins to twist and warp. It pales and changes shape, grows four garnet eyes, a tattooed jaw, a laughing mouth. Sukuna's face leaning close to yours. "Look at me," he says, surrounding you, a universe that leaves you no choice. He is still laughing when he tilts away, falling out of orbit as gravity pulls your back into the dirt. He is replaced by a robin's egg sky seen in patches through the green leaves of spring.

Emika's face glides into view, a smiling autumn moon in the Spring sky.

Her bamboo sword taps your neck.

"Dead," she says.

Dead like the warrior she once daydreamed of being, with a katana on her back and a pretty servant girl at her side.

"Dead." She smiles, haloed in sunlight.

Your eyes blink open. Even as the nightmare fades you realize it holds too many parallels to waking life for comfort. Finding yourself suspended above the ground in an unfamiliar position, your body jerks, your legs inadvertently tightening around Sukuna's waist. He is carrying you like a child on his hip, his lower arm hooked under your backside while his upper one supports your back. Your chin rests over his shoulder, your cheek pressed into his neck. Finding this abhorrent, you squirm weakly.

"I can walk now," you mutter, but you are so tired. Your eyelids, leaden. 

"Walking has caused you enough trouble, wouldn't you say?" He chuckles, a sound that is becoming increasingly annoying. 

In any case, the dead weight of your body against his is enough to refute your claim. 

Your eyes flutter closed, head lolling against his neck. He smells of smoke, blood and earth and he is warm against you. The effect is like a sleeping tincture.

"I want to know," you mutter against his skin as you struggle against your rapidly retreating consciousness. "I want to know what is expected of me."

You are too exhausted to think of your statement as an acquiesence, but that is what it is. Sukuna is taking you back to the shrine and you are accepting it. Perhaps that is why he laughs. Your eyes pop open at the hateful sound and you hope that he does not discern the increasing tempo of your heart with the way that your chest is pressed into him. Wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Expectations," he says. "You can't live without them, hm? How, then, would you rebel?"

You clench your teeth. He is unbearable. You hate him. God, you hate him. But you are just so tired right now.

"I have no expectations of you, rat." He continues after a pause, although he thinks to himself that you are really more of a mouse, at the moment, as you go limp again with sleep.

...

When you wake again, from a long sleep that is blessedly dreamless, there is nothing to greet you but silence and the shrinking light of early evening. You lie for a moment on the futon, staring at the dark grid of ceiling in your chambers.

Under the thinning haze of sleep that still clouds your mind, a flickering flame of rage persists. When you look down at yourself, filthy with mud, blood, and mystery secretions from whatever that thing in the forest was, it grows brighter. Cast off and forgotten like a broken doll. You flex your healed wrist. Why does it make you even angrier?

I have no expectations 

You tear off your kimono and toss it aside, fuming.

Rat.

You tear the linens, ruined by your dirtiness, off of your futon and thrust them away to join your clothing on the floor.

"Maybe I will go around naked, then," you fume, stomping towards the door, but you stop there, losing your nerve. "Bet you wouldn't expect that. Bet you would find that you have some expectations after all."

spoiled little princess

"Maybe I will go around like this is my home and you are an unwanted guest," you hiss into the silence.

time to grow up and realize you will always belong to a man

You retrieve your dirty kimono and shrug into it, gathering the fabric loosely around your chest with one hand while you rip something clean out of the wardrobe with the other. The shoji door slams against the doorframe as you storm out of the room not bothering to close it. 

now you belong to me

Uraume and Baba look up from their work, picking vegetables for dinner in the courtyard as you tear across it without sparing them a glance. You make quite a sight, blood-streaked and furious. 

"He'll be getting his kicks with that one for quite some time, I'll say... yes," Baba croaks as her milky eyes track your movements.

"Baba!" Uraume scolds.

"It's the truth," Baba crows. "It is!"

...

The steaming water of the hot spring soothes the aching muscles of your legs. This makes encroaching on his territory doubly satisfying, even if he, being a morning bather, in your limited experience - doesn't find out. You close your eyes and hold your breath, sinking to the bottom on your knees. Your fingers rake through the matted mess of your hair, breaking loose the dirt and dried blood. You stay under until your lungs burn and then burst to the surface with a sharp inhalation. 

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

You startle at the sound of Sukuna's voice booming over the soft gurgling of the water. He is standing at the opposite end of the spring, kimono pooled around his feet, hands frozen at his waist in the middle of loosening his hakama. 

"Whatever I want, since you have no expectations," you retort, having recovered quickly from your surprise.

He snorts. "Alright."

You glare at each other through the rising steam.

You are the first to avert your eyes when Sukuna resumes undressing, unceremoniously dropping his hakama. 

Your back is turned and you make a point of staying submerged to the shoulders as you make your way to the edge of the pool. You movements increase in urgency, heart thumping faster as you hear him splash into the water behind you. Unwilling to let him see your bare skin, you pull your clean kimono into the water and put it on while still submerged. 

When you drag yourself over the lip of the pool in your dripping robes, he is laughing. Your skin erupts in goose flesh that cannot be entirely attributed to your soaked clothes and the chill in the air. Although it pisses you off to no end, you try to at least appear unperturbed. Chin held high, you make it a point not to look at him as you march back toward the shrine, as if he is beneath your notice. You hope he feels it.

"Come here, rat." 

You pause, your back still turned to him.

"I said, come here." He repeats.

Vacillating between the desire to defy him and the desire to seem unafraid, you settle on the latter and make your way back to the water's edge. There is a deliberate slowness in your movements, to show that you are in no hurry to obey him.

Sitting on the lip of the pool, you let your calves dangle over the edge, lazily treading water. 

"What do you want?" you hiss, meeting his crimson gaze.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟏: 𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐱/𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐊.𝐘𝐒 ♡

A Ride To Last A Lifetime

【sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs】 : Yeosang had begged for weeks for you to go for a ride with him... Cavinging in, you finally realize how pleasurable it is to ride his bike.

『ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ』 :  939

-> ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Suggestive, Fluff.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Boyfriend!Yeosang x Girlfriend!Reader 

[ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs] : Edging. Swearing. Pet names. Mention sex. Cheeky Yeosang.

Thank you, @8tinytings, for requesting Yeosang for this day ♡♡♡.

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He would never pressure you, but oh did he beg. Just one ride… one ride with him to see the city at night. He had been so excited to finally get a motorbike, and he desperately needed you to celebrate with him. Which of course required you to get on the thing. And it wasn’t like you hated bikes or anything. You were just… scared.

“Come on, Baby, just one ride, please.” He whispered in your ear while you were trying to do the dishes. His hot breath tickles your ear. You swear it sounds a lot more sinister when he had to practically moan in your ear for ‘one ride.’ God, can he make you frustrated, and after a few more nags and groans, you gave in and agreed. And oh, to see his face light up the way it did again would bring you so much joy. Because at the end of the day, even though you were terrified of these types of vehicles, he loved them. So you agreed for him, and the bright smile and passionate kiss he gave you in return was certainly payment enough.

“Okay, so you’ll get on first and sit on the back here.” He helped you guide yourself onto the beast. You were shaking like a leaf while trying to get your leg over, but once you were on, you could try and slow your heart by focusing on your breathing. “Are you sure you’re okay with this doll?”

Even though he begged for who knows how long now, he didn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable. He was a loving partner in that aspect, always putting your needs first. “I’m okay, just hurry and get one.” You wanted him on quickly so you could wrap yourself around him. And surely, as he mounts the bike, your arms immediately find their place, hugging Yeosang’s waist.

Yeosang did one last check of your gear and helmets before finally turning the bike on. The roar of the engine sent shock waves through your body. Were these things always this loud? He walked the bike out of the garage slowly, watching you through his mirrors to make sure you were still okay with the situation. And once he made sure you weren’t showing any signs of uncomfortableness, he picked up the feet and turned onto the street.

Your grip tightened, keeping your eyes closed for the moment. The wind began to whistle around you and the street lamps were painting your closed lids every time you passed one. Yeosang was careful in picking a perfect route so he could show you the beauty of riding on a bike so late at night. And once he got onto a longer stretch of road, he got faster. You finally opened your eyes and what you were greeted with was none other than magical. The city lights seem brighter, everything was clearer. You felt a sense of power shiver down your spine. Then Yeosang revved the engine.  

“Ah…” You didn’t mean to gasp, but since you were sitting so forward you were able to feel the vibrations through your core. Your nails dug into Yeo’s leather jacket and you begged silently he couldn’t tell you were practically being stimulated by his bike. It felt so good, leaning more into his body you angled yourself without even thinking, feeling the low hum against your clit. You needed more. It was so bad, your heart racing every time you came to a stop light and once it turned green and he sped up quickly that was when the engine roared more, gifting you with a delicious rumble against your core. Fuck you couldn’t handle it, and Yeosang caught one quickly. The frantic fingers playing with his leather or the way he could feel you slightly hump the seat. His smirk only grew.

He knew what he was doing.

He turned down a long dirt road he’d been on at least four times a week since getting his bike, he knew this would be a perfect place to play around with his revs. Switching gears he swore he could slightly hear your whines every now and then. You were so close, just needed a little more and with his last big jump of speed you gasped feeling yourself get to the edge. And then stop.

“Fuck..” You choked, rubbing your helmet against your lover's back feeling as if you were about to cry. And when you noticed the engine being switched off followed by a low chuckle you felt your cheeks go red. Did this fucker really just edge you with his fucking motorbike!? You wanted to scream in frustration and hit him for being mean. But when he took his helmet off and only the light from the large moon clearing your view your anger was switched into hunger, need.

“So what you think ‘bout the bike doll face?” His deep voice cooed at you, with a big grin painting his beautiful features. He helped you get your helmet off and once it was undone you jumped on him. Luckily he had put the stand down on the bike cause neither of you were paying attention to it as your lips found his desperately.

“I…” Your tongue slipped into his mouth “…Fucking…” You both dance your tongues around one another “..Love it.” You moaned as he bit down on your lip suckling the flesh against his teeth before letting it go with a pop.

“I’m glad.” Was all he replied before placing his lips back on yours.

- ♥︎

[amourtoken]

inhuman Vessel below the cut lol this was spontaneous so forgive any error

Also tw for dubcon/nc at first but it's monsterfucking so that's why

ALSO it's long so pls forgive that as well I got carried away.

thinking abt inhuman Vessel who's been lurking around your house for decades, he didn't really take interest until you moved in.

It's a beautiful home but the massive expanse of forest behind your house is what really sold you. Unfortunately, you didn't know about the history of the town you'd moved into and especially weren't aware of the stories surrounding your house. Oh well.

You swear you keep seeing things out of the corner of your eye whenever you're outdoors. It's worse at night. It keeps getting closer. You must be seeing things, hearing things. There's nothing out there, right?

You start noticing little things closer and closer to your house as well. Your backyard fence gate was broken. Your doors had some scratches around the handles. The kitchen window was cracked? It's pretty high off the ground...how did that happen? You couldn't help but feel nervous. Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe this was all there before and you didn't notice. You hope so.

Surely the creaking couldn't be footsteps, you live in an old house and it makes noise, just go back to sleep. God, please be asleep by the time it gets to you.

You could rationalize everything until your bedroom door opens, the room is freezing, maybe this is just a terrible dream though. Not that you'd dare to open your eyes anyway. Your heart genuinely ached from pounding against your ribs so hard. Is this really how you were gonna go out?

Vessel knew you were awake, he could hear your pulse racing and it was upsetting. He knows he's scary but he's genuinely just curious. It's been well over a hundred years since he's made contact with a person, the last people who lived here weren't his taste so he stayed back in the woods like usual. When he saw you for the first time, he couldn't help himself, he had to get to know you. He looked almost human, maybe you'd grow to enjoy him?

Vessel had to lean over a bit to avoid the ceiling in your bedroom, he was about 8 ft tall. His limbs were a little too long and his joints were a bit loose. Every movement made an unfortunately sickening crackling sound if he wasn't careful about it. His mask only covered half his face but if you looked close enough, you'd see that his mouth could open a little too wide to be human. 6 eyes all focused directly on you in bed, it was becoming harder to pretend you were asleep.

Vessel really wanted this to go differently, but was there really a chance you'd open your eyes and not be terrified? No. So ultimately, he has to just dive in.

You were already petrified, so when a massive hand drug you by your ankle to the end of the bed that's all it took for the tears to really start flowing. He felt bad, again, but couldn't hold himself back. He'll make it up to you if you just let him in, he really doesn't want to hurt you, he just needs a taste. He hasn't felt a person before, not like this. Not without violence. Here's his chance.

you felt so soft against him, he was trying to make himself seem smaller but that was difficult, when he spreads out he knocks things off your nightstand and walls. He'd help you clean up if you'll let him. That's a thought for later though. His breath felt cold against your skin, two giant hands holding your thighs open after dragging your shorts off. Is this really happening? This has to be a dream, there's no way.

You were so pretty to him, he wanted to know what made you feel good but he supposed he'd learn as he went. He was worried he was gonna hurt you in the process since he's so much bigger and stronger than you are, humans have a tendency to be easy to pull apart. He was handling you like you were the most fragile creature alive and even that felt rough. You were shaking like a leaf and yelped when you felt a giant tentacle like tongue slicking across your thighs and brushing against your pussy in a very uncoordinated fashion. (Forgive him he isn't familiar with human anatomy)

you were so fucking sweet, he wondered if all people tasted like this. His hands held your legs open further, he figured he'd found where he wanted to be. All 6 eyes were still focusing on your face, you looked miserable but please just try to enjoy yourself? Realize he's not gonna hurt you. He wishes he could tell you but unfortunately he's not really built for speech. His tongue was several feet long, getting thinner towards the tip and thicker closer to his mouth which if your eyes were open you'd notice was unhinged similar to a snake. He had multiple rows of teeth but had the fortunate ability to hide those unless he needed to use them.

You felt so fucking full, his tongue coiled around itself inside of you, no part of you untouched. He was writhing his tongue like he was trying to map you from the inside out (which he can't lie he was), the base of his tongue pressing against your clit when he moved closer. You couldn't help but whine a little, your voice breaking. It's terrifying but still feels good. God the sounds you make had him dizzy, he needed more. He lifted your hips off the bed a bit to get a better angle, a deep groaning sound reverberating from his chest when you clenched around his tongue.

He really didn't know how pleasure worked for you, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Your heart was still racing and your body felt hot, the longer he fucked his tongue into you the tighter you felt around it. His nails sank into your thighs when you finally came, back arching while you whimpered and covered your face with your hands. He withdrew his tongue and sat back on his heels. He had to make you do that again, he had to see it. Pretty much all resolve he had left dissipated after you came, you smelled so fucking good he really couldn't stop himself if he tried.

Vessel held you by your hips, nails pressing dangerously hard into the soft skin. He was still trying not to hurt you but his head was swimming with thoughts of you coming undone around him. He leaned over you, your legs really had to stretch to fit around his hips but you managed. You could feel him breathing hard against your neck long tongue laving against your skin while his length pressed at your slit. It felt like there was no way in hell he'd ever manage to fit inside you yet he did in a single thrust.

He pulled back pretty quickly at the pained sound you made, he didn't mean to hurt you what did he do wrong? He started to draw his hips back but the way you gripped him he really couldn't stop. He wished he could apologize for any pain but hopefully you understood. He braced himself with his hands on either side of your head, hips rocking back into yours and he quickly realized he in fact didn't fit entirely inside of you. There was still a good 4-5 inches that he just couldn't work into you. At this point he didn't mind, how you felt around the rest of him when he pressed against your cervix was good enough.

he set a pretty violent rhythm, chasing pleasure and those pretty sounds you were making. Your entire body bounced with every thrust, you reached up and held one of his arms to steady yourself. He felt that swarming butterfly sensation in his chest, you touched him on your own free will, maybe you wouldn't hate him after all of this? You still didn't open your eyes, but maybe you'd get there eventually.

Vessel was panting at this point, you felt so fucking good around him, you were sure you'd be bruised from the inside out tomorrow. He couldn't help but notice the large bulge in your lower stomach every time he fucked himself into you. He was so lost in this moment he didn't notice you were so close, his breath caught in his throat when you came around him, pretty sobs and moans leaving your lips while you pulsed around him. His legs nearly gave out entirely, fuck.

Your end made him pick his pace up, one hand holding your hip to steady you while he abused your poor pussy. You were dripping around him and making a huge mess of the sheets below you but at this point your brain was so clouded you didn't mind. You'd had your eyes closed this entire time until he sank into you painfully deep and growled harshly as he came inside you. He was twitching profusely above you, and the bulge in your belly only got worse when he filled you up. The insane amount of excess dripped onto the sheets to add to the mess that had already formed below you and Vessel pulled out, making more gush from inside you.

Your eyes met 6 of his finally while he was perched on the floor at the end of your bed, panting to catch his breath. He was intimidating but not as scary as you thought he'd be. Plus he did just fuck you better than anyone in your entire life so how bad can he be??

Unfortunately you didn't get a chance to share any words (not that he could speak anyway) before he slipped out of your room and disappeared. You still wondered if this was a dream, everything happening so suddenly. Lucky for you, he'd planned to return already. He couldn't leave his sweet little human alone for long now that he's had a taste.

(also kinda pulled from these pics I found on Pinterest as the vibe but interpret it however you'd like. These are just like the *image* but they're not exact by any means ofc just the energy I'm going for. He's kinda an amorphous forest creature who can change shape to a degree.)

[stray-kaz]

Wind and Rain : a Sanji x f!reader oneshot

Summary: Sanji has always been your anchor, so when a storm hits big enough to rock the Going Merry, you run straight to him. He tries to ease you and calm your panic, but he does it a little too well.

A/N: Self indulgent. Sorry not sorry.

This is for ADULTS.

Wind screamed and rain slashed the windows and wood of the Going Merry. You clamped an oversized pillow over your ears to try and block it out, but the storm raged and beat the ship and the crack of lightning shocked goosebumps all over your body. You had no idea how any of your crewmates could be sleeping through this.

A thunderous boom saw you scrambling out from under your covers and sprinting to the door. You slammed it so hard it didn't catch and bounced back against the wall, standing open, but you didn't care. With adrenaline rushing through your veins, you had only one destination in mind, where you felt safest.

It took several long moments for Sanji to realise someone was actually banging on his door, and that it wasn't just the storm outside. He lifted his head and peered over his shoulder, previously intent on sleeping in preparation for rising early in the morning. But it was not to be, it seemed.

The hammering continued, and as there was no litany of creative insults or begging for food, he knew it wasn't Zoro or Luffy. So he dragged himself out of bed and trekked to the door, swinging it open and blinking hard when he discovered you on the other side of it, dressed only in thin summer pajamas and shivering in the hallway.

His mind slow and sluggish, he was slow to respond, until you crashed forward into him, your face in the centre of his bare chest and arms wrapped tightly around his back. Slowly, he reacted at last, and pressed his hand to the back of your head, his other arm winding around your waist. The skin beneath your ridden up tank top burned his forearm, but he tried to focus not on that and instead on the way you shook against him, like a leaf on the breeze.

"Shush shush, lovely, are you all right? Storms not your thing?" he soothed quietly, his voice raspy from being woken.

You shook your head, pressing your burning cheek against his skin, your fingers interlocking even tighter at the small of his back.

"How did I not know this about you?" Sanji murmured, huffing a bit.

You shrugged.

"Guess you don't know everything about me" you mumbled.

Sanji hugged you tighter until your full body tremors started to dissipate and you relaxed into him, soaking in the warmth of his bare skin against yours. You eventually looked up at him.

"Can I stay in your room and sleep with you?" you asked, biting your lip.

Sanji shook inappropriate thoughts out of his head and nodded.

"Okay, lovely. Come on in. Let me just get a shirt on."

He led you inside and closed the door behind you, and you watched as he found a clean t-shirt and pulled it on, tugging it down over the stomach muscles you hadn't been able to take your eyes off until then. He was usually so buttoned up, you were never able to see him like this. The last time you saw him without a shirt was when he rescued Luffy from a watery death.

But before he could catch you staring, you shuffled over to his bed and flopped down face first onto it, groaning as the muscles in your shoulders and back protested. Sanji arched his eyebrows at the sound and knelt on the bed next to you.

"Aside from the storm, are you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Are you in pain?"

"Always" you mumbled. "Zoro has me running drills with him every day. He says it's to keep me sharp, but I have my doubts."

Sanji snorted, reaching out a hand to stroke your hair down to the base of your neck. He did his best to ignore the tiny shiver that ran through you at the touch.

"Would a massage help?" he asked you. "I'm guessing mosshead doesn't do anything to help with the aches and pains after the drills are done."

"Nope" you replied, shaking your head. "He does not. A massage sounds good."

"Are you comfy?"

You turned your head to the side and wiggled a bit until you were, your arms up underneath the pillow for extra support. You listened to Sanji shuffling on the bed, trying to figure out the best position for him to be in, until he finally settled on gingerly straddling your hips, keeping his weight off you.

He worked his fingers into the taut knots in your shoulders and upper back, blatantly ignoring the lack of bra straps impeding his progress. Of course you weren't wearing a bra; you had been sleeping when the storm rudely woke you up.

You soaked in the feeling of Sanji's fingers digging into your aching muscles, struggling not to moan but not able to help it. He shuffled backwards, pressing his knuckles into your lower back before dragging his palms down the length of your legs. You weren't expecting him to move lower than your back and glanced over your shoulder at him, slowly becoming aware of the slow, warm sensation filling your belly.

Sanji paused, hesitating with his hands curled around the backs of your knees.

"Is this okay?" he asked, eyebrows drawn together slightly.

You nodded, exhaling a little shakily.

"Mmhmm" you murmured.

You had almost forgotten the storm entirely, the warmth and strength of his hands working over your body turning you mindless. His fingertips tickled the back of your knee slightly and you giggled, pressing yourself further into the mattress and widening the gap between your legs without thinking.

Sanji cleared his throat and fumbled his way down your calves before wrapping long fingers around your ankles.

"Feeling safer?" he asked; his voice sounded deeper, throatier, cut with an anxious edge.

"Yes."

You wondered why he sounded like that, but you couldn't ask as you were too busy moaning aloud at the feel of his hands dragging all the way back up your legs and pressing hard into the plush of your upper thighs.

Sanji felt his face fill with heat from the sounds you were making, not to mention his hands were now settled just below the curves of your backside, his thumbs just barely slipped under the soft hem of your pajama bottoms. He shifted his weight around until he was kneeling in between your knees, his body forcing your legs further apart.

You pressed your burning face into the pillow, accidentally inhaling the scent of him: clean soap and sea salt. You blanked for a split second, but it was enough time for your body to betray you and your hips to press back, Sanji's thumbs slipping right up under the edges of your cotton shorts and brushing smooth skin and lace.

He breathed out harshly and you froze completely still, berating yourself for behaving like this with your best friend. Sanji stared down at you, at his hands on you, his mind spinning wildly. Before now, he had only dreamed of touching you like this, more than a hug or a passing shoulder touch. Now, he wasn't sure what to do next.

You told him.

"Don't stop" you mumbled, words muffled by the pillow.

He leaned over you, freeing one hand to gently tilt your head to one side. You blinked up at him.

"What did you say?" he asked quietly. "I need to make sure I heard you correctly."

You closed your eyes and he feathered his thumb across your eyelids and the bridge of your nose.

"Please don't stop" you whispered. "Your hands feel good."

He smiled shyly, even though you couldn't currently even see his face.

"Do they?" he replied softly.

When you nodded, he shifted his hands to your sides, stroking lightly, and toying with the bottom of your tank top, rucking it up beneath his palms. The ship rocked, but you hardly noticed as Sanji's hands skimmed over your back, heated skin revealed by impatient fingers.

He ghosted his palms up to your shoulder blades and back down, stopping just shy of your rear, even though you wriggled to encourage him.

"Would anything else feel good?" he murmured, glancing down at the strain in his own sleep pants.

You whimpered his name into the pillow and pushed back towards him, dizzy with want. He flushed to the tips of his ears and lost his internal battle, sliding his hands down your body again until they curved over your ass, grasping and kneading his fingers deep into the flesh and muscle. You groaned and he leaned down a little, just enough to lightly press his covered tip against you.

You mewled and struggled up onto your elbows to see him over your shoulder. The sight of him almost sent you back down. His cheeks were flushed pink and his hair was disheveled, hanging forward and obscuring one eye, but the other was barely a rim of blue anymore, iris swallowed in black.

"Someday, you'll be the death of me" he sighed, his hips unconsciously rocking into you.

He continued to grip you, holding you steady, a telltale damp spot on the front of his sweats.

"Sanji?" you gasped, surprised. "What?"

He shook his hair out of the way, giving you a glimpse of flush tipped ears.

"I've loved you for years" he admitted. "I've wanted you since I saw you. You're my best friend and I want you in ways you would not understand."

You felt your cheeks heat further as you arched your hips up higher, trying to get Sanji to press against where you really wanted him.

"You have no idea how I feel" you shot back, emboldened and inflamed.

"Huh?"

You couldn't help but smile at his lack of eloquence when he was usually so wordy. When you didn't respond right away, he tickled you over your shorts.

"Tell me" he murmured. "Go on, lovely girl. How do you feel?"

You shivered under the wash of his words.

"Warm" you mumbled. "Safe. Turned on, Sanji."

He released a sigh that sounded like a moan and finally pressed against the seam of your shorts, falling forward over you and landing on his forearms, chin notched on your shoulder, breath hot on your ear, rutting desperate between your legs.

"I'm sorry" he groaned in your ear, even though he did not stop. "You came to me for comfort from the storm, not whatever this is."

You turned your head just enough to brush your lips across his cheek, not close enough to reach his mouth. His breathing hitched again.

"What storm?" you replied jokingly. "This is pretty good comfort, Vinsmoke."

Sanji huffed and wiggled a hand beneath you, pushing it up under your tank top and flattening his palm to your bare stomach. You murmured nonsensically at his touch on your skin and watched the blush rise once more in his cheeks as his hand quested upwards until his thumb brushed the curve of one breast.

You lifted yourself up slightly on unsteady arms, just enough for his wandering hand to shift and fingers to find your nipple, lightly running over it before pinching gently. You cried out and pushed back against him, suddenly caught between two pleasure points and unsure where to go. You could almost feel your heartbeat between your legs and as he simultaneously rocked into you and teased with his fingers, you clenched around nothing and felt tears of frustration building up behind your eyes.

"Sanji" you moaned, trying to push closer to actually get to kiss him.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, tipping his head down to capture your bottom lip in a clumsy half kiss. "What's wrong?"

You could have cried at that question, at being given the chance to answer it.

"Please" you begged. "I feel empty. Please, Sanji. I need...something."

He bumped his forehead gently against yours, eyes dark.

"I can fix that" he murmured, brushing his nose over yours.

A thrill crept down your spine as he slowly withdrew his hand from your chest and walked his fingers back down your belly and then underneath the waistband of your pj shorts, easing them past the elastic of your underwear. You shook, still holding yourself up over the mattress. Sanji felt the tremble of your arms and pulled his hand free, shaking his head at your protesting whimper. He tore his t-shirt off and threw it somewhere in the room, out of sight. Then he sat down cross legged on the bed.

"Come here" he said, holding his hands out.

You scrambled around to perch in his lap, trying not to rub against him as you did so. Sanji carefully pulled your legs apart and hooked each over one of his thighs, spreading you out with ease. The bare skin of his chest and stomach felt heavenly against your back, but the sweet slide of his fingers along your inner thigh was like a drug, smoothing closer and closer to where you wanted them to be.

You pressed hard back against his chest when he pried the fabric of your shorts and underwear away from your skin and pushed his hand inside, groaning quietly in your ear as he watched it disappear over your shoulder and felt the warm of you at the same moment. You panted in anticipation, eyes lidded, and Sanji pressed his lips to your ear as one finger slowly pressed inside you to the hilt, as deeply as it could go, and you trembled, moaning helplessly.

You rocked in his lap, chasing the feeling, chasing more. He crooked his finger slightly, stroking inside you, curious.

"This good?" he murmured. "What do you like, lovely?"

Your head thudded back on his shoulder, your gaze fixed on his wrist as it moved steadily back and forth.

"More" you pleaded. "I like more."

You didn't care that he could probably feel the heat of your face as you pressed into his neck; all you cared about was the second finger he added and the cool metal of his ring tugging at your entrance with each thrust. And then his palm brushed your clit and your whole body jerked, legs opening impossibly wider for him.

You reached up blindly behind you and grasped Sanji's hair, wrapping it around your fingers and using it to anchor yourself, reveling in the sensation of his touch and the sound of his soft moan in your ear. He kept the pace of his hand painstakingly steady, winding you slowly up, up, up. Until you gripped his hair tighter and tilted your head to suck hard beneath the sharp line of his jaw.

Sanji growled and his hips bucked, his fingers suddenly gaining speed, pressing repeatedly on the soft spot where you wanted them, his palm catching roughly over your clit.

"Happy?" he gasped, feeling you contract like a vise around his fingers. "Finished?"

You dragged his head down and kissed him, rolling down against his hand, still searching.

"Please, Sanji" you whispered into his mouth.

He sped up again and ground his palm against you, groaning through his teeth when you whimpered and came on his fingers, clenching tightly on them inside you. He shifted his other hand down to your leg and stroked soothing circles into the soft skin above your knee, humming quietly to offset the loud pounding of his heart against your back.

Your head lolled against his shoulder as the last tingles dissipated and he carefully pulled his hand free, your eyes slowly fluttering open again.

"Can you breathe?" Sanji asked quietly.

You nodded and he smiled, kissed your temple. He carefully manouevred you off his lap and laid you out flat on your stomach again, smoothing his hands down your back and pausing at your shorts.

"I can stop now" he told you. "We don't have to go any further."

"Don't you dare" you replied, lifting yourself up again to turn your head and meet his gaze. "Please keep going. I can tell you're not done."

Sanji glanced down at himself and sank his teeth into his lip, looking down at you again. He plucked at the material still covering you and you wriggled a little. He took the hint and slowly pulled your shorts and underwear down, relishing in your little shiver. He leaned forward and kissed the base of your spine, warm breath washing over you. He backed off the bed to stand, settling his hands on the waistband of his sweats. Pink rose in his cheeks as he realised you were watching him.

"Go on" you murmured.

His eyes on yours, he pulled his sweats down and off over his feet. He didn't miss how you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth and shifted down the bed toward him on your knees. He knelt on the edge and you started to flip over to your back, but he stopped you, grasping at your thighs.

You glanced questioningly at him over your shoulder. His smile was crooked, tugging at your insides.

"No, just stay where you are, lovely girl. I can fill you up nice and easy right there."

You dropped your head and shoulders down and moaned into Sanji's pillow at the sound of his words, electricity crackling up and down your spine. He dragged his gaze over you, bare except for your tank top, still pushed up under your breasts, upper body pressed right into the mattress, hips arched high in the air, panting desperately as he settled behind you and smoothed his palms over your ass.

He ran his fingers up your inner thighs and watched you shaking as he gripped them to hold you open, nudging his blunt tip against your entrance and teasing you mindless. You pressed against him, wordlessly pleading, and keened into the pillow when he slipped an inch into you without effort.

Sanji rocked his hips experimentally and sank another two inches, cursing up to the ceiling as you clawed at the sheets and pushed back again, trying to take him in fully. His face and chest were flushed with desire and he could have sworn he was being pulled by his very blood to you. He heard a muffled please followed by his name, and he gave in, bottoming out, hips flush to you.

You almost collapsed under the pleasure; he was already grazing the spot his fingers had reached just minutes earlier, and you could feel the same coil winding again, but better, even tighter. He hadn't even started moving yet.

When he did start to move, you cried out, a sharp incoherent noise that was barely restricted by the pillow. Sanji's hips shot forward in excitement and you trembled from the sudden force, the sudden pleasure.

The air in the bedroom was warm and heavy, overwhelmed with the sounds of Sanji's moans as he watched you fall apart under him and your ecstatic gasps as you tried to grind back onto him, your hips higher than they'd ever been. Sanji held onto them as he pushed and pulled, working in and out of you, fascinated by the way your body sucked him back in every time he tried to leave.

"Made for me, huh, lovely girl?" he grunted, reaching around under you to roll a nipple between his fingers.

You yelped in surprise, but it quickly developed into a loud happy moan as you were once again pleasured in two places. You gripped him hard and he groaned heavily in your ear as he surged forward to lean right over you, rutting short, deep thrusts that made your eyes roll back and an unintelligible ramble tip out of your mouth.

Sanji felt a shudder run through him, his hips losing their perfect rhythm. He dragged his hand from your breast down between your legs again, where one light flick against your clit broke you and you crashed hard around him as deep inside you as he could get, inner walls clamping so tightly his blue eyes widened in shock.

"I need to...I'm going to...sweetheart, I need to pull out. Let go?"

You just shook your head at him, slowly returning to your own mind, still feeling fizzy in your veins.

"No" you groaned, hips twitching back again, muscles contracting on purpose. "Don't go. Please, Sanji. I want to feel it happen."

His eyes rolled up and he had just enough time to lock both arms around your middle before he lost control and spilled into you, filling you with sudden heat before his lax weight bore you down against the mattress, his hips twitching against you.

You lay there under him for a long while, regaining your breath and enjoying the drumbeat of his heart against your back, before he groaned quietly and disengaged, rolling heavily onto his back. You pushed up to look at him, sliding a hand across his chest to feel his heart again. He glanced at you then caught your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles.

"Hey" you murmured.

Sanji smiled, sweet crinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes.

"Hey, lovely" he said softly. "You okay?"

You nodded on his shoulder.

"Yes. Are you?"

He snorted and pulled you half on top of him, hitching one leg over his hip.

"Believe me when I tell you I have never been happier than right now."

You grinned and pushed a hand into his blond hair, shuffling nearer to him. You craned up to kiss his cheek.

"By the way, I love you, too."

Tagging: @writingmysanity @elizabeth-karenina

[myabsurddreamjournal]

Fate (part 2)

Soldier boy x fem! reader

Summary: Reader is a scientist who is forced to work at lab that they keep soldier boy frozen, she talks and cries to him when she is alone, thinking he can't hear her but he hears everything.

With the sound of emergency alarm she shoot up from her bed, almost falling the floor, then she heard gunshots. It was just like that night, the night they took her. Tears were already forming in her eyes. She needed to get out.

Without knowing where to go, She started to walk towards stairs. If she could be quick she might have a chance.

Gunshots were louder now with screaming sounds.

She was running like mad person, looking for a door, a window. Anything to get her out of here

But suddenly she stopped.

Ben.

Ben was there. She couldnt leave him here.

she started running towards opposite direction

-------

"Oi who the hell are you.,?"

it was the first thing she heard after stepping in lab. A tall man with black hair was holding gun to her face. He looked like he would fire the gun any moment. Everything about him screamed danger.

Then she looked at floor.

arms, few legs, burned and disfigured bodies where everywhere. Everything bloody and red. She closed his eyes in horror.

-"Speak or i will shoot you." he said with thick English accent

-"i-im a scientist." she told, raising her hands. And quickly added "im a prisoner here".

After looking at for a moment he turned to his back.

-"well our lucky day right boys?"

She looked at the "boys"

There was a black man who looked like he was going to pass out, and another-why he was naked? , in the opposite corner a Asian girl stood with man beside her, he was also holding a gun.

-"w-what happened here?" She said.

-"see love, we are here for Soldier Boy. He is here isnt he? He patted the door of cryo. "this cunts tried to stop us."

-"What will you do with him?" (will you hurt him? she wanted to say.)

-"Lets just say we want to talk to him."

"B-but he is asleep since 80s"

"You know how to wake him up, right?"

y/n weighed her options for a moment. Well.. was there any option? She was sure as hell she didnt want to get questioned and lose her fingers, and it wasnt like they could do anything to him as long as he was awake. So she decided to not tell them about special gas that can make him sleep.

"Will i be free if i do this?"

"dont try any funny bussines, and you are free to go."

"O-okay, ill wake him up. But im warning you, he might be out of his mind."

She walked towards other side of the room, Where a huge metal tube was placed. Few valves and big red button on it.

She dreamed of hitting the red button for more than hundred times but never tought it would feel like this. In all her life, she never been this nervous before. Not even that night. Her heart was pounding so hard inside her ribcage, hands shaking like a leaf.

She looked at the tall guy, signaling him for cryos door.

As he literally ripped the door, She closed her eyes. Suddenly so afraid to look at him.

next minutes were blurry. She heard the harsh sound of binds being ripped, and whimpering.

Despite her fear, after hearing his whimpering, she had a strong urge to hug him, calm him down, to tell him it was over.

but couldnt say anything because as soon as she opened her eyes she saw them for the first time. His green eyes. But unlike her dream, They were filled with anger. Looking at the gun that guy held. It was lowered immediately but. His eyes were now dark, making him look like a wild animal ready to pounce on his prey.

She was sure he was going to attack him but something else happened.

His chest started glowing.

Like a fire.

y/n was hit by a dejavu. Remembering the tapes that she tried so hard to forget. She was sure In one of them he was glowing just like this..seconds before exploding like a bomb.

Yes, this was whats going to happen.

With her panicked mind y/n started to scan room for anything to distract him. As his chest was glowing brighter with every second, She saw the glass ashtray on the lab desk (the one she always hated) And next thing y/n knew, she was throwing it towards him (aiming the wall next to him) while shouting "Be- soldier boy they are trying to help you!"

never considering herself lucky person, in that moment Y/n was sure this was the most unlucky moment her life.

because the ashtray hit him right in the head with loud thud.

Everything stopped .There wasnt any sound, only ashtray breaking to pieces on the floor.

Soldier boy started slowly turning towards her. Realizing what she had done, y/n looked over the tall guy with pleading eyes.

"FUCK." Tall guy mouthed to her.

No one dared to make any move as soldier boy walked towards her. His every step making heavy sound.

"All this time i was afraid of humans, and now He will be the one to kill me." she thought. "Will he hit my head in return?.., at least it will be a painless death."

She closed her eyes just before he stopped right in front of her, waiting for the hit.

"God, let this be the last time. I dont ever want to born in this world again"

But instead of a hit, she felt a hand -large hand gripping her arm tightly. And heard his voice for the first time.

-"Y/N".

Notes: i really didnt like this chapter. But i was expecting it. In next chapter Soldier Boy and y/n will have a lot of dialogues and fluffy moments together!💫

taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @mfnqueen1 @ponypickle @butchers-girl

[ask-the-young-nor-westers]

Just a Bad Dream

Description: Henry has a bad dream about his being locked in the tunnel once again. Little did he know that he would get some advice from his new driver, Correlle, as well as an unexpected story.

Words: How the fuck should I know? I haven't been keeping track LOL (jk jk).

"We shall leave you here for always and always and always."

Those words spoken by the Fat Director echoed in Henry's smokebox as he slept restlessly. Every year on the anniversary of him being locked in the Ballahoo tunnel, Henry would often have the same wretched dreams of the incident.

Of course, Henry had learned his lesson. He learned it quite well to the point where he hated any reminder of it. He despised the long days he spent, locked away in that brick tunnel; All on his own without anyone to talk to. It nearly drove him mad. After being let out, he knew better to be vain about his paintwork. After all, that was James' shtick now; not his.

But every time he had that wretched dream, he was scared to death. He never wanted to be locked away like that again.

"No.... No, I don't want to be alone. Not again..." He thought as the Fat Director solemnly proclaimed those words. He would have moved from the tunnel in his dream, but he couldn't make himself do so. Year after year, he tried and tried to prove the "Fat Director" wrong; that he was willing to move; he was willing to leave the tunnel. But some force prevented him from doing it. No matter how much he begged and pleaded, he had to witness the same sight of workmen bricking him up in that god-forsaken tunnel. He would have had to do it again, if not for a sudden echo.

"Henry? Henry, you okay?" The voice sounded familiar, yet it didn't belong in his dream. "Henry?! Henry, wake up!!" At that, his eyes shot open and darted around until he saw his driver, Correlle, standing in front of him. She was already dressed for work, yet her hair was somewhat a mess, and she looked like she had just tumbled out of bed.

"C-correlle?" he asked, looking down at her in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sleeping over, remember?" the young American reminded him, gesturing to the empty cot on the platform next to his berth, "We have the Kipper in a few hours."

"Oh…. right…" Henry blinked. He felt his eyes grow watery as he tried to keep his composure.

"Henry… what's wrong?" Correlle looked up at her engine worriedly, "You were shaking like a leaf." There was a brief silence that followed, as Henry was debating how to answer.

Correlle Hemsworth had only been working with Henry for about 2 months and she was still learning things about her new friend. That included his likes and dislikes. While she did poke fun at him from time to time, she knew when too far was too far. Even though she didn't know Henry as well as she would have liked, she could tell he was agitated. She knew from his fireman, Ted, that it took a while for Henry to open up to anyone new that entered his life.

"It's only early days," he had said, "and Henry doesn't open up to just anyone right away. He has to trust you first."

Correlle always remembered this, as she wanted to be a good driver that respected her engine's boundaries. While she didn't want to force him to open up, she also didn't want Henry to suffer whatever it was that was bothering him. At least on his own. After all, this was her first real time seeing Henry cry. It was heartbreaking, but she didn't say that aloud.

Henry himself seemed to recognize his new driver's genuine worry and did his best to compose himself. After all, if the other sleeping engines around him would never let him hear the end of it if they saw him like this, then how would his driver look at him?

"I'm alright…" He sighed as he took a deep breath. That didn't stop the tears from falling though.

"Henry… I'm not one to tell you how to feel, but you're definitely not alright." Correlle stated quietly, "I know that since I'm new, you don't trust me as much, but I still want to help you." At this, she placed a hand on one of his buffers. "Whatever is bothering you, I won't tell a soul. Not even if they cut my arms off." Henry was silent for a few minutes, mulling this over. That last part of her statement had been a bit brutal, but then again many Americans were, if they wanted to be.

One of the most important qualities that Sir Richard Hatt considered when it came to electing who drove what engine, is the capability of the driver to be there for their engine

"Encourage them to do good and discourage them to do bad; Be there for them in both good and bad times." He had proclaimed to the "Young Nor' Westers" on their first day of work.

While it may have been their first time learning it, Every engine on the North-Western Railway knew this philosophy was a given fact. Not only that, but it was a creed of sorts for the crews. Of course, it did take time for the engines to come to trust their crews, and Henry was no exception to this.

When he first met Correlle, she seemed nervous, as if she was tip-toeing around the engines she was learning to work with. It took time for her to shed her shyness and show her spunky, spirited nature. When she did, Henry found that he enjoyed it.

Not only that, but so far she had followed "the creed" to a T; She had encouraged and discouraged him on many different occasions, as well as spent many good times with him. Now she was passing the real test; being there for him when he was having a hard time with something. In this case, it was one of his personal demons.

Henry knew the genuineness of her words because he could see the sincerity in her eyes, even in the dark. Plus he knew Correlle wasn't the type to gossip. Sure she chattered and rambled like the troublesome trucks did at times, but she never spilled any secrets. Bearing all of this in mind, he took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Every year… there's this bad dream that haunts me." He admitted, looking upset, and a bit embarressed. "I don't know if you heard of this story, but years ago... my pride ended up with me being bricked up inside a tunnel."

"Oh… wait, you mean that little rhyme that Percy sometimes teases you with? The one about an engine being afraid of the rain and--"

"Yes, yes, that rhyme…" Henry quickly cut her short before he continued shakily, "Only in my case, that damn rhyme is a nightmare. And that same nightmare comes back every year. I'm in the Ballahoo Tunnel, just sitting there, with a line of coaches behind me. I've tried moving out of that damn tunnel, I truly have. Heavens knows I've tried. But something won't let me…" Henry looked down at his running board, seeing the two dots of water that just sat there, right beneath where his eyes would have been.

"Oh Henry…" Correlle looked sad as she climbed up and sat down next to his smokebox face. She often sat up next to him on her breaks, just dinking on her phone or just relaxing. Usually she had to take care because his boiler was hotter then fire itself. But now that his boiler was cool, she placed a hand on the outer black. The steel was cold as ice. So much so, she could almost feel what he was feeling; Scared and alone.

"I keep being told that I would be kept in the tunnel for always and always. Being stuck in there for a few weeks was hell enough, but… forever??" Henry looked petrified at the thought. "It's almost as bad as being scrapped… maybe even worse." Correlle listened quietly to everything he was saying. After a few minutes of thinking, she spoke up.

"Who was the one who told you that you would be stuck in that tunnel forever?"

"The Fat Director… He was the first one in charge of the NWR, back in the 1900s. He wasn't exactly a kind-natured man… He didn't even want me…"

"Why didn't he want you?"

"I wasn't the engine he ordered. When I came to this island, the Fat Director was angry. He claimed he wanted an Atlantic, but instead…"

"Instead he got you?"

"Yes." there was a brief pause before he continued, "I… I was a mistake." Henry looked ashamed as he said this, "I was an experimental engine. I was built with a very small firebox, so I couldn't be steamed properly. I half-expected the Fat Director to scrap me because of it." There were a few minutes of silence before Correlle spoke up again.

"Henry…. You're not a mistake." She said in a quiet yet firm tone.

"Well… of course you would say that. You're my driver."

"I'm not saying it as your driver. I'm saying it as your friend. You're not the one to be blamed for how you were built. You didn't even ask to be built; you just were. It's the same way with humans. I didn't ask to be born; I just was born. People can blame us for existing all they want, but it doesn't change the fact that we're still here. All of us here…. engine and humans alike, we're all misfits in one way or another."

"Misfits?"

"It's a word that means you're outwardly different in some way that makes society think you don't fit into it's norms."

"I see… is that a bad thing?"

"No way. Misfits can be wonderful people. Same with engines. They're just built in a way that people don't understand at first. Misfit as you are, you gave a lot and showed the railway that you deserve to be here. And no bad dream is going to change that." Correlle just gave an encouraging smile, "I think the Fat Director knew that too, even if he was the one who punished you to stay in that tunnel."

Henry thought a bit on that. It was true that the Fat Director had locked him in the tunnel, but he also was the one who let Henry out, even if it was a last resort. Plus, he did give Henry the fair chance he needed to do his best on the NWR by buying him Welsh Coal for his poor steaming, as well as sending him to Crewe after his accident with the Flying Kipper. So he couldn't say that the Fat Director didn't care about him. But it did raise the question.

"Then… why do I keep seeing him telling me that I would stay in the tunnel for always and always?" He asked slowly. Correlle was thoughtful for a few minutes before she answered.

"I think that moment was the time you saw the Fat Director at his worst. He was angry and he said words he couldn't take back. I don't know for certain, since I wasn't around when this happened, but it's my best guess on why. I do know that whenever we do see people at their worst, it's imprinted in our minds, whether we want it there or not."

"I see…" Henry sighed, "Times like this I wish I could forget that time ever existed. I wouldn't have that damn nightmare if I remembered."

"I guess it's a curse with engines. You're timeless machines. From the moment you were built, you remember everything. But… that's not to say you can't conquer your nightmare."

"But I've tried moving from the tunnel and I couldn't make myself move. So how else can I conquer my bad dream?" Correlle, once again, went silent at this, the wheels in her head turning until she snapped her fingers.

"Have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?"

"No. What is that?"

"It's where you can control what you do in your dreams. Most of the time, when we dream, we have little to no control over what we do. One example of that is sometimes I dream that I'm stuck on a snowy mountain and I can barely stand on my own two feet. But if you train your mind enough, you can be conscious enough to the point where you remember that you're stuck in a dream and you can do what you want."

"So… you suggest that I lucid dream?"

"Something like that. When you have the nightmare again, just take a deep breath and remember that you're dreaming. That you can do whatever you want and if you want to move from that tunnel, then you can. Remember that you have nothing holding you back, other then the obsticles you give yourself." Correlle patted the side of his boiler, giving him a small smile. Henry felt better at this idea.

"I'll remember this for the future." He said quietly.

"That's the Henry I know." Correlle beamed before she suddenly yawned. Henry couldn't help but smile a little at this.

"If you want to return to your cot, you can."

"Eh… I'm fine here. At least until you go to sleep again." Correlle just tiredly leaned against the side of his boiler. Henry could sense the exhaust in her voice, but it wasn't because of how tired she was or how late it was. It was something else. A brief period of silence hung in the air before Correlle spoke up again. "You know… I was debating on whether I should tell you this, but…"

"But?" the Green engine raised an eyebrow.

"I know how it feels… not being wanted." she smiled sadly as she looked at the hairband she had wrapped around her right wrist. "My case is probably not as bad as yours, but… before I came to Sodor, I grew up with my grandparents on their ranch in Colorado. My Dad was never in my life because… well… at first it was hard for him to be there, given that my mother had passed away when she gave birth to me. But when he started coming to see me more and more, he just… he didn't seem to like me for some reason."

"That's terrible…" Henry said quietly.

"I never knew what that reason was. Every time my Dad came to see me, he just… looked disappointed. I didn't know why at the time, and I always was hard on myself because of it. It didn't stop him from inserting himself in my life, even when it seemed like he didn't like me. I always thought that he had a hard time being near me because I might have reminded him of my mom. But later as I got older, I began to realize the reason was… well…" Correlle took a deep breath, holding tears of her own back, "I wasn't the daughter he wanted." Henry was aghast at this.

"What do you mean by that?" He managed to ask after a few minutes. He sounded breathless, as if he saw that his whole forest had been cut up just for the thrill of it.

"I mean just that. Just like you were the engine that the Fat Director didn't want at the time, I wasn't the daughter my Dad wanted. He tried hard to get me to be like him, but… I was just different. I didn't like the same things he did and to him, that wasn't enough. Unlike you, I wasn't really given a fair chance. After an accident I got into that was…. well, my Dad's fault, he just up and left. Like he just gave up. I thought that would be the end of it. Until…"

"Until?"

"He dragged me back into his life. Right before I turned 18 too. Then I came here to Sodor and joined the Railway here to get away from him." Correlle wiped her eyes of what tears she had, "I wasn't sure I would even make it to this point, or even do a good job. But in the process, I met someone who was just like me. At least in a few ways."

"I can attest to that." Henry smiled a bit, "Admittedly, I was a bit worried, as since you were younger then the drivers I had years prior, I thought things would turn sideways. But you're doing a wonderful job as my driver. You're likely the best I've had in a long while."

"Aww… thanks you." Correlle patted his boiler again, giving him a broad smile, "I was scared at first, given that I've never handled an Iron Horse before, but like my Grandpa Davis said, as long as you're confident in yourself and the engine, things get easy."

"Well, he's not wrong." Henry sighed as he looked at the sky through the glass ceiling of Tidmouth sheds, "Some misfits we are."

"True." Correlle smiled a bit, "But, if given a choice, there's no misfit in the world that trumps you."

"Same for you, but as my driver." Henry suddenly felt a hefty yawn come over him, "We should get some sleep. I don't think we have much longer before the Firelighter comes."

"True." Correlle yawned, "Plus, I feel kinda… *yawn* drowsy myself…"

"I can tell. You care barely keep your eyes open." Henry chuckled tiredly, "Back to your cot. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Correlle sleepily tumbled off of his front buffer beam and ambled back to her cot. Henry could hear her grunt as she fell face-first into the somewhat flat pillow she used. The second he heard her faint breathing, a sign she fell asleep, he yawned and closed his eyes himself. The nightmare was well out of his mind by now, so he knew what little rest he would get until the time came to pull the Flying Kipper would help him in the long run.

Primary Blog || Art Blog || Speedpaint || Kofi || Artistree

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x reader [5]

description: Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission in Cairo: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.

word count: 8.1k

trigger warnings: major gore and violence warning (he is the God of violence after all :/) hints at Dove’s dark past, hints at prostitution/sexual exploitation. All involved are of age however. Feelings of worthlessness. Swearing.

main masterlist | series masterlist

“Do you ever feel dirty afterwards?” The soft voice asked from her right. She’d know that voice blind. Know it in any darkness. A call to a home she could never go back to.

“I feel like taking ten showers and walking through a car wash naked, and it still wouldn’t be enough.” Her own voice came. There was a tinkle of a laugh like a bell, yet the bitterness was clear in the single note. Her head turned to see her, her, the blonde girl that haunted her every thought, her every breath.

Grace.

Her face as supple and innocent as any nineteen year old, unmarred by the horrors of the world despite their place in it. Her eyebrows curved high on her face, forget-me-not blue eyes that watched the world outside their window with a longing she, herself, was more than familiar with. The two of them sat opposite each other on the wide window sill, legs bunched up to their chests, the gentle, first rays of morning sunlight falling on their faces. The two of them stared out into the rest of the world, a world they were not permitted to go without his say. The small trees that dotted the street swayed, the slow, warm breeze washing over them. The rare chance they had to take in fresh air. The two girls preened to its caress instantly.

“I sometimes think at least I’m useful here,” Grace said, her honey locks falling as she rested her head on the window, if only to get closer to the freedom on the other side, “I could be sleeping on the streets or in a place half as nice as this, alone, but at least here I’m with you,” She said, her bluebell eyes following as a pair of collared doves wove in between one another, their small, grey figures dipping through the air freely.

“It sounds fucked up, and maybe it is,” Her own voice came, her eyes also following the birds that seemed to be gloating about just how untethered they were to any place other than the winds that carried them, “But part of me, the disgusting part that I try ignore, feels wanted. Like those men want me, so much that they would even pay hundreds to see me.” Her breath steamed up the glass as she took a deep sigh, the confessions rolling off her lips. Because she knew Grace wouldn’t judge her. Grace would never. “It makes me think that maybe there’s some part of me that is actually worth wanting.”

“I’ll always want you,” Came the soft reply, her heart jumping into her throat with a small choke. She could never deal with mushy words, blatant affection from another being, the one way they differed. Grace was all about kind words, telling her how her heart felt, “Every bit of you,”

A tired grin spread on her face, “I wish it could be this easy with other people,”

“Why? Are you planning on replacing me any time soon?” Grace asked, leaning up to open the window further to let in the breeze. They only had a couple of hours before he would be back, and he hated when they sat in the window. Too many eyes, too many people to see them for free.

She chuckled, nudging the other girl with her leg in a small chastise.

“Never.” She said earnestly, watching Grace’s cerulean eyes follow a leaf fall to the ground elegantly. “Although, if we’re making requests, I’d like a best friend that would stop stealing my bras,”

“Maybe if the machine didn’t wreck all mine I wouldn’t have to-”

“Oh, give over, you like the lacy ones. Just admit it.” Grace blanched, her eyes flicking to the girl before a guilty smile appeared, showing off every one of her perfectly straight, white teeth.

“I didn’t realise they were so dear to you,” The girls giggled, the sun stroking both their faces, warming their cheeks gently. “I was wondering why I could see your nipples through your top,” A smack to the ankle closest to her.

“I’d like them back please. I’ll have you know the desperate ones pay extra for that shit,” She replied, the carelessness in her eyes dropping at the thought of their evening. He’d be back with clients, one for each of them, sometimes more.

He always came back with clients.

“And to think, I get to see them for free,” Grace teased, nudging her socked foot into her friend’s thigh to try garner some kind of amusement. But the moment was gone. The small bit of heaven they’d had between one another was gone. Because they knew this was it. This was all it would ever be.

Her bottom lip quivered. She wanted her brothers. She wanted her home, her real home, she wanted her old bed, her old room. She wanted her mother, she hadn’t wanted her mother in years. She even wanted her father, even if he was drunk as a skunk like the last time she’d seen him. She would take it. She wanted her normal job back, she swore she’d never complain about waitressing again if it meant being away from this. She wished she could bundle Grace up, disappear, just the two of them, far far away from all of this. Where they would never be able to touch either of them ever again. Where they would never be used as slabs of meat for his amusement.

A small, pale hand slipped into hers, her fingers warm and grounding as they intertwined with hers. She hadn’t realised she was crying until she looked up and saw Grace with her eyes welled up too. The pair had never been able to stand seeing the other cry without choking up.

Grace’s summer sky eyes were wide; fat, remorseful bunching tears on her perfect lash line. They were still in their pyjamas, hair still messed up, love bites and mysterious fingerprints lining her throat from where last night's customer had gotten too rough.

She was dragged into a hug, an embrace she only ever felt from Grace. Those men, those vile men only ever sought pleasure, cold, aggressive pleasure that soiled the very meaning of the word. But Grace was soft. Warm. Gentle. Grace was everything she needed to keep her head on her shoulders. Grace was every bit of her she wasn’t, like the pair had been cleaved apart atom by atom at birth and when they hugged it was as though their bodies knew one another the way you only know yourself. Like two halves trying to stitch themselves back together.

And they were both crying. Crying for the lives they’d had before all of this. Before those men that came at night, handing him money at the door, before they put on their bedroom voices and sultry eyes. The performance of a lifetime. She missed her brothers, she thought of what she was going to write in her next letter home, though she knew she would never get a response. She wished she hadn’t been so hard on them. She wished she’d gotten a chance to say goodbye properly.

“I want to go home,” She sobbed, a calming hand running through her hair as Grace soothed her, though she could tell by the way her face nuzzled into her neck that the sentiment was shared.

The two nineteen year olds held each other, the only solace they had in this world being one another’s gentle embrace. The only person they would ever need in the cruel hands of a world like this.

“I’ll be your home,” Grace mumbled, the words dying on her skin as the tears fell down her own cheeks, “I’ll be your home as long as you need one,”

She nodded, a silent thankyou for the selfless offer. Golden curls surrounded her vision, Grace’s arms squeezing her tighter. As if to assure her that this was it. This was all she would need. That she was never, ever letting go.

And then, silently, tiredly, Dove woke up alone.

“Good morning,” She chirped, Marc wincing at the perky nature of her tone. He sat up with a wince, his back screaming in aches from the hard sofa. It was a wonder he’d gotten any sleep at all, let alone not woken up when she’d seemingly left the room for a wander around.

“Where have you been?” His voice was gravel, a rumble of fatigue erupting from his throat. He took in the flowy bottoms she wore, the basic white shirt she’d thrown on over it and the sunglasses perched on her messy hair. In her hand was a loose, netted bag, entirely crammed with fruits. Mangoes, pomegranates, bananas, the biggest oranges he’d seen in years. He remembered Layla feeding him one at their wedding, remembered thinking they were the best thing he’d ever tasted. As if to read his mind, she took one for herself and handed him the entire bag.

“Exploring. Getting breakfast. Your phone’s been buzzing, I think your friend needed you,” She said, the spirited tone in her voice never dropping as she slumped on the bed, “I still stink of airport,”

“Go take a shower,” Marc resolved quickly, peeling back the orange, the sticky juice running over his fingers immediately. Fresh, better than any fruit he’d had in England that had been packaged and stored and frozen.

He barely saw the way her eyes twitched at the word as she tucked into her own fat slices of the citrus. “Can’t, there’s only a bathtub,” She said, cheeks full with syrup, “I think they were expecting a honeymoon, there’s all petals and candles and shit,” She said, her eyes flicking to the window to see the outside world.

“So just have a bath-”

“What’s your friend say?” She cut him off, though there was no malice in her tone. Only intrigue.

Wiping his hand clean, he reached into his pocket for his crappy burner phone. The single text from his friend with a thousand connections all over Cairo read:

Harrow is here. Aali’s waiting in Khan el-Khalili for you and your friend, said he’s got insight where they’re heading. Said some of Harrow’s men are on his tail. Better hurry, Spector.

Marc expected as much, though he’d have thought he’d have at least enough time to have breakfast before the day’s stress would already begin.

“One of his informants is waiting for us not far from here. I’ll call us a cab,” Marc replied, scarfing down the last of the tender segments, trying not to groan at how they exploded in his mouth.

“Informants,” She echoed, her eyes wandering the ceiling as she herself let the saccharine juice slide down her throat, “Makes us sound like James Bond. Although I’m pretty sure the movies would have gone a lot different if Bond got killed and resurrected by some ancient deities,”

Marc said nothing, focusing his attention on looking for a nearby taxi rank.

“I mean I suppose they do kind of have him die over and over again, when they need fresh meat to keep their movies running. I never really understood the whole thing for Bond, he seems narcissistic, arrogant at best. If you ask me, the movies don’t need more men fucking the pretty women and killing anyone they can get their hands on. The entire thing is just sixty years worth of men tugging themselves to fast cars and blood and the two dimensional women getting seduced by the hot sociopath-”

“Something’s wrong,” Steven said from inside the body, the first he’d spoken up in two days, “Something’s wrong with her,”

“Aside from the fact she doesn’t know when to shut up?” Marc asked, though he too had noted the unusually chatty mood she was in today, “No wonder you two get along so well,”

“Marc,” He snapped, his brown eyes large and concerned as he stared at her from the mirror, “I’m serious. She never waffles on like that unless she’s bothered by something,”

“And the whole shaken not stirred thing? Talk about pretentious-”

“She’s talking about the politics of a martini. I think she’s just had an extra dose of sugar this morning,” Marc shut his phone off after confirming a cab, his own hardened eyes flicking to where the woman seemed to be lost in her own spiel to even notice he hadn’t yet said a word.

“Talk to her,” Steven ordered, though his eyes never tore from her troubled gaze at the ceiling.

“And like, were it any other franchise, twenty seven movies seems ridiculous. Imagine twenty seven Harry Potter movies? Everyone would be old as hell by the time they finished. Harry Potter and the Midlife Crisis sounds shit-”

“Are you feeling okay?” Marc cut her off, her head snapping to his as if to be yanked out of a train of thought. Her eyes looked bleary, as if she still had yet to fully awaken.

“Huh?” She asked, briefly looking away to grab a plump, fuzzy peach out of the netted bag, “Yeah, I’m peachy,” She snickered to herself before realising he wasn’t laughing at all. Not even a small smile. “Come on, that one was too obvious,”

“Steven said you’re trying to distract yourself,” He said, a hint of an accusation in his tone. He caught the moment her innocent expression faltered for a slight second, before the mask slipped back on and her bright smile was plastered across her too tightly scrunched cheeks.

“Nonsense.” She brushed off, though her eyes quickly trailed away from his, leaning for a small backpack of her belongings. “Are we heading out now?”

With that, the woman strode towards the front door, dropping her sunglasses back over her eyes.

“I’ll meet you down there,” She said over her shoulder, briskly leaving Marc to get some real clothes on for the day, having only slept in an old shirt and some shorts.

“I’m telling you, mate. There’s something up,” Steven said, finally turning to his alter who stood, lost for words, his eyes softening at her retreating figure.

And Marc knew he was right. He could deny it all he liked, but it didn’t stop it from being true.

And just like that, the woman had become a total mystery to him once more.

“So where exactly was it you said your informant was?” She asked, the two of them standing in a back alley, Marc’s eyes glued to his phone as he awaited further instructions.

“Somewhere around here- you know it’s kind of difficult to type these things when he’s being tracked by trained mercenaries,” Marc snipped, making the woman roll her eyes as she leaned against the sandstone wall. Sighing through her nose and pursing her lips, she readied to open her mouth again, no doubt about to say something that would only serve to piss him off more when her ears caught the sound of a muffled scream.

Head flicking up to the top of one of the buildings, she scanned Marc’s face for any sign of alarm, only to find him still staring at his little black phone in frustration. Thinking she was simply imagining it, she readied herself to brush the sound off, when she heard it again, a moan of pain accompanying the yelp.

“Did you hear that?” She asked, standing up straight, her ears pricked to the rooftops.

“Huh?” Marc sounded annoyed, though his face melded into concern when he saw the focused look in her eyes, attention caught between the terraces, “What? Hear what-“

“Shhh,” She raised her hand to silence him, slapping her hand fully over his mouth when his lips parted with a pissed off quip ready to roll off his tongue. Her head snapped to one rooftop in particular, her eyes wide and worried as she heard the switch of a blade, a gasp of a beaten man and a chuckle of five, sinister voices. “They got him, they got your friend.”

“Where?” Marc asked, phone long forgotten as he grabbed her hand off his mouth, barely needing to question how she knew. His senses had become so far enhanced with Khonshu’s suit as well, it was only natural that she’d started to feel the full effects of her powers too.

“Over there,” She pointed in the general direction as Marc immediately set off for a fire escape leading to the upper levels.

“You stay here, I’ll go get him-”

“What- Stay here?” Came her immediate protest, “I can help! Let me help,”

“Absolutely not, you’ll just slow me down,” Reeling back in offence, Marc cast her a glance when he saw the hurt in her face, her lips pouting slightly and eyes drooping in sadness, “Don’t give me that look. I just don’t want you to see something you might not like,”

Marc knew what those mercenaries would do to his informant, what they would do to them if they so happened to stumble across them. The thought of their dirty, blood stained hands on her, hurting her, it was enough to have Marc disregard any kind of puppy dog eyes she gave him. No matter if it did make his chest twinge with guilt. He should be nicer to her, he chastised himself.

“Let the mutt have a chance,” Teased a booming voice from behind the two of them. Dove whirled around, stumbling backwards into Marc’s chest when she saw a ten foot tall skeleton of what seemed to be a bird-man type animal. Its concave eyes leered down a long beak at her smaller figure, the huge creature seemingly quite relaxed as it leaned in, its chest broad covered in wraps of linen as if he were once mummified.

Jumping back in freight as the bird got closer, Dove yelped as she felt Marc’s arms wrap around her biceps to stop her from stumbling over herself, “What the fuck is THAT?”

Khonshu only laughed, his deep timbre shaking her to her bones.

“This is Khonshu, I’m his avatar. Same way you’re Seth’s.” Marc said bitterly, glaring at the stupid bird that seemed to find her terror hilarious.

“I think my little lamb would do nicely, Spector,” Came another voice, and a dark phantom emerged from behind the silhouette of the bird headed god. The air escaped her lungs, and she would have stumbled even further back had Marc not been behind her, Seth’s dark face coming into view as if he had been summoned by the very mention of his name, as was the rule with every child’s nightmare.

His night black eyes peered down at her from atop a set of grinning, blade-sharp teeth, jaws pulled into a mix of amusement and threat. His body towered over even Khonshu once he stood at full height, broad arms muscled and fleshed out unlike the skeleton, his own staff also grinning at the horrified woman.

“Come now, little lamb,” His dark growl of a voice had her knees weakening and bones shaking the moment she heard it. The voice that had been haunting her since that night in London, when she’d woken up with blood covering her head to toe. “We’ve got a job to do,”

She couldn’t go back, she couldn’t go so easily this time.

“Keep away from me,” She hissed, Marc releasing her as she trembled and retreated when Seth began prowling towards her, “I’m warning you, I am not going back to being your little puppet again- this is my body- you’d do well to get that into your head real fast-“

Seth simply laughed, Khonshu echoing him, making Marc’s head whip towards the moon god with an irritated frown. It was clear she was terrified, as would Marc be if he had a master so cruel and heinous to be controlled by. The thought only twisted the knife of guilt chiselling away at his gut further.

“Can’t you get him to leave her be?” Marc snapped, turning his attention to his own god with a sneer and a cold look in his once soft eyes, “We’re more than capable of handling a few mercs, why drag her into this?”

“I am not the one who dragged her into this, I would remind you, Spector,” Khonshu’s words cut deep, hardening the man’s expression more, “And even if I wished to stop this, Setekh is brother to Osiris. He holds more power, both in the eyes of the Ennead and in his own being, than I ever will. To go against him would be a death sentence for us both.”

Marc sucked his teeth, not ignorant to the commotion between the two to his right. Seth leaned in, a large, clawed hand outstretched as if to stroke her hair in an unnervingly gentle fashion. The same way he had the first moment he’d met the god of death. It reminded Marc of a patronising father, caressing a dimwitted child, or even an unsuspecting dog heeling for treats. The hand was met with a swift strike away by the human woman, eyes wide with fear, chest rattling with dread, akin to a cornered cat lashing out in self defence.

The four beings seemed to stop with her action. Marc’s eyes went between her and Seth, and for once Khonshu seemed to have gone quiet. And then, after a moment of painful emptiness, Seth chuckled once more. Not amused anymore, but a bitter rumble of fury, one that had Dove’s heart plummeting into her stomach, feeling as if the entire contents of it would come up any second now.

“The little lamb has fire?” Seth’s canine like head tilted, his tall, pointed ears going with it. Though, they didn’t flop like a dog’s would, no. They seemed to point towards her, sensing the unfiltered terror that washed through her bloodstream. A predator locked in on its prey. A wolf descending on a lone sheep.

“Keep away from me,” She repeated, the anger still in her tone, though it had now been diluted by the fear, the tremble in her throat giving her away. Seth grinned, though the smile was tainted. The jaw pulling into a snarl, his face becoming all the more sinister.

“I told you. You’re mine now, lamb,” He barked, his hand darting out and roughly grabbing a thick knot of her hair from the back of her skull, a mewl of shock slipping past her lips, “You’d do well to obey me next time,”

Obey. Obey him. She could think of nothing worse. She wanted to just kick and scream and spit and lash out all the more, writhe away from his touch, his touch that reminded her of his. As if he was no longer a ghost from her past, but was now haunting her still through the God of Death. She was tired of her body being taken from her; tired, so fucking tired of being told to sit and obey. She had obeyed. She had sat patiently, been the compliant little girl bending to a man’s vile words, she had been putty in his wretched palms.

She had obeyed him before, and now Grace was gone.

There was a single second where her gaze cut to Marc’s, eyes pleading with his coffee brown irises that seemed to diminish in all of their anger the moment she locked eyes with him, begging for help with a childlike terror, mouth pursed open ready to scream.

“Mar-” Was all she whimpered, before Seth’s claws latched onto her and her expression froze.

Marc was sure he’d killed her, was sure he’d crushed her fragile cranium in his bare hand just to prove to her the consequences of lashing out, the breath escaping his own lungs as he watched it happen, half guessing he was about to bite down on her soft face with those monstrous teeth of his.

But there was no blood, no chunks of flesh ripped from her as he thought. No scream of pain and torture.

Instead her scared face morphed into one of an entranced nothingness, eyes drooping from their usual expressive nature, chest evening out into calm breaths. Her pupils swirled in their pools of inky blackness, growing, devouring the rest of her iris, the whites of her corneas disappearing as the darkness took over, until she, too, looked down at him with malicious black sockets.

Her suit grew around her. Spreading over her clothes: a tight, black second-skin, gold bone-like details spindling around her limbs as the sable suit spread down her entire body. The muzzle slipped over her mouth and nose, as if she were a dangerous mutt in need of chaining. Controlling. Being taught to heed to its master. Marc knew it was Seth’s way of making her feel even less in control.

He said her name, taking a wary step in her direction, approaching a cornered animal in a snare. Her head seemed to tilt, midnight eyes locking in on his wary figure, though there was nothing behind those pools of darkness that gave hint to any recognition from the woman.

Because she was not there anymore. This was not her. This was Seth’s pawn, his puppet. His mongrel of a marionette. His Hellhound.

He called for her again, raising a large, olive hand in her direction, even if to lower the muzzle, even if to make her more human and less animal, only to be met by a husky growl from behind the wretched thing, a warning to keep away.

Marc’s chest felt pierced seeing her like this. Entirely not herself, entirely Seth’s play thing. A wild beast that would rip him to shreds if she got the chance. The healed bite on his thigh burned where she’d attempted it last time.

Seth laughed again, releasing his grip on her skull, where the two, upright ears now grew out of the hardened metal mask, no doubt an ego boost to his own handsome features.

“Don’t bother, Spector,” The god rumbled with sick delight, the woman’s head lowering at her master's voice, “She is entirely mine until I say so,”

Marc’s chest puffed out in annoyance, daring to stare down the God of Death for the offending comment. She was not his, she was a person. She was her own person, with her own mind and body that had been stolen from her, if a mind and body could even be taken from someone. Her soul; her sweet, gentle soul that Marc had started to adore was lost from those eyes, those feral caves of shadows that scanned the rooftops for their target. The life was gone from them, smothered by the darkness, by the bloodlust. The Hellhound was all that remained.

She stopped at one particular point as she had done when she was once again herself, waiting obediently by her master's side for a command.

He gave none, simply looking down at her approvingly before nodding a head in the direction of the mercenaries. That was all the signal she needed.

Marc had barely any time to prepare himself before he was scrambling after her darting figure, a black streak in front of his eyes that seemed to move faster than even his own brain could keep up with.

The hunt was on. The Hellhound had smelled blood.

She had given him a run for his money, quite literally. The Hellhound was fast, lithe, stealthy. Silent even when running at full pelt towards her target, even when jumping between buildings and sliding under thick planks of wood left over from decaying furniture. Never ceasing for breath, never slowing down for her partner in crime who was struggling with his human lungs to keep up with her.

Finally, the five mercs came into view, along with his informant who had certainly seen better days. His bloody nose and busted eye seemed the least of his worries however when Marc caught the glint of a switchblade in the sunlight, the knife being plunged into his gut before the two of them could get there, no matter how fast they had been.

Hellhound made the vault between the buildings in one, landing on the edge of the rooftop effortlessly, her demonic eyes narrowing in on the five men that stared back at them. Marc was shortly behind her, hopping down the short wall to the rest of the terrace he huffed as he caught his breath, coming to stand beside the woman.

“Oh shit,” Marc started, the mercenaries turning to look at the odd pair that watched them tensely, “You killed him? We needed to talk to that guy about a dig site,”

The men smirked, eyeing up the Hellhound with malicious intrigue. They missed the way her gloved fingers extended out into deadly claws, or the way her eyes honed in on the large blades they wielded, thinking of every way she would be able to disarm them.

“Guess I’m gonna have to talk to you instead,” Marc sighed, taking a single step towards the men as Hellhound widened her stance, two of them breaking away from their group to come near her.

“You’re too late. You’re never gonna find Harrow,” The tallest one commented, tossing his blade into the air in a gloating fashion, his smirk never leaving his face.

“Really?” Marc asked, watching the display with a tired eye roll, “Oh, what are we dancin’? We fightin’? What are we gonna do?”

The man carved a line in front of him with his blade stepping towards Marc while two of the others headed for the woman who had yet to show any sign of alarm at the scene. Marc readied himself to avoid the blades, his fists coming up to block his gut, hoping she would leave some part of them for the crows to pick at atleast.

He had seen what she had done to those Jackals. Men with knives wouldn’t touch her.

As if on cue, the men lunged for each of them. Marc busied himself with the three coming his way, a boy no older than sixteen following his peers blindly with a knife that looked uncomfortable in his young palm. But the bloodshed came from Hellhound.

The more broad of the two went first, serrated blade outstretched from his meaty arm. His hand was soon stopped by four blade-like claws digging into his wrist, slicing his veins down to the bone, blood spurting from him near immediately. He squealed, though the shock of his hand nearly being ripped off was nothing when her other palm was brought across his face in a slashing motion.

A centimetre higher and his eye would have been taken clean out.

The knife was dropped, a petrified look in the man’s eyes as thick blood streamed down his jaw, the second man ducking out from behind him with his own knife ready. He threw one slash towards her neck, already protected with a thick layer of the leather like suit, making the small weapon effectively useless had he even gotten close to her.

Which he didn’t.

She’d already easily dodged his advance, coming up to grab the back of his shoulder and smash his face against the stone wall behind them with a sickening crunch. Three of his teeth spilled onto the stone floor, nose flooding with the metallic liquid that dripped into his mouth. Claws dragged up into his hair, pressing harder than Seth had when he had grabbed her in a similar way, until she felt flesh squish and blood trickle over her palm. The man screamed, squirming under her grasp, which only had her holding on tighter, wrenching at his skull until he dropped to his knees and the knife slipped from his grasp with the white hot pain he was in.

Her gaze dropped to her left where Marc was still fighting the men that had headed for him, only to hear the younger boy behind them.

“In your face, foreigner,” He spoke in his Arabic tongue, throwing his smaller blade towards Marc’s head as the man was busy fending off an attacker.

But the blade never made it far. Her black, leathered hand snatched the knife by its serrated edge, though the woman did not show any signs of wincing at the sharp blade. Why would she? When all she felt was a lust for revenge watching the boy shrink back in fear, realising he was now without a weapon and had drawn the attention of the wolf looking creature.

She was a picture of a nightmare as she tossed his knife to the ground effortlessly, the darkness of her eyes swirling with rage as she stepped towards him. Hellhound wasn’t sure who that man was, the man who had tried to touch her infront of her master, the same man who had tried to caress her last time she was freed. She didn’t know him, but there was part of her writhing with anger that he had almost been harmed. Didn’t care for him, but was ready to rip this boy to shreds for attempting to hurt the man.

“Wait!” Marc called, knowing what she was about to do to that child. The two men that cowered, soaked in blood, were evidence enough that she was just as brutal as she had been the last time she’d been freed. But that boy was just a kid. Hellhound may not have a moral compass but he sure as hell did. As did Dove. And he knew she would hate herself if she knew what she was doing. If she hurt a kid. “Stop!”

But he didn’t have to intervene as the other man he’d been fighting tackled her from behind. The distraction seemed to have been her downfall as he managed to restrain his arms to her sides. She let out a snarl of anger, throwing her head back in an attempt to fend him off, only for him to wrestle her towards the edge of the building. Digging her heels into the floor, she squirmed, thrashing in his hold enough to have him loosen the slightest amount. She managed to dig her claws into his thigh, the man yawping in pain, shoving her hard to the side, aiming to have her over the side of the rooftop.

Call it luck on the man’s part, but his desperate strength seemed to be enough to toss her over the sharp drop, over the edge of the four story building, high enough for anyone to break enough bones to cause serious damage. If not death.

Marc had barely been able to stop her, though he knew better than those men that Seth would heal her, since he’d been so preoccupied fighting his own challenger, one he’d only just been able to disarm before she’d been thrown.

“Marc, don’t do it, Marc” Steven begged from the reflection of the knife, “Stop it, go help her. Just stop this,” The English man pleaded, his eyes worried as Marc began to feel a pull from inside the body.

His breath drew short, his head switching between the alters as Steven used his moment of weakness to take over, his only thought being to help his Dove.

Marc took over the body once more, ripping his consciousness back from Steven, to find himself in a taxi?

Taking a quick moment to understand where he was, he turned to the driver with a panicked tone, “Stop, please!” He asked, his Arabic rusty from what he’d been able to pick up on his missions and through Layla.

“You’re speaking Arabic, eh?” The driver asked, bustling around in his seat to glare at Marc. “Why are you acting like a foreigner?”

“Where are you taking me?” The man demanded, sure he already seemed batshit crazy to the innocent driver who looked just as confused as Marc felt.

“You said picking up your friend?” He replied, a pissed off look on his face. As if to have summoned the beast herself, a loud slam hit the bonnet of the taxi. It happened almost too fast, Hellhound stood tall on the car, a dent where she had dragged herself up onto the metalwork, her targets back in her sight. It wasn’t until Marc ducked out the car that he saw the five guys coming out of the building, seemingly relaxed until they saw the seething woman staring at them.

“Let me talk to you,” Marc yelled over the bustle of the traffic. The men looked at one another, the two of the more bloodied men taking one glance at where the woman hopped off the bonnet and scrambled to get away, leaving their other three partners on their own.

“You just let us go man,” The youngest said, watching the two with confused eyes, though the mercenary that had thrown her off the roof seemed to sicken visibly at the sight of her standing alive and well, looking more than furious.

The trio booked it before either of them could take a step further.

Taking off into the crowd, a whippet of a dark phantom once more, gaining on the three perpetrators faster than they could have imagined. Her boots were silent as they pounded on the stone floor below, as if she were a wraith coming to haunt their souls for running, a demon chasing their shadows. Inescapable. Inevitable. A hunter descending on its kill.

Marc took off after the leader and the youngest one as they skidded around a sharp corner of the bazaar, Hellhound pouncing after the other who decided to take the next corner in a desperate attempt to lose the two pursuers. But he was not so lucky. Hellhound was faster.

Two clawed hands latched onto his shoulders, shoving him roughly to the wall. The man was lifted clear off his feet, the beast of a woman scraping his body against the sandstone as if he were dead weight. He could do nothing but squirm as her grip tightened, thumbs sinking into his collar bones beneath his thin jacket. He hissed in pain, eyes widening as she leaned in with those sinister black sockets.

“Where’s Harrow?” A deep rumble came from her feminine chest, Coptic falling from her muzzled lips, the sound of it so vile he worried of pissing himself. Unlike anything he had heard before. Something so ancient he cursed whoever the being was that had disturbed the monster within her.

The man whimpered like a babe, squirming under her hold, only to have her force him harder into the wall until cracks appeared behind his frame where her strength concaved the material.

“Where is he?” She snarled in Arabic this time, her muzzle dropping around her jaw to reveal her elongated canines, snapping at his jugular in impatience.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He mewled, his head twisting to get away from the creature, eyes squeezed shut in the hopes of his death coming quick and painless. “I swear, Abdulla, th-the one your friend went for, he was the one hired by Harrow. I don’t know anything,” He begged. She took a moment to stare him down through those soulless eyes of hers, before she gave a final grumble of feral anger and dropped the mercenary onto his shaking legs. Within a single blink, she had tore off to find wherever Marc had gotten to, not sure who he was yet but knowing he was different from these other men she saw through her puppeteered mind.

When Marc came to the second time after being dragged from fronting, his face was wet with sweat and something thicker, more copper smelling. His hands were sticky with the same substance, and it took him just a moment for his eyes to adjust to realise he had plunged a knife into Abdulla’s chest, a look of distant terror on the man’s face that soon dissolved into lifeless eyes rolling back as he fell to the ground.

The knife dripped with the last moments of the man’s life, Marc’s hand gripping the weapon tightly as he tried making sense of where he was. Somewhere out of the city, further away from prying eyes and civilians that a scene like this would alarm. A rocky causeway, a clearing atop a cliff of sorts, deserted and quiet where he could have his crisis in peace.

That is until he heard the laboured breathing behind him, a grunt echoing through the clearing. A dragging sound across the grainy sand beneath his feet, scraping against the rock that jutted out of the embankment.

Marc whirled around, Hellhound standing over the body of the man she had gone after, whether he had returned to help his friend or she had killed him on the spot he didn’t know. She stood eerily still, watching his face for any sign of life, to which Marc saw there was none at all, as if waiting for anything else to cross her path and end up on the receiving end of her claws.

A yawp of pain snatched their attention before Marc could approach her, though he was still unsure if that person receiving her wrath would be him. The man’s heart fell to his feet when he realised it was the kid, the young boy who had no clue of the world he was getting himself into, that had decades ahead of him to change his life around. He saw himself in those scared, almond eyes; saw himself at seventeen angry and hating the world, wanting only to hurt and be hurt by everyone around him as if to prove his bitterness right.

But there, on the sandy floor, the boy tried to crawl away with whatever strength he had left in his tired limbs that already seemed to have taken a slashing. By his own knife or Hellhound’s razorblades, he wasn’t sure.

A mean look settled on the man’s face, knowing what they had to do with the sole remaining witness, the last person who could give them information.

“Where’s the tomb?” Marc bit, but the boy was not listening.

His eyes were settled on the Hellhound, her figure silent, still. Black eyes trained on him, never wavering, never blinking. The boy, too scared to so much as rip his attention from the woman, dragged his lame leg away from the creature, knowing she would take the single second he looked away to strike. A jackal circling a rabbit in a snare.

“Take him to the ledge,” Khonshu murmured behind the two of them, Marc’s eyes turning down for a split second in sadness. He didn’t want to do this, he thought he was better than this. Hurting children, threatening little boys for problems that weren’t their’s.

He was no better than his mother.

“He’s just a kid,” Marc all but whispered, as if he knew how pathetic it made him seem to the god. But it was true. The boy couldn’t have been older than his late teens. He was just a boy.

“He’ll talk,” Khonshu reassured, though Marc knew he had no problem hurting those that endangered their mission, all in the name of protecting the greater good. But Marc knew better. There wasn’t a single bone in his body that wanted to threaten that kid any longer.

Just as the man pursed his lips to refuse, drawing a line in the sand that even he wouldn’t cross, another behemoth figure appeared behind the three of them, the warmth seeping from the humid air as if he had washed the group in a numbing haze the second he arrived.

“Go show him your bark is as bad as your bite, little beast,” Seth purred into her ear, his figure towering over her statuesque body. The two were a mirror of one another, her demeanour a projection of Seth’s darkest wishes. A phantom of chaos. An angel of death. A reaper of whoever Seth condemned to her paws.

A dog now with a command, Hellhound stalked forward, yanking the boy by his front with a single hand, dragging his body across the rough terrain as if he were no more than a sack of flour. Lifting him into the air, he was held by little more than his shirt and tie, the fabric snatching against his throat tightly.

“Where’s the tomb?” Marc reeled back, the voice that erupted out of her chest was not her own at all, was not even of this earth. It was a dark hiss, and gave his body the same goosebumps as Seth’s had the first moment he heard it. The boy stammered, moving his mouth as if to want to give her the answer but to come up empty. It only served to anger the girl as she scruffed his collar tighter, snarling into his face for a response, “Where is it?”

But the kid swallowed whatever words he was going to give, pulling a switchblade out from his trouser pocket.

“Praise Ammit,” He murmured. It came out forced, as if he’d been told those words by the people around him, as if he didn’t entirely believe them himself but had been programmed to cut his losses if he were at an interrogation like this.

Swiftly, before Marc could intervene and save the poor kid’s short life, the boy brought the knife up to the shirt that seemed to be the only thing stopping him from plummeting off the cliff edge and slit the fabric clean in two.

As expected, his body could do nought else but fall, fall silently and morbidly down the twenty-foot edge until something cracked with a loud thud as he hit the ground.

Which was exactly the moment Dove returned to her body.

Her consciousness was all but dragged from the pit of her mind, a surge of breath entering her lungs as if she were coming up for air from being held underwater. Where the hell was she? Why was she stood at a cliff’s edge?

Her face felt sticky, hands coated in a honey like wetness. In fact her entire body felt tight with the stuff. And the smell, the bitter iron that burned her throat with every breath.

A frown settled on her features, looking down at herself only to see a tight black suit that covered her entire body, metallic prongs ribbing the gear like bones. But that wasn’t what caught her eye. It was the reddish sheen reflecting off the black in wet patches, the viscid liquid entirely covering where her hands were exposed, the only trace of the suit being more boning up to her fingertips where lethal sharp claws lay, dripping with more of the claret vermillion substance.

Blood. She was covered in blood. Why was she always covered in blood?

She must have made some sort of wail of freight because then hands were grabbing her shoulders. Yelping, squirming, shrieking some more, she quickly realised the hands were turning her around, hands that were equally as bloodied and bruised. Olive shaded hands she had come to know quite well.

Hands that were stroking her hair, holding her head to try get her to calm down. All sound had run away with her in the midst of her terror, it took her a moment to understand he was talking to her.

“You’re okay, you’re alright,” He cooed, the blaring panic clear as day in her eyes as she drank him in, her mind ticking at the fact he had blood on his face too, trickled from a large gash on the side of his head down his jaw.

“Yo-you’re hurt,” Was all she could say, his big hands encompassing both sides of her head as she raised her own fingers to touch his wound gently. It was then she was reminded, as Marc unintentionally drew away from the sharp claws, that she was indeed a weapon. She would hurt him with a single touch, and then there would be more blood, his blood on her. She couldn’t bare the thought of hurting him. She’d rather cut her own throat here and now than harm him. “Marc, what did I do-”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” He repeated, stroking the side of face carefully, her eyes turning down in utter hopelessness. Her gaze briefly wondered over his shoulder to the bodies on the floor, her breath choking in her throat at the sight of them, the blood, oh fucking god theres so much blood- “Don’t look at that, you don’t need to see that, you’re okay,” Marc shushed her as her face filled with remorse, pulling her head into his chest, circling his muscled arms around her shaking body for a tight hug.

She squashed herself against him, hugging him back just as hard with the need for his comfort, burying her face into his top, eyes squeezing shut as if to hope to erase the nasty sight of the dead in front of them.

“Marc, what have I done?”

-

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Authors note: I’m really sorry if you’re names here and you’ve not been tagged. I have tried y so double check your settings that you are tag-able by accounts who do not follow you. Hope youse enjoyed this update!

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 2 - Collaring

Another different fandom that has caught my attention is Obey Me! What can I say? I'm a monster fucker through and through and have a soft spot for anime men. ^^; Enjoy!~

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No matter how many times you were summoned to the Demon Lord’s castle, a wave of nervousness would slither down your spine. Were you in trouble? Or was this simply your beloved demon prince seeking your company once again? Either way, you had no idea what to make of the situation you’d found yourself in now.

Neither Diavolo nor Barbatos had asked any overly strange questions to you that week. Maybe you should’ve seen a red flag when the heir to the Devildom’s throne asked if you knew the circumference of your neck. But the man was full of odd questions about seemingly random topics all the time with you. This wasn’t too far outside the realm of possibility. 

So here you were in the prince’s room, trying your best not to shake like a leaf. “The young master will be in shortly,” Barbatos informs you before quietly shutting the door. You fidget quietly with the little keychain Asmo had gotten you for your DDD. It felt like an eternity, just sitting there waiting in the quiet of your lover’s room.

You jump slightly when the door opens again, regardless of how soft the sound actually was. “Did I startle you?” Diavolo is across the room with a surprised look. It’s true that since you began your residency here, you’d become arguably less startled than you used to be. You’re sure you had the seven brothers you lived with to thank for that amongst other things. “Forgive me, I know this summons was sudden.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, despite all evidence to the contrary. Diavolo slips into the room fully, an arm hidden out of your line of sight. You lean a little to try and see, but the prince follows your movements, keeping his surprise hidden. 

“In time dearest, in time,” he assures you. You offer him a small pout that he has come to know as teasing before he comes to rest on his knees before you. A small blush rushes to your cheeks at how intimately close Diavolo is to you. Sure the two of you had been intimate before, but…this felt beyond different. “You have drawn me in further and further with each passing moment. Every instance we share together, I will treasure, even once I take my father’s place.”

You watch with awe as the demon prince produces a box from behind his back. Without even noticing, you noticed his shift to his more demonic appearance. It was one you were far more familiar with these days than his day to day appearance. Velvety wings as dark as the night sky fluttered softly against his darker skin. You could see his amber eyes watching your expression closely from behind cherry red locks.

“But I don’t want the memories to make to stay here, within the confines of your exchange program,” Diavolo continued. Perfectly black painted nails tucked under the lid of the box to open it slowly. Inside, resting against beautiful scarlet velvet was, what you could only describe to be, a collar. An obsidian chain that would rest around your neck and come to sit just between where each of your clavicle. At it’s center point was a lock that would serve to hold the two ends of the chain together.

“I need only know that you feel the same.” The heir’s voice, soft yet somewhat eager pulls you out of your trance. Your eyes meet his; the demon before you is borderline buzzing with anticipation. A sad mixture of hopefulness and fear should you turn his offer down. It’s all so overwhelming, you can’t help but let a few tears streak down your cheeks.

Just as his smile starts to fade, you lunge forward, arms wrapping tightly around Diavolo. Not expecting your affection, he topples backwards, nearly dropping the box in the process. “Oh Dia!” You cry against the crook of his neck and shoulder.

As you pull back, you can’t help but notice the confused look on your prince’s face. You can’t help but chuckle; some things still really were a mystery to him. “Of course I’ll accept,” you tell him, wiping tears from your eyes. “This…this has a whole different meaning to humans. And it’s really sudden, but…I’d be a fool not to.”

That eager puppy-like smile is back in an instant as the demon prince now embraces you oh so tightly. You feel a few pops along your spine and can’t help but laugh. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would fine someone as precious to me as you are,” you hear him mumble against your chest. “And to think, you’d feel the same…”

Strong yet careful hands take the chain out of it’s box, fingers tender as if he fears it will simply break under his touch. You try to stop crying as Diavolo unclasps the lock at the front, gently laying the cool metal against your skin before the lock is clicked shut. “I’m having Barbatos find someone who can make me a matching chain so I can keep the key safe with me always,” the demon informs you. “I am yours, as you are mine.”

You take his much larger hand in yours and place it against your cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to his palm. The action always managed to bring a rather noticeable blush to the demon prince’s cheeks. “You know…” you start, briefly considering not telling him this. “In human terms, you basically just proposed to me. You know that, right?” 

Diavolo flashes a cheeky fanged grin, despite the blush remaining. “Well, you did say ‘yes’, didn’t you?” And now it’s your turn to blush, chuckling softly in response.

“Til death do us part.”

[atiny-piratequeen]

Play Bratty games....

Summary: ...Win bratty prizes. Did you really think you'd get by running your mouth to a god like that without him putting you back in your place?

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: Fem!Reader x Whiro (Jongho)

𓆩⟡𓆪Genres/Aus: Against the Tide Verse (its an Au in an AU-), Non Idolverse, Smut

𓆩⟡𓆪Tws: Swearing, Jealousy

𓆩⟡𓆪Sws: (Everything is Safe, Sane, and Consensual), Bratty Reader, Brat tamer Whiro, Spanking, Slight Objectification, Degradation, Pierced Cock, Unprotected Sex, Claimin, Rough Sex, Creampie

𓆩⟡𓆪Rating: Explicit/Mature (18+)

𓆩⟡𓆪WC: 600+

𓆩⟡𓆪A/n: For any of my non AtTiny who want to know who Whiro is and how he's tied to Jongho...idk maybe read a bombastic in progress work of art that explains it all cough cough.

This was a popcorn commission from the lovely @atiny-dazzlinglight that I finished a bit ago but life happened and I didn't post it till now. Sorry for the hold up and I hope you and all my AtTiny can enjoy~

𓆩⟡𓆪AO3| Taglist Form (Please make sure your urls are updated and able to actually be tagged) | Commission Sheet𓆩⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪Network Ping- @kwritersworld| @k-vanity | @cultofdionysusnet𓆩⟡𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪©atiny-piratequeen. do not repost, translate, or use my works𓆩⟡𓆪

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“You’re quiet now. What’s wrong? Nothing to say?” the growl of a man’s voice cut into the sounds of skin slapping against skin in the room. A tattooed arm is woven around your frame, with a firm grip placed on your throat as soft lips find their way to your ear. 

“C’mon~ I want to hear you mouth off again. Bring up the flower boy, isn’t that your favorite thing to do to rile me up? Mmm? Tell me again how you’ll just ask him to fuck you since I won't ‘give you enough attention’, was it? C’mon baby, I’m dying to hear it.” 

“W-Whi…ro-” You gasp out, clenching around him as he sped up the moment you force more than moans past your lips. Your eyes flutter, rolling back as your mouth falls open. His balls slap against the curve of your ass, and you have half a mind to be flustered by how wet it sounded. 

How many times had he come inside of you since he’d pinned you here, growling filth into your ear and pinning you with your hips propped up by pillows? 

“Be a good cock sleeve and sit right there. I’ll do all the work, since you think I’m not being a good enough man for you. We’ll play a game. If you can get your ass up after I’m done with you, I’ll relent and admit flower boy is a better lay.”

The same bratty side of you that got you in this position in the first place wanted to try your luck, see if you could run your mouth, but you’d ended up on your stomach faster than you had the chance to think of a witty comeback, a thick finger pushing into you as he chuckled. 

“You’re sopping back here. Does pissing me off make your pussy that much of a mess?”

“F-fuck you.” You hiss half-heartedly. He arched a brow, laughing to himself before placing a thunderous slap on your ass. You cry out and moan brokenly, eyes widening in surprise while he puts another finger in, stretching and curling them deep inside of you, his teeth grazing over your ear. 

“No, no. Tonight, you don’t get to. You get to be a perfect little breed slut.” 

And that’s how you ended up here, your hands fisted in the sheets, a blissed-out smile on your face as Whiro fucks into you, every thrust making the tip of his pierced cock kiss your cervix. His fingers flex against your throat and you almost cry out in need when you feel him loosen his grip, even if it's slightly. 

His weight on you, his growls in your ear, and the tattooed arm around your frame holding you were the only things keeping you grounded. He chuckled, pinning your hips with his own, speeding up and growling into your ear as your eyes fluttered closed. 

“Yes, yes, yes right there thank you!” You finally feel yourself clench and clamp down, your body trembling like a leaf as he pinned you with his hips, groaning loudly and cumming deep inside of you. He stayed settled, hips slowly working, milking every last drop of his cum inside of you with hard, powerful thrusts before slowly coming to a stop, smiling down at your spent and fucked out form. 

“Thank…you…thank you…ah~”

Whiro grinned, canines flashing. He wanted to ask if you felt like getting up and going to Geb like you’d teasingly threatened to do before this all started, but he took one look at you, sleepily kissing and nuzzling his palm, and decided he’d let you rest without teasing.

At least this time.

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[asimplearchivist]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ eliana gets a special case of whiplash. the future isn't what she remembered. pairing(s) ✨ [tba] word count ✨ 3.6k a/n ✨ [header credit] | [divider credit] ⤏ this is another filler chapter, and there might be a couple more while I slowly hedge eliana and dusknoir together without her throwing a tantrum. gotta take it slow, y'know? ✨ MASTERPOST ✨ ✨ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ✨ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ✨

Eliana woke out of habit rather than by the sounds of Lu shifting in his bed or by the warm morning sunlight streaming in through the bluff’s gaping maw. The lack of windows in the guest room didn’t allow any indication of the time, and she couldn’t hear any of the local bird Pokémon from so far down, but her body was accustomed to rising with Lu (since he was, unfortunately for her night-Noctowl tendencies an early-bird). She cracked her eyes open to look for him, frowning. When her groggy mind processed the cozy burrow, she remembered that she was by herself.

That’s right. She was in the future. Her true home, she supposed idly, stretching her limbs and arching her crackling spine with a gaping yawn. How could she have forgotten?

Her eyelids and legs felt unbearably heavy as she padded silently across the mat to drink from the basin in hopes it would rouse herself better. The fire in the hearth had burned down to coals at some point during the night, so the air was a bit chilly. It was almost unbearably quiet, save the trickle of the water and the rasp of her own breathing.

Eliana sat back on her haunches to wash her face. Although she never would’ve imagined it as a human, grooming was unexplainably soothing. She’d found the concept alien, at first, even without her memories, upon first being transformed into an Eevee. Lu had long-sufferingly shown her the highlights since she hadn’t been born with the innate knowledge of how to keep herself clean—because they lived on the coast and traveled almost every day, they often had sand or dust work its way into their pelts. It became a nightly routine soon after they became apprentices, and Lu often helped her—once she had gotten the hang of it, she’d returned the favor. It was a comfort she couldn’t describe, having him close and knowing she was safest even when he fussed at her for fidgeting.

She missed showering, sure, even if she could visit the hot springs outside of Treasure Town—and she still thought it a bit strange to have someone else tongue-bathe her (and Lu would likely remain the only person whom she would allow to perform such a personal, if slightly embarrassing, task upon her)…but, in some ways, maintaining her pelt was far easier than having to futz around with soaps or the plethora of products that had comprised her hair and skin care regimine—a lot cheaper, too.

Once finished, a cursory glance at her reflection in the glassy surface of the basin showed that she’d managed to smooth down her fur to look halfway presentable. The leafs adorning her forehead and framing the ends of her ears had wilted just slightly during the night, which wasn’t unusual. Perhaps not even having ambient moonlight available to photosynthesize made it a tad worse, but it wasn’t anything that wouldn’t rectify itself after a bit of time outside.

Eliana left her things where Lu had placed them, uncertain of whether she’d need them. The Treasure Bag was ill-suited for her to carry, regardless, since Lu usually had with his better stature. She nudged the door open and picked her way through the narrow corridor, brushing past the vines that grew from the eeks of sunlight that spilled in from the grate at the Guild’s entrance. She passed the open doorway that led to the Guild’s library and paused, peering into its darkened depths. Even without the sconces lit, she knew where the bookshelves were, as well as the massive table against the wall that served as a desk.

“…You needn’t stay so late for my sake, you know. I am more predisposed to remain awake during the night than you are.”

“Yeah, but then who would keep you company? Lu certainly can’t handle being up past his bedtime, but I have a hard time falling asleep most of the time. He says I’m allergic to it.”

A low chuckle, resounding like distant thunder. A glowing glance towards the slumbering pup curled up in the crook of a bulky, cradling arm. “Certainly…but he is working hard, just as you are. I greatly appreciate your assistance. Your attention to detail makes seeking out answers regarding the Time Gears’ potential locations far easier than it would be if I were researching alone.” A pause. “And…your company makes the process far less tedious.”

“I’m glad that my excessive ramblings can be of service.”

“I dislike working in silence, anyway—I find that I prefer companionship over solitude. But it is refreshing to hear knowledge over that which I am unfamiliar, so, please…do not stop on account of anyone in the past telling you to refrain from it.”

“So my musings on the hypothetical reasons for the utilization of Unown runes as apposed to Footprint runes in the texts weren’t boring you?”

“Quite the opposite, actually—I was enthralled.”

“Would you like for me to continue?”

“Please do.”

Eliana’s tail lashed sharply against the side of the wall, accidentally slicing one of the leaves off of the vine and sending it fluttering to the ground. The fur lining her spine rose as she went stiff, lowering her head with a scoff and shook it sharply to dislodge the lingering, insistent memory (even if it still brought undeniable senses of comfort, affection, and assuredness from stolen moments before everything fell apart, despite her best efforts to suppress any recollections from that time—and no, the irony did not escape her). 

She climbed up the steep incline to the next floor up, ears perking forward as the familiar sound of the daily address filtered in through the mouth of the tunnel.

“…One! Don’t shirk work! Two! Run away and pay! Three! Smiles go for miles!”

“Okay, Pokémon! Get to work!”

“Hoo—”

“Hold on for a moment, everyone—there’s one more matter I’d like to discuss before the lot of you get started for the day.”

The crowd of curious eyes rounded as Lu spoke up from behind Chatot. The music note Pokémon hopped aside with an enthusiastic flutter of his wings to allow him to stand before them directly.

“As I’m certain you’ve all overheard from the commotion yesterday,” Lu began, glancing towards the warren from which Eliana had tentatively emerged, “we have a very special visitor who will be staying with us until further notice. I want each one of you to treat her with as much respect and charity as you would myself or anyone else in the Guild, seeing as she’s a graduate herself—as well as my old exploration team leader.”

A soft gasp preluded the swell of interested murmurs, and Eliana’s fur prickled as their collective gaze locked onto her. At Lu’s beckoning, she apprehensively picked her way across the scuffed floor and stood, reticent, at his side.

“Eliana is one of our brightest pupils—as well as a remarkably successful graduate—just like the Guildmaster, and she’s spread the pride of the Guild’s name far and wide!” Chatot boasted, plumage fluffing out along his chest as he rocked from side to side.

“Please,” she said, ears twisting back, “I consider myself adequate at best. I just try to complete my job to the best of my ability.”

Lu cleared his throat to smother a knowing chuckle. “Nevertheless, the stories of your accomplishments precede you, so please forgive their enthusiasm. These are all of our apprentices: Kirlia and Togetic of Team Serenity, Magby and Elekid of Team Spark, Vibrava and Shelgon of Team Freefall, and Eevee and Shinx of Team Hailstorm.”

Her eyes passed over the group with intrigue, lingering on her near kinsman in the same spot where she used to stand behind Lu every morning—except that the younger girl was a shiny Pokémon, which greatly surprised Eliana because she couldn’t recall ever seeing any before. All of their eyes were shining with varying degrees of awe or fascination.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” Eliana offered, flashing her teeth in a smile. “You seem like very pleasant Pokémon to be around, and promising explorers to boot with all that boundless energy. Make sure to always work really hard, and you’ll accomplish anything you set your minds to.”

“Can we get your autograph?” Magby piped up.

Elekid nodded enthusiastically. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so much younger than the Guildmaster.”

“Oh, don’t be a nuisance, boys!” Chatot scolded, feathers ruffling. “How embarrassing!”

“It’s not every day that we get to meet a world-famous explorer, though,” murmured Shelgon bashfully, tucking her face further within her carapace. Vibrava rested atop her back, patting her shell with his feet reassuringly.

“A real-life celebrity!” breathed Kirlia, her hands clasped together as her eyes sparkled. “And it’s the great Eliana, to boot! I never would have thought I’d get to see one up close!”

Eliana cast a wry smile towards Chatot, even while her stomach sank as inexplicable discomfort—a sort of deja vu thankfully unrelated to the Dimensional Scream—coiled cold and curdled there. “I don’t mind at all. I don’t think I’ve done anything noteworthy to garner that much attention, but…if anyone wants advice, I can try my best to be helpful.”

“Guildmaster Lucario said that you’re just as knowledgeable as Mister Dusknoir from Team Sunrise, and that you all worked together before!” remarked Eevee, her tail wagging fiercely with the effort it took to remain still. “Is that true?”

“…Oh.” Eliana glanced at Lu, watching his expression tighten with an apology plainly written in his eyes. “I…don’t know if I would say that, but…I have studied for quite some time. And I am…familiar with him, yes, but…I, uh…I know Grovyle far better.”

“I’ve heard a lot of stories about you all saving the world,” added Shinx excitedly, “can you tell us what it was like? Did you two really fight Dialga all by yourselves as first-forms?”

“And did Mister Grovyle and Mister Dusknoir really used to hate each other?” inquired Togetic. “They get along so well, even if they bicker a whole lot!”

“Miss Celebi told me once that you were the one that decided to fix the planet’s paralysis—how did you know that there was something wrong to start with if it was all you’d ever known?” pointed out Vibrava, evidently trying to be respectful despite the somewhat invasive nature of his question.

Eliana swallowed roughly, her skin prickling beneath her fur as she fought the sudden urge to flee. She hadn’t exactly anticipated getting interrogated by a bunch of children, even if they only meant well. (It didn’t help that she realized, in that moment, why she was feeling deja vu so strongly.)

“I don’t even know how you lot know half of those things,” Lu spoke up, projecting his voice over their cacophony and effectively silencing them, “but any questions regarding our career can be directed towards me. If you want general advice, I am certain that Eliana would be more than happy to entertain you. Please respect her decision if she elects not to answer any personal questions you may have for her, however—is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused. Most of them had the decency to appear contrite for letting their curiosity get the better of them.

“Good. Now—” Lu gave them a shooing gesture. “—get to work!”

“Hooray!”

Eliana shrank back into Lu’s flank as Chatot flapped his wings at them to get their attention so he could divvy out their duties for the day. Lu placed a paw between her shoulder blades and stepped back out of earshot, closer to the door of his office.

“I am sorry, El,” he murmured, frowning. “I didn’t have enough time to warn them before you arrived. I didn’t mean for them to overwhelm you—they’re a little blunt at times and I may have shared some stories about you in the past.”

Eliana sat and patted his hip. “It’s alright, Lu. I’m just not used to being…looked up to like that, I guess. Or being considered old.” She tilted her head with a small smirk in an attempt to disguise her lingering discomfort—even if he could see right through her, she could at least pretend for her own sake. “Am I really that famous?”

Lu gave her a flat look. “Never mind the fact that you played a key hand in shaping their world as they know it, hmm?”

“I may have dabbled in it, sure.” She glanced towards the group as Chatot dismissed them and they all filed for the stairwell, chattering amongst themselves all the while. “They seem like good kids.”

“Some of the best. I’m rather fond of them.” He chuckled. “They remind me of the good old days.”

“What exactly do they know about…you know,” Eliana queried, looking back up to him. “They seem to hold…Team Sunrise in high regard.”

“The three of them arrived before most of them were old enough to conduct their own business, and they moved into town once they established themselves as an exploration team. I offered them the bluff to stay in since I had moved back into the Guild—for good, this time—and hated to see the space go to waste. The children grew up around them. And, since those three don’t seem to know how to rest, they’ve done something for most of them personally by now. They’ve gotten quite popular with the rest of the townspeople.” Lu hesitated, then folded his arms over his chest as his mouth pursed. “Particularly Dusknoir.”

Eliana gritted her teeth, but tried to speak clearly so that she might sound halfway sincere. She wasn’t certain how she felt about Lu forfeiting the home that they’d made their own for so many years, but…c’est la vie, she supposed. At least it gave Grovyle and Celebi somewhere to shield their heads. “Why is that?”

Lu’s brow rose and she knew that he’d picked up on that, too. “He’s developed a soft spot for children, and he nurtures them when he can—even if it’s just in passing since he keeps himself so busy. I think he and the others have even ended up babysitting a couple of times when the kids’ parents have been in dire straits. He’s a menace when it comes to giving them candy while their parents aren’t looking—or so I’ve heard.”

Eliana frowned. “Does no one remember…?”

“Those that were around during that time do, of course, but many of them have retired and traveled elsewhere or have experienced Dusknoir’s change of heart firsthand and have allowed bygones to be bygones since his past actions didn’t particularly have a direct impact on them.” Upon Eliana’s grunt of disbelief, Lu huffed wryly. “I know. The planet’s paralysis would have effected everyone, but…they didn’t fully realize that since they didn’t see it like we did. He’s redeemed himself in everyone’s eyes by now—and it certainly helps that most of them only know the new him. He’s respected, and I’d venture to say that it’s well-earned.”

“That’s…good,” she offered lamely. She’d have to see it to believe it—and, even then, she suspected that it would be extremely difficult to accept it still. “Good for him.”

Lu studied her for a moment in that unsettlingly soul-searching way that never failed to make Eliana fidget. He was an open book to her, certainly, and couldn’t lie to save his life—but that was a two-way street when he could literally read her emotions (in color).

“Let me show you around town,” he said finally, carefully neutral in his invitation. “I’m sure you’d like to see how everything’s changed.”

Eliana let out a tight breath and tried to give him a smile. “Lead the way, Guildmaster.”

Fortunately, the fame-induced kerfuffle for the day seemed to have been done, as no one bothered either of them while Lu gave her a tour of the ever-growing Treasure Town. 

More tents dotted the available spaces, crowded amongst the biggest trees for shelter against the capricious whims of coastal weather. Like she had already seen, Toxicroak and Chimecho had moved their businesses to the corners adjacent to the steppe that led up to the Guild. Lu told her that Spinda had expanded the café to accommodate the increased clientele, and the traveling bazaar had set up permanent shops within it, as well. Some of the familiar faces around town had changed—gotten older, evolved, gotten jobs or joined teams or made their own—and it was the slowest sort of whiplash she’d ever experienced.

The Keckleon brothers had moved elsewhere, so they’d placed their twin nieces there instead. Kangaskhan’s child was significantly older; Xatu had an apprentice, Natu, who would replace him; Marowak had his son Cubone helping out with the Dojo; the Elekid who was Lu’s apprentice was Electivire’s grandson; Chansey had evolved into Blissey and had a Happiny assistant, and Duskull had evolved into Dusclops.

…That was a bit of a readjustment. The teller had greeted her as warmly and as ominously as ever, but the sight of his hands had put Eliana a bit on edge. Despite his pleasure in informing her that her account had accrued quite a bit of interest in her absence, she’d only been able to offer him a thin smile and quiet thanks in return.

Lu stayed close, keeping his voice low. They didn’t move past the town square, and even though she actively tried to avoid the thought while they conversed with some passers by, she glanced along the path that led towards the bluff.

“They’ll likely be gone for a day or two,” Lu told her as the Ursaring couple bade them good day and moved on with a giggling Teddiursa in tow between them. “They told me they’re going north of Amp Plains to the ravines there. The terrain will slow their progress.”

Eliana frowned. Dusknoir would have no trouble, given his inborn ability to levitate, plus Celebi’s ability to fly (although she would have to rest at some point) would help her, but Grovyle wasn’t necessarily built for that. He could climb trees all day long, sure, but mountains? He’d surely get tired, and quickly at that.

“They’ll be fine,” Lu told her, no doubt sensing her worry. “They’re professionals at this by now, and they work well together…when they don’t bicker, anyway, but I think that’s mostly for show. Or maybe Celebi finds it funny, so she starts arguments to sit back and watch. I haven’t really figured that out yet.” Lu placed a palm between her shoulder blades and turns to guide her back towards the Guild. “They’re a tight-knit team, and they’ve never come back empty-handed. You don’t have to fret about them.”

“That’s…good to know,” Eliana responded quietly, following his lead. Her tail and ears drooped slightly in spite of herself. “I’m…glad they’re so proficient at this.”

“You ought to be proud of them.” Lu flashed her a grin—or at least his closest approximation to one, since he’d never seen one. It was always a little too toothy, but Eliana found it sweet and arguably more sincere than the carefully maintained smiles others used. “I know I am. They stay just as busy as we used to.”

Used to. You don’t have to fret over them. Eliana swallowed and tried to return the gesture, as superfluous as it was. “Is there anything I can help you with back at the Guild?”

Lu blinked, expression tightening at her change in tone, but he dropped the subject. “Quite a bit, actually. Those kids keep Chatot and me on our toes all the time, so some of the general maintenance slips away from us. Let’s eat some lunch and I’ll go over it in more detail.”

The list contained mostly monotonous work. The tunnel needed to be weeded (to which she could attest). Although the stands for Chimecho and Toxicroak’s businesses had been taken down and replaced with furniture, they needed to order some rugs from Keckleons’ to keep the dust down. The library’s collection needed to be recategorised.

“I know it all seems a bit silly, and I hate to ask you to do things so tedious,” Lu began, rubbing the back of his neck while his claws worried the skin of a pecha berry in his free paw, “but I don’t really have anyone else I can ask since the graduates are generally preoccupied with their own jobs—”

“Lu, it’s fine,” Eliana told him gently, digging through the basket to find a pinap—her favorite, after Spinda had introduced her to their tangy, sweet flavor in a smoothie once shortly after their expedition. “You know I enjoy mindless chores. It gets my brain to stop running all the time. Gives me the chance to catch back up.”

He relaxed, watched her for a long moment, then let out a soft chuckle and shook his had. “I do know. It’s still just…a readjustment. I sure could’ve used your help through all of this, but…I’m sure glad to have you back now.” He smiled again, ears twisting back. “I hope you slept all right.”

She hadn’t, but that wouldn’t change anything. “Yeah. The bed was very comfortable.”

“Good. I had some down added in so you might be a little warmer down there.” Lu leaned back where he sat, finally biting into the weeping berry. “I have some things I need to do after this, so are you okay for me to leave for a while?”

“Yeah.” Eliana bit the inside of her cheek as she failed to find a pinap in the heap. She settled for a sitrus; it wasn’t quite the same, but it would do. “I’ll be fine holding down the fort.”

[lskisms]

DEATH RESEMBLED YOU, J. FAHEY

synopsis — you’ve been beating around your feelings towards a certain zemeni durast for months now, but so it seems, has he.

genres &&. warnings — angst, hurt/comfort &&. mutual pining, confessions, canon-typical violence, discussions of loss and grief, spoilers for shadow and bone season 2/crooked kingdom regarding jesper’s history.

word count — 3k

note — in my “writing for shadow and bone” era. will be posting more joel miller content soon, i am just incredibly busy with school and working on a series for tlou rather than any one-shots. i hope you enjoy.

there’s not much you remember right now, which should be scary, losing your memory and all. but how can it be when you’re here, under a sea of stars and cradled in the warm embrace of the boy you’ve loved for years? jesper is so close in a way you’ve never had him, his personal scent of spices and gunsmoke, comforting and familiar, grounding you as he holds you to him.

your ears ring, locking you away from the audible world, but you can see and feel. jesper’s face wavers above you, dark eyebrows drawn together and darker eyes glassy with tears. you can feel the confusion ghost over your features and the words get stuck in your throat: why are you crying, jes? what’s wrong? how could anything be wrong when you’re pressed into his chest and one of his hands, trembling like a leaf in autumnal winds, cradles your cheek? all around you is warmth and you swear you’ve never felt so comfortable, so cozy. when your eyes begin to slip closed, it felt like the most natural thing to do; the darkness was coaxing you into its own embrace, away and further away from jesper. you don’t want to lose the feeling of the boy’s stable chest tight against your shoulder, but you feel so tired, nothing a nice slumber can’t fix.

as you’re allowing that dark tide to drift you out to sea, the ringing in your ears starts to fade, jesper’s voice slowly taking its place. your name sounds so desperate on his lips, each syllable quivering sonically the way his hand does physically. your eyes slide open, struggling to stay open all the way but trying, just to take in jesper’s face for a little while longer.

“hey, hey, hey.” you can hear the tears in his voice now and you’re still missing the reason why. “you’ve gotta stay awake, okay? keep your eyes open.”

you start to form his name on your own tongue, but he shakes his head, effectively keeping you quiet. you’re starting to come to, mind catching up with body, and you realize that jesper’s tears aren’t for nothing. every part of you aches something fierce, but there is a certain kind of sting in your stomach that you recognize is the source of your fatigue: you’ve been stabbed. the dizziness, the way your eyes threaten to slip closed, the full spectrum exhaustion.

“i told kaz i had a bad feeling, sending you off without a partner,” jesper mumbles to himself. you register his free hand at your stomach, pressing his scarf tightly against the wound. when you groan, he looks up, a poignant and solid kind of sorrow written across his face that morphs immediately into worry again when you start to feel that hypnotic pull of darkness once again.

he gasps out another series of “hey” and drags you back into consciousness, letting out a breathy laugh of relief, anything to keep you focused on him, on staying awake. but you’re losing that battle and quickly, something he realizes when your eyes are glossing over and looking through him at something he can’t see. you vaguely register his call of “nina! inej! anyone!” before he bends back over you, forehead dangerously close to yours.

you’d never admit it to anyone, but if you have to die now, you’re glad it’s in the arms of one of the only people who has ever made you feel welcome and worthy. maybe it’s because the crows are their own little family or maybe it’s because jesper knows what it’s like to be on the outskirts of something, not quite part of that ingroup, and never wanted you to feel the same, but ever since joining the group, jesper has been your self-appointed everything: friend, confidante, errand boy. and, like a popular fairytale, you fell for him.

jesper has always been everything you aren’t, filled in every gap that you have. he’s done more than fit seamlessly into your life; he has complemented you in ways that nobody else ever has. with someone like kaz, the relationship is a balancing act, too far in one direction and it’s off-kilter, but jesper, things are perfectly in sync. they always have been. with the way he transitioned into your life and made it feel like he’d always been there, like he’d been meant to come into your life, how could you not fall for him? whether he knows it or not, he’s shown you how to love and how to be loved, a lesson unintentionally taught yet learned eagerly.

so yeah, if you’re dying right now, jesper so close that the tip of his nose brushes yours and his breath fans hot and soft over your face, his arms wrapped tight around you, how could you not be okay with leaving the world like this? in the arms of the first and only boy you’ve ever loved, you can’t imagine a better way to go, though it’s saddening that dying is the only way you’d gotten him to hold you in the way you’ve been dreaming of for months. you make your peace with it. he has to know now, as you lean your weight into his body, cheek pressed to his shoulder, eyes finding purchase on his face, that you love him most ardently, that you have longed to be in this position for so many moons.

and you’re losing it again, that battle with being, and he’s rocking now, taking you with him as he buries his face in your hair, tears seeping through to the scalp. at least when you go, you’ll have a piece of him with you. his chest rumbles under you, his words warm against your skin, a steady plea of “come on. stay with me,” even though you know you can’t. you’ve never been meant to.

the darkness is familiar and comforting, all cinnamon and clove and gunpowder. and it’s soft, too. warm, like you’re pinned under the gaze of someone longing and silent. if this is what death feels like, you ponder why you were ever afraid of it in the first place because this seems like your personal heaven.

but then the darkness begins to break apart, all soft golden light and consciousness. your senses are coming back to you.

not dead, you think. i’m not dead. saints, i didn’t die in that alleyway.

you start taking stock of the senses you do have (sound, scent, touch), but you fixate on the weight on your hand, the dip in the mattress beside you. hand, warm, soft, uncalloused, nimble. breath hot against your fingers. and then there’s the allspice and gunsmoke, secrets of a zemeni upbringing that had been divulged to you in the quiet late night hours of private crow club bedrooms.

jesper.

you say his name this time, barely a whisper, and though you haven’t opened your eyes yet, you can tell that the boy stirs. because you know him the way he knows you, the way neither of you know anyone else. you can picture the way he squeezes his eyes shut, presses his shoulders back to release tension and sleep, things that only you know that he does as he wakes up. only when he shoots up, letting out some unintelligible sound of surprise, do you finally let your eyes slide open, squinting against early morning sunlight.

your name falls from him, soft and reverential, as if treating your name so delicately will ensure that you are alive, will speak your life into existence, coaxing you away from death. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so relieved as he does now, eyes shining as he looks down at you. his leg closest to the door keeps shifting, as if he’s warring between letting your friends know that you’re awake and not, though you’re not quite so sure of the implications of the second option.

finally, though, after glancing at the bedroom door, he settles back beside your bed, riding the very edge of the chair as though he can’t bear to put any semblance of distance between you.

“how do you feel?” he asks, shoving his hands between his thighs; it’s a habit of his, you realized months ago, something he does when his hands feel restless, but he doesn’t want to annoy others.

that’s right; you hadn’t finished taking inventory of yourself after you’d woken him up. besides the residual aches and the persistent pulsing of the knife wound in your side, you feel… okay. whoever it was that healed you (likely one of the many grisha in hiding here in ketterdam) deserves a million thanks because they did amazing work.

“i feel alright,” you answer, pulling yourself into a sitting position. “how long was i out?”

jesper shrugs, eyes falling to a fraying thread on the blanket. “a couple of days. which were miserable, might i add. inej and nina spent hours pacing the first few hours after we got you back here and while the healer was working on you.” he pauses for a moment, lips pursed as he turns something over in his head. you almost don’t think he’s going to say anything else until he opens his mouth and continues.

“the silence was almost unbearable after everyone left. i was the only one who stayed.”

you look at him, study the way he is making a point to not look at you. your heart aches: why doesn’t he want to look at me? did i read that night all wrong? it was possible, seeing as you’d been in the clutches of death and entirely delirious. you start to open your mouth to respond when the boy looks up, fresh tears in those clear eyes of his.

“i thought i was going to lose you.”

and there it is, that sharp knife of regret for something you couldn’t control. he wasn’t accusing you for what happened — he knew full well that it hadn’t been your fault. but there were other things, other people he could place blame on: kaz, who hadn’t thought there’d be a need for you to have a partner; himself because he hadn’t fought harder to convince kaz, because he hadn’t gotten there fast enough; the person who’d done this to you (long disposed of by now, if kaz had any say in the matter) because they considered you an enemy, hadn’t known the sweet feeling of being loved by you, of knowing that you were in their corner.

but under all of that, you know that it’s not why that sentence cuts so deep. he’d lost his mother through no fault of his own. and he’d abandoned his father on that jurda farm back in novyi zem under the impression that he was going to university in kerch. he’d lost nearly everyone who meant anything to him. maybe you’d severely underestimated how much value he placed in you, in your presence in his life.

“i’m sorry. i-“

jesper shakes his head, a sad kind of smile ghosting that perfect, plush mouth of his. “saints, it’s so cliche and childish of me, but…” he laughs, a sound thick with tears and dry humor. “i don’t care. i thought i was going to lose you without getting to tell you how i really feel about you. i’m not good with words the way you are, not when it comes to things like this, but you have to know now that i…”

the world around you falls away, the way it had when you’d been on your deathbed in some random alley in the city. there’s no steady hum of patrons filing out after an all-nighter, no street noise from outside the windows, not even a creak in the hall that denotes kaz or some other crow club member. right now, it is just you and jesper and the faint sounds of your breaths mingling in the silence as his words settle in.

“i knew something was wrong that night, but i gave you the benefit of the doubt because i know you can take care of yourself. but it wasn’t even twenty minutes before that feeling was too much. kaz didn’t want me leaving, but i just knew. i knew something had happened to you and then i found you just off one of the straats, bleeding to death.”

the breath he takes is trembling almost violently and your body moves faster than your mind; you can’t stop yourself from reaching out and taking the hand of his that fidgets with that damned loose thread. but you know what he means, that strange, otherworldly connection the two of you share, like some kind of telepathy; you could anticipate things, could sense when something bad had happened, even something great. you knew him inside and out, and vice versa.

“i didn’t know what to do. you were just laying there, not moving. you didn’t even react when i picked you up. it was like you were already gone. and the first thought i had after i need to get help was that i was going to lose you before i ever had the chance to tell you that i…”

he goes quiet, letting his voice trail off right before he gets to the words that you want to hear the most. but he’s looking at you and his eyes are glistening in that flaxen sunlight and he’s smiling that smile that is reserved for you and you alone, something akin to a secret, something earnest and warm and everything else that ketterdam so often seeks out and destroys.

and you realize that you don’t even need him to say it because it’s already there in spades without being vocalized. it’s there in the way he’s looking at you right now, in the way he refused to leave you alone when you were lost in the darkness, in the way he treats you with a safeguarded softness. it’s always been there; you were just too daft to notice it until now.

“jes…”

you’re not sure where you’re going, just that saying his name feels right, but when you trail off and his face drops, his shoulders tensing for a rejection that will never come, you do the only thing that’s reeling through your mind right now.

you cradle his face in your hands and meet him halfway, mouths soft and warm and tasting like sunlight. in his haste to get closer and comfortable, he nearly tips his chair over when he stands, towering over you. his own hands mimic yours, cradling your cheeks in those miraculously soft palms of his, fingertips pressing into skin. it’s not a heated kiss by any means, just something to test the waters, but it’s almost impossible to pull away. this is something you’ve dreamed about for months on end, the one thing you allow yourself to fantasize about as you fall asleep, knowing that it would never happen.

but it is. you are kissing jesper fahey and he is kissing you back. he is holding onto you like if he lets go, the whole moment will fall apart, disappear like a dream. he presses his lips impossible closer to yours, trying to close all the gaps between you, and it is his enthusiasm that finally causes the break away because you’re giggling breathlessly against his mouth.

of course, in typical jesper fashion, he doesn’t even move back entirely. yes, your mouths are no longer connected, but his nose brushes yours, there is a ghost of a touch between your foreheads. he remains so close that when you open your eyes and study his, you can see that the deep brown is not as consistent as you thought; rather, there are small flecks of gold and bronze that interrupt it. you think you could get lost in them forever if he’d let you.

“you’ve no idea how long i’ve been wanting to do that,” he says, the words fanning across your face in warmth exhale.

“i’ve no idea? you have no idea,” you respond, looking at him with complete bewilderment.

there’s no way he’s been wanting this for as long as you have, but he stares back, nothing short of amusement and recognition in his brown-gold-bronze eyes, and you realize that maybe he has. if not longer.

“this is ridiculous. you’re ridiculous,” you splutter, pushing him away by his shoulders and throwing yourself down into the covers dramatically (though mindful of the not-quite-healed-yet knife wound). jesper’s laugh in response is high and youthful and sonically pleasing, music-adjacent, and he follows you, the entire upper half of his body slumped over yours as he tucks his face against your shoulder and laughs more, laughs again, deep and full and comforting. you’re filled with a sense of pride, glad that you’re the one who can make him sound like that, so unguarded.

“that makes you ridiculous, too,” he responds in kind, finally crawling the rest of the way onto the mattress. you cease the playful struggle and he settles in behind you, body fit perfectly to yours, like two halves of a whole. his arm is warm and heavy over your waist, and you place your hand over his, fingers intertwining as you press them to your chest.

you've been in this position before, tucked against one another and reveling in the shared warmth, but this time, there is a mutual understanding that this means more, that it is more. he’s right, that you both are ridiculous for a multitude of things, but you finally ended up right where you are meant to be. there is hope and warmth and the promise of a future that looks brighter, clearer than the lives you lead now. maybe you’ll never leave ketterdam, maybe the two of you are bound to the crows and kaz brekker until death, but now you know you have each other.

[searsage]

She wasn't afraid, at least not for what would come, but what would be left behind..

A single human could not stand against the horrors of the night and hope for a miracle, yet she was content with her decision to stay with her vulnerable architect, decidedly not acknowledging what would come with dawn.

Robin would rather he be optimistic but she could not ignore the odds against her..

Her mind was a panicked mess of thoughts, on her surroundings, her worries, regrets…

Every snapped twig, fallen leaf, whispering breeze sounded so obnoxiously loud just moments ago..

What would Al-an wake to find..?

The anxious chittering around her has ceased..

Her remains scattered accross the bank?! Would he blame himself when it was her choice alone..?

Why was it so quiet..?

Of course her architect would, Al-an would never forgive himself.

A cancerous stain on an existence ungoverned by time, a weed nestled inbetween the joints of an immortal engine, how long would he carry her?

Her memory, her loss, her grief..!?

Suddenly an odd shiver shot up the resercher's spine, goosebumps rapidly rising on her shoulders as she felt a soft but unnatural breeze ghost against the back of her neck, the researcher's eyes narrowed, the hilt on the blade tightening in numb fingers, In a moment of numb resolve Robin turns around to face the adversary behind her…

It's not the night beast she expected it to be, no, the massive creature before her was so much worse..

It was so close to her, Robin could feel the heat radiating off it's slick black skin, and yet it stood motionless, as still as stone she may have walked by it without notice had it not been right up behind her, a massive splotch of vantablack against the backdrop of a dim and dreary forest.

Robin's heart thumps in her chest so hard it actually hurts as she stares back frozen in place, the way it's long neck bent reminded her of a viper poised to strike, but the dramatic bend of its neck almost seemed as if the massive creature's head was upside down..

It was impossible to make out its true visage when it's black skin seemed to swallow the scant rays of starlight escaping through rain filled clouds..

The air is so heavy, the weight of apprehension felt crippling but Robin remained still, her gaze unwavering, unwilling to give it an opening to strike, it would be foolish to show weakness, any wrong move could result in her death and that wasn't something she was keen on Al-an waking up too.

This stand off seems to stretch on for eternity, at least until the sound of a twig snapping shatters the tense silence and against her better judgement, Robin's eyes quickly cut to the side to see the familiar shape of a large night beast creeping up a tree not far off, it's pale glowing eyes watched her with intrigue but equally seemed to think better then confront the lone human in the presence of a much larger adversary…

A muffled noise has the resercher's head snapping back to the creature before her only to stiffen, it had shifted closer.

At her hip her PDA reiterates it's warning, a warning long too late.

"Detecting leviathan class lifeform in this region, proceed with caution. Error. Further system data required."

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

32) dust motes, Martin

The way that stained glass filters sunlight has a way of making everything feel—a little more holy. A little more beautiful. He understands anew, when the frosted segments of Akatosh cast the chapel in bright hues, the sense of serenity the chapel bestows.

The stained glass paints the front pews in bright afternoon oranges and golds, where Sister Oleta dozes next to the cobbler’s little girl. “We are praying, boy,” she grumbles without opening her eyes. The little girl cracks an eye open to peek, ducking her head again in embarrassment and holding her clasped hands over her face when she sees Martin.

Where Sister Oleta is praying in the front pew, he amends mentally. “I wouldn’t suggest otherwise,” Martin says, smiling, and blows a thin speckling of dust off the worn edge of the pulpit. In the light, against the shadows further in, the dust in the air looks like the flecks of gold leaf that cling to one’s fingertips from the front covers of the older catechisms. He draws a slow inhale. Dust in the air, breath in his lungs.

Perhaps it’s only that the right light can make anything beautiful.

The heavy sound of the chapel doors opening interrupts his cleaning and earns a dignified snort from Sister Oleta, mimicked in miniature by her studious little shadow. Eldamil stands squinting under the arch at the shift from bright outdoor sun to the darker chapel interior, his tall spindly frame silhouetted nearly black against the color of the city. His expression shifts as his eyes must adjust. “Brother Martin,” he nods. “I have the Guild’s donations for the month.”

“Ah—thank you.” Martin skirts the pulpit to hurry down the aisle. The small wood crate Eldamil lowers into his arms rattles faintly with the tell-tale sound of alchemist’s bottles. “Let me put these away and I’ll draw up your receipt.”

“Oh, do allow me to assist,” Eldamil says with a cat’s smile, quick. “I didn’t make any of these; it’s the least I can do, I’m sure.”

The hues of light in the chapterhouse are much less bright, much less variegated, but not unwelcome. Martin sorts and Eldamil tallies, head bent and shoulders stooped to accommodate his height as the pen scratches over the page. “Have you been well?” Martin holds up a bottle to inspect the smudged label—handled wetly while the ink was yet drying, it seems.

“Fairer than ever, Brother Martin.” He peers over the tops of his glasses frames at the bottle, then offers, “Allergy warning—wheat in that one.”

He sees it, now, the feathered shapes more legible once the meaning is supplied. “Thank you,” Martin sets down the bottle. “The constitutionals have been helping, then?”

Eldamil flickers another smile, somehow more obfuscated than the bleeding of the ink on the label. “You’ve no idea.”

“It’s good,” he says, watching him, curious, “to find a fresh perspective. A change every now and again refreshes the mind, I’ve found. Did you find anything interesting, exploring the streets afresh?”

“Many things,” Eldamil waves a hand. The curve of his mouth does not falter. “Odd, isn’t it, how people perform the same routines, take the same paths every day? Nothing changes, nothing new. No one really knows the place they live in.” He huffs a laugh, the light catching a glint off the lenses of his glasses. “No one really knows their neighbors, for that matter. Do we, Brother Martin?”

The last bottle tallied, his signature on the receipt. “No,” Martin says thoughtfully. “But isn’t that why we make the effort? There is always something to learn.”

“There is that,” he agrees. He scans the receipt before nodding, satisfied, and folding it to tuck into his shirt pocket. “Thank you for this. And for the privilege of assisting.”

“Please,” Martin lifts the emptied crate, amused, “I appreciate it. Let me carry this to the door for you. It went much quicker with the help—you seem singularly focused, lately. You are well?”

Some note of surprise flits across his face, then is subdued by his usual composure. “Yes, I promise. No need to waste your priestly concern on me, Brother. I suppose I am…” Eldamil pauses, adjusts his glasses, almost embarrassed. “I am only a little—a little excited. I am making myself ready,” he says at last. “I have a friend, coming to visit soon. That’s all. I’d like to show him all the new ways to walk the streets I’ve been learning. All the—small things, to appreciate, you understand.”

He does. It’s a nice thought to share with someone. He thinks of his own little discoveries of wonder, things to pause and point to. Dust in the air. Flecks of gold leaf. It’s only that people so often take it as doctrine instead, from his mouth. Martin walks him back up the short flight of stairs, the colorful chapel light welcoming their return, warmly dazzling. “I hope that your friend enjoys the city.”

Eldamil’s gaze lingers at the front of the chapel, where Sister Oleta has acquired three more small students tugging at her skirts with a thousand whispered questions that she shushes: There’s an order to these things, you lot; finish your prayers. He smiles without teeth, as blooming and golden as the motes still suspended aloft. “I think he will.”

[sunny-mercya]

In your arms, till the end

Edmund Pevensie x Male Reader

Fandom -> Chronicles of Narnia

Masterlist | Song for the mood

It is just the beginning of October, leafs losing their brightly shades of green and turning into the various colours of yellow, orange and brown. The occasionally gusts of chilly autumn winds felt icy—like spiking winter, without frostbites—heavily filled with the latest moisture of downpour and nibbles on inches of free skin, leaving a redish—rosy like—hue behind.

Edmund juggled and fumbles with his keys, trying to open the apartment door without dropping his bags, pushing open the door with his shoulder—stepping inside and closing it with his foot afterwards.

Taking a glance at the tambour clock on the dresser in the foyer, Edmund saw that he was punctual right on time, with a few minutes of buffer—which Edmund didn't thought he would be. Not with how overfilled the bakery was today, then again it was Sunday and Sundays are always the busiest.

Whilst Edmund walked into the kitchen, about to empty out and put away the two paper-bags—filled with pastries and bread, having brought a bit more than he intended—he heard the slight crackles of the tv from the living-room.

You probably have, Edmund was sure of it—as it had been a sort of sunday ritual—already set up the tea—Earl Grey with milk and honey—and waiting on the Sofa for him. Edmund was right once you called for him.

«Ed! Are you coming? Pride and Prejudice is about to start any minute»

«In a minute, love. Just let me take off my coat and get the pastries ready» replied Edmund back, doing like he said and laid out the various goods onto a plate.

Walking into the living-room and putting the plate down onto the coffee-table, Edmund took a seat next to you on the Sofa—pulling you into his arms, cuddling against each other and cosy blanket over the two of you, as Edmund leaned back—getting comfortable.

Pride and Prejudice, besides Winnie-the-Pooh tales and a few others, was one of your favourite book. You have read it a thousand times over and over again, till the copy you owned has been getting so shabby and worn over battered—that the pages has begun to fall out.

Edmund has gifted you a new copy, last christmas. Has been constantly working overtime and double shifts, just to afford it. Though your overjoyed gleeful expression, so full of adoration and gratefulness, was worth it all.

Ever since the Pride and Prejudice film came out—years ago—and bbc has begun to broadcast it every second sunday—along with various other movies like for example; Gone with the Wind, Rebecca or a opera—it has come to an arrangement, early on in your and Edmunds relationship—when the two of you could finally afford to live together in the apartment and Ed going to college—to watch these movies together.

Just the two of you, enjoying the company of each other and basking in those small moments of love and wholesomeness togetherness.

~~~

Edmund run his hand through your (colour) hair, admiring your peaceful sleeping face. He had been the first one to wake up from the nap. Sometimes, when it's getting way too cosy, the both of you would fall asleep during the middle or near the end of the movies.

The television, turning off itself, was only showing the static and it's low whispering like crackles. Sunset has already begun, the last few rays peeking through the heavy curtains and illuminating the room just enough to know that a lamp should be turned on soon.

You murmured in your sleep, moving a bit in his arms, stretching yourself and open your eyes.

«....what's time...?» your voice was still riddled with sleep, heavy and mumbling. Eyes dropping every so often once more. Your question sounded more like a philosophical one and Edmund smiled, pecking your lips.

«A little after six. If you're still up to, Rebecca starts in around an hour or,» Edmund paused, leaning his head down to kiss you on the lips once more. A long deepening kiss, moving his lips towards your neck and trailing kisses up and down.

«Or we could do a repeat of last night» whispers Edmund in your ear, adding another kiss to your skin.

Your lips stretching into a smile—last night was magnificent, they always are when you two share a moment of absolute closeness and pure love making—more awaken now since Edmunds tickling kisses onto your skin. Moving out from your boyfriends arms, stretching again your body and muscles, you returned his kiss before standing up.

«A tempting offer my dear, but Rebecca wins this round and I gotta have to make us some dinner»

«My prince leaving me is a disappointment for this heart. Oh! How cruel can you be» sighed Edmund out, hanging over the backside of the Sofa and faking a frown—pleading eyes and pouting lips.

«Now now, don't be so dramatic my dear. Even a King like you have to be patience» you shook your head, laughing as you walked into the kitchen. Sometimes Edmund could be so dramatic and sappy, but that's one of the many things you loved about your Boyfriend.

A playful groan left Edmunds lips, mumbling a hearable dinner wish out and getting up from the Sofa as well.

«Oh! Before I forgot, Lucy has wrote a letter» you told him form the Kitchen, starting to rummage through the cabinets and cupboards.

«She did? What did she wrote about?» asked Edmund, starting to clean up the coffee-table—stacking the empty Tea cups and plates and joined you in the kitchen, starting to do the dishes.

«Yeah, about various and many things like, Peter being overprotective stupid again, how beautiful the countryside still is and the various flowers she has now. You know how Lucy can fill pages after pages»

Edmund hummed, knowing exactly what you mean. His sister could write a whole three pages letter, just about flowers and their meanings.

«Anything else, a bit more interesting?» he dried his hands on a towel, standing next to you and helping you with the dinner preparations.

«yes, Lucy and Peter coming for a visit tomorrow and will stay over for two days»

«Did she state a reasons for their visit?»

«No? Can't they just visit us for fun, like do they need a reason?» you nudged Edmund, swatting away his grabby hand from the frizzling bacons.

«I suppose not,» he mused out, successfully getting a bacon stripe from the pan.

~~~

Edmund didn't knew the exact reason, couldn't tell what have woken him up this night at all. It must have been something, anything as he was more of the heavier deeper sleeper—the ones which would get grumpy and moody of woken too early and rudely—and so causal, natural waking up is a rare occasion for Edmund.

Removing your arms from him, whispering to you to continue your sleep—when you begun to stir, murmuring under your breath—Edmund got out of bed. Feets touching the cold and hard floorboards, ignoring to slip on the slippers and going out of the room.

The low volumes of the radio, which you always leave on during the night—a habit of yours as you didn't like the silence in the night—was the first sound he came to be aware off.

Then, once in the foyer, his ears picked up other sounds. Sounds which were strange, out of place even. Loud crackling as if a chimney was near and screaming—clear to hear to where he stood now.

Maybe a bulgar or a drunken neighbour doing some ruckus on the corridors. That's what Edmund told himself as he unlocks and opens the front door.

Edmund closed the door instantly again. The up-roaring fire outside on the corridors, was enormous and it wouldn't be long till his and yours little home would be engulfed into the death trapping flames. Edmund hurried back towards the bedroom, setting the radio on the highest volume—Hallelujah was being played—waking you up while doing so.

There wasn't any escape from the flames nor from death. He learned from his times in Narnia to accept whatever fate is coming—it is meant as it meant to be.

«Ed? 'erthing 'right?»

Edmund didn't answer you, not right away, as he crawled back into bed. Taking you into his arms and pulling you close to him. Showering you with kisses and whispering sweet promising nothing into your ear.

«It's gonna be fine, [Name]. Everything is gonna be alright, love. I promise.»

«You making me worried......» you trailed off, noticing a bright light from the corner of your eyes and when you notice the first licking flames in your bedroom, Edmund pulled you even more closer.

«Remember when I told you about Narnia? It's a wondrous world, you will love it there»

«I think, i'm scared Ed.....I'm not ready for death....»

«I know love, I know. I've got you, it's gonna be alright, I promise»

Whilst Edmund reassured you again and again, with words and kisses, the flames comes near and nearer till they—like they had with everything else—engulfed you two fully as the hauntingly chorus of Hallelujah faded into the crackling and screams.

~~~

And if Susan had been a bit kinder—to Edmund and you back then, when the both of you had announced the relationship to her, Peter and Lucy—and still had believed in Narnia and its wonders, than perhaps—perhaps—she might have could been reunited with her family, she thought and believed to have lost forever to the grips of death and cruel like fate, once again.

If Susan only had, but she didn't and now she has to face the consequences and her grieving all on her own.

[diremoone]

Beautiful (Always) | Joel Miller.

w — female Reader, mentions of disability, Reader in a wheelchair, mentions of brain injury and loss of motor skills, use of “cripple” being self-derogatory on Reader’s part, Joel being a sweetheart and making Reader feel better

note(s): this made me cry a little bit while writing this. This second part to “Never, Ever” was requested and fueled by this ask. Thank you for requesting a second part and making me make myself cry lmao. I would’ve had this out sooner, but my sleep schedule got messed up D: Maybe I’ll have a Pedro fic out by Valentine’s Day hmmm

****

When you wake up three weeks later, Joel damn near cries.

He’s missed your eyes. He’s missed looking into them and getting lost in them. And when you open your eyes for the first time weeks after being comatose, Joel realizes that getting lost in your eyes has become part of his life. He realizes how beautiful they are and how they shine in the sunlight. He realizes how much, how important it is to him to see your eyes. Because for the first time in weeks, he doesn’t feel empty.

He doesn’t feel alone.

Joel is there for everything. Save for showering and using the restroom, he’s by your side constantly.

You need it, at first. Your motor skills are anything but what they used to be. You can feed yourself and use the bathroom by yourself, barely, but you can hardly walk or do anything else.

The blunt force trauma to your brain from Abby’s beating almost left you completely unable to fend or do much of anything for yourself, aside from the most menial of tasks. And even those take all of the energy you have. The unusual and abnormal strength and muscle you had acquired over the last twenty years was next to gone. You felt as helpless as an infant with the strength of an infant. You wanted to cry like one, too, if you were ever honest with yourself.

It was exhausting getting in and out of bed, too, having to rise and push yourself off of the mattress. Your arms and legs shook with strain. So Joel had taken it upon himself to get you in and out of bed and into your wheelchair every morning and night, hating the sight of seeing you struggle.

God, you loved him. Joel Miller would move Heaven and Earth for you if you do much as asked.

But God forbid those times you have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

But during those nights, you feel Joel’s hand on your back, carefully pushing you up and into the wheelchair. He’s always there, ready and willing to help you, no matter how tired he is.

****

Your hand shakes as you hold up the spoon to your lips. You hated this.

For over a month it had been this way. It had gotten better, but you were still shaking like a leaf, struggling to put the spoon up to your lips without spilling any of the hot soup Joel had made.

You drank the soup, closing your eyes and enjoying the flavor. Joel’s domestic skills were certainly shining through.

You dropped the spoon into your bowl, sighing heavily. Damn it. You wanted to slam your fist against the table. You were so weak. How could you be this weak?

“Something wrong with the food?”

At the sound of his voice, a faint smile stretched across your lips.

“Never.” You watch as Joel comes in and sits beside you. “But you’re home early.”

“Tommy sent me home early,” Joel answers, “also sayin’ I’ve got the day off tomorrow, too.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“Ah, he just knows I’m not worth much with you still being in recovery mode,” Joel admits.

“You don’t need to worry about all the time,” you insist, taking hold of Joel’s hand. He lovingly rubs his thumb over your skin. “I’m a big girl. I can still handle some things by myself.”

“I know ya can,” he replies, slightly unconvincing, “but that ain’t gonna stop me from worryin’, sweetheart.”

You love this man. You really freaking do. Your heart solely belongs to him, and you’d swear it in front of the entire world — well, what was left of the world, anyway — and in front of God himself. Under the altar, you mused, looking down, bashful of your own thoughts. I guess that’s why people get married.

“Joel…” You sigh. “You shouldn’t worry so much. Plus, it’s not good for your health, you old man.”

“Keep teasin’, see what happens, baby,” he says, chuckling.

“Sure thing, handsome.”

He grabs a bowl of the the beef soup and eats alongside you. It’s peaceful. It’s the most peaceful dinner you’ve had since your… incident.

“You showered?”

“That was the first thing I did this morning.” You shrug lamely. “Haven’t done much else.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “I can do the other stuff tomorrow.”

“I’ll help.”

“No—“

“Don’t piss me off, Joel. Or I’ll get up and walk out that door just to scare the shit out of you.”

Joel raises a brow, a smirk crawling up his lips. “Oh, yeah? Think you can?”

“Wanna fuck around and find out?”

Your smiles and his smirk turned into amused giggles and chuckles. He grabs your hands and kisses both of them.

“I love you,” Joel murmurs. “So much, baby.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

How fast the air of joy can turn into one of melancholy, you think to yourself sadly.

“You want anymore food, baby?”

“I’m good,” you admit. “Was actually really filling.”

Joel takes and rinses the dishes and places them in the left side of the sink, leaving them there to do tomorrow.

“Ya know, Tommy’s having a small party this coming up weekend,” Joel starts, “and I was thinking maybe we could go and have some fun. Tommy hasn’t seen you but twice since… you know. And I think he thinks you deserve to have some fun.”

“I think I’ll pass,” you say quickly.

He gives you a certain look, an unsure smile appearing on his face. Of course he was going to try to convince you.

You feel the tears of shame and embarrassment burning at your eyes. You can’t imagine going anywhere like this. Not like this. You can’t imagine going anywhere with Joel, because you felt like nothing more than a… damn deadweight. Not like this. You felt like nothing more than an embarrassment. You shouldn’t be sitting here in this wheelchair, unable to stand or maintain your balance to stand. You should be up and around, doing things around the house and the community to help.

“It might be good for you,” he said, drying his hands. “Lord knows people miss seeing you. Party might help lift your spirits, sweetheart.”

“No! Not like this, Joel! Not… like this!” you cry out.

You angrily slam your fist against the arm of the wheelchair over and over again, letting out broken-hearted shout that makes Joel’s own heart break.

Joel catches your fist and holds it tightly against his chest so you won’t continue to bruise and abuse yourself.

“Sweetheart,” he begins. “I—“

“How can you still love me? Even like… like this?” you sob out, sniffling and swallowing the snot in the back of your throat. It’s only now that the tears roll down your cheeks. They’re sticky and you dislike it. You hate it. You hate that your nose is stopping up. You especially hate that you’re crying in front of Joel. You were supposed to be strong, damn it. For Joel’s sake, you were supposed to appear unfazed, by both your trauma and your current condition. “I know I’m not a complete cripple, but I just hate this! I hate feeling so fucking… useless, Joel… I hate not being able to do the things I used to. I can’t even get out of bed without making myself tired all over again. It’s… It’s driving me nuts. And I feel like I’m going insane. And I feel like I’m letting you down, Joel. I’m nothing more than a burden, and I hate it.”

It’s silent after that, Joel unable to respond from the weight of your words. It’s nice to get it out in the open — everything you’ve been feeling out on the table. It’s been hard on you mentally, struggling constantly with the knowledge you were as helpless as you were, that you needed as much help as you did, especially doing tasks that never used to take up your energy but now take all of it.

But then he clears his throat and pulls the chair he was sitting in right up to your wheelchair. His legs touch yours, but all you can think about is how you can hardly walk from the kitchen to the bedroom without collapsing into the bed in a sad heap of tears and pain.

Joel’s big, warm, firm hands gently cup your cheeks. He softly tugs your face up, forcing you to look into his glistening eyes that are rimmed with tears. You look away in remorse and guilt, internally chastising yourself for making Joel cry.

“Look at me baby.” His tone is gentle but commanding, shaking with concern. And you do it, holding his gaze.

“First of all,” he begins, jaw tight, “don’t ever call yourself a fucking cripple. Don’t ever call yourself useless, because you’re not. You suffered a severe injury to your head savin’ my old ass. Don’t hate yourself for this. Don’t hate yourself for something that ain’t your fault… Okay? You’re not a burden, baby. Never will be. Why wouldn’t I take care of the woman I love?”

The tip of his nose touches yours and he gives a slow Eskimo kiss. He kisses away the tears rolling down your cheeks.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what. You’ll always be beautiful to me. Whether you’re in this wheelchair or not, which you won’t be for long considering you’re getting your strength back pretty quickly, you’ll always have my heart. I ain’t leavin’, you silly woman. Now, come on. Show me that pretty smile I love so much. I know it works, or do I need to press your smile button?”

You grinned, sniffling and wiping away your tears. Joel booped your nose (your “smile button”) anyway and chuckled too, happy to see your tiny grin flourish into a cheerful smile and giggle among your tears.

He wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his lap. Your legs dangle to the side as he hugs you to him.

You sharply inhaled for breath and said, “I love you, Joel. I love you so much. Thank you for being with me.”

“I should be thanking you for being with me,” he laughs. “Who’d love an old man like me?”

You smack his chest. “You’re not old!”

“You’re right, with my knees creakin’, I’m ancient.”

“Joel!”