#…that’s a lot of words I just realised…how the fuck have I managed to read all this in one day?……

[keferon]

"Mind if I make a little music?" Drift asked, holding out a hand for Ratchet to pass him the synthboard.

"Not at all," Ratchet said, offering it up by the strap.

Drift spun it above his head, hands dancing over the board and making a truly awful sounding ruckus out of the speakers. His optics were locked on something behind Ratchet. He took the clue and ducked his head to Drift's chest so that Drift could swing. The speakers screeched and a body fell back."

~

Unfortunately I can’t kiss the author of this fic, so I decided to do the next closest thing and drew this instead haha

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #lost light #ratchet #drift #dratchet #tf drift #tf ratchet #if you wanna know #they tried to beat someone’s ass with this synthboard #I was walking around dratchet fics #then boom #this ​100k words Leviathan came up #50k words later I remembered that I can actually draw Drift now #and I can ACTUALLY illustrate my love to all those tons of fics I’ve read #anyway #you see this? #They’re on a date and some guys trying to murder them lol #You need to read all prequels before you read this fic itself btw #it has..like…two prequels if I remember right #something around another 100k words #…that’s a lot of words I just realised…how the fuck have I managed to read all this in one day?…… #haha #*180k words Leviathan #fic fanart

[fangswbenefits]

Suit Up

Summary: Miguel craves to mark you as his, but he’ll have to start slow… so he offers to build you a custom suit. For now.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed Miguel. Innocent and inexperienced reader. Pining. Sexual tension and frustration. Masturbation. Breeding kink.

* ˚ ✦ Part 1 (you don’t have to read it to enjoy this one)

Miguel had decided he was going to build you a suit.

Not just a regular one, but an extension of his own.

He craved to have you for himself, and to have others know that. But he’d have to play his cards right. This level of obsession could easily scare someone off at first.

Especially you.

His sweet, sweet girl.

So he settled for this: building you a custom digital suit to match his.

Slowly, but surely you’d start to connect yourself to him more often.

Or so he hoped.

He found you in his lab early in the morning, sitting by the desk while taking your sweet time with a slice of watermelon.

“Good morning.”

As expected, you jolted in your seat, turning to face him.

A few droplets of juice dribbled down from your lips and chin, and eventually landing on your shirt.

You offered him a messy grin, bits of watermelon all over your teeth, but the absolute innocence of that action tore straight down to his cock.

“Oh! Miguel, hi! Sorry—” your voice came out slightly muffled, as you placed the half moon slice on a plate. “This watermelon is so sweet! Want a taste?”

His brow furrowed and he halted right in front of you. “There’s…” his voice trailed off, eyes fixed on your chin.

You immediately picked up on the implication and wiped the sugary liquid from your skin with a napkin, bringing a few fingers to your lips as well.

Miguel cursed inwardly and wondered if you were truly unaware of how suggestive all of this looked.

He slapped that thought away. No. You were too innocent for that. Your words and actions held no second meaning.

You were genuinely so fucking clueless that it only served to fuel his obsession with you.

His cock gave him a warning twitch.

He was all too familiar with those by now.

Would you be this messy while sucking him off? Would you not be able to keep it all in and eventually swallow?

He’d be fine with you not swallowing it all at first. After all, he did cum a lot. It would probably be overwhelming for someone as innocent and inexperienced as you.

“Miguel?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts at once. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry for making a mess,” you said, hurriedly cleaning the desk.

There was no doubt you’d be the death of him.

Apologising for making a mess…

“Don’t worry about that,” he managed to say flatly. “I’m sure it tasted really good.”

You then smiled once more and let out a cock-twitching groan. “Oh, yes! But… why did you want me in here my casuals today?”

Right.

He moved to tap the hovering screens in front of him. “I was thinking you suit might need an upgrade.”

“What? But I built this one myself… what’s wrong with it?” you whined softly, sticking your bottom lip out.

His cock twitched again.

“I know, I know,” he reassured you with extreme ease. “But I’ve been working on a prototype of my digital suit and would like for you to test it out.”

A blatant lie.

He had just decided this the night before, after that post nut clarity had hit him hard.

How else would he mark you without you even realising?

You blinked a few times, having to tilt your head up to stare at him, and it was enough to flare his imagination.

“Really?” the excitement in your voice was palpable and he felt a sudden rush of satisfaction. “That… that would be an honour, Miguel!”

His fingers tapped through multiple files. “You’ve been helping me out a lot in the lab lately. It’s only fair that I show my appreciation.”

Your gaze wavered momentarily, broken by his genuine praise, and Miguel nearlt bit his lip from this sight alone.

“I do it willingly, Miguel. I love learning new things from you,” your eyes were back on his, and you were bearing a warm smile. “You’re a great teacher!”

He tried hard to tear his gaze away from your lips, and offered a mere nod.

You deserved more than a nod.

And your eagerness to learn from him made him feel swollen with pride. An ego booster.

It was quite addicting.

He’d teach you so much more if you’d let him. He’d teach you how to embrace your pleasure and use it for him only. Oh, how he’d enjoy teaching you how to suck his cock, or how to use your words to turn him on.

Fuck.

He would teach you all he knew.

You’d have all of him.

But he wanted you to want him the way he wanted you. No. He needed you to need him. To crave and yearn and feel the unfair ropes of despair tighten around you.

“I’ll just need your measurements,” he said, fetching a couple of measuring bands from a top shelf. “These will measure every tiny detail, so the fit is as suitable as possible.”

You nodded eagerly, lips slightly parted. He moved to grab each wrist, closing the metallic band around each wrist.

“Feet up,” he asked, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray his true feelings.

You lifted one leg after the other, and he carefully clasped them around your ankles, the feel of your warm skin and proximity nearly having him bite his own lip.

“Wait, do I have be naked?”

The question caught him completely off guard and he straightened up at once. “What?”

Miguel felt more blood rushing downwards and was grateful his own suit was able to keep most of his strained erection from sight.

You broke into a nervous laugh. “Oh — I mean… you’re naked under your suit, right?”

He nodded. “Your suit becomes an extension of yourself and it should feel like a second layer of skin,” he added, extending one arm out, and allowed you to see the digital layer of fabric quickly retracting from the tips of his fingers all the way down his naked torso.

The reaction was immediate.

Your eyes landed on him for only a split second, before looking away.

For the second time that day, Miguel’s ego soared to incredibly dangerous heights.

You looked so innocent and sheepish, not daring to gaze at his incredible physique once again.

He wouldn’t hold that against you, though. You’d have plenty of time to gawk at his body once he managed to break into your mind, and make you his.

“It feels more comfortable this way,” he added reassuringly, as his suit promptly covered his exposed skin once again.

You turned to look at him again. “Oh! So I don’t actually have to be naked,” you giggled in relief.

“No,” Not for this, he wanted to add.

The height difference was starting to take a toll on his ability to focus. Having you sitting on that chair, perfectly levelled to engange in a more suggestive scenario, was enough to feel the blood boil in his veins.

He needed more.

He needed to touch you.

“Let’s boot the measuring analysis program,” Miguel took your hand in his and helped you on your feet. “I need you to stand still.”

He needed so much more than that from you, but he’d have to settle for silent agony for now.

You were visibly excited, barely able to contain yourself as a smile settled on your face, and he felt the sudden urge to praise you for being so eager and such a tease.

He tapped a few commands on his watch, and came to stand behind you, careful not to stand too close, or you’d notice his hard cock.

“Do you trust me?”

You shouldn’t…

You turned your head to the side to look into his crimson eyes, confusion twisting your face. “Of course I do, Miguel.”

… because he wouldn’t.

He rolled his fingers along the hem of your shirt, slowly rolling it upwards. His heart went into overdrive instantly and he could feel the first droplets of precum dripping down his cock.

You flinched once his knuckles brushed against your skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked, halting at once.

You nodded and giggled lighty. “That tickles.”

His sweet girl…

How was he supposed to endure burying himself inside you inch by inch when he couldn’t barely keep his composure now?

Once the shirt was resting under your breasts, he moved one hand to grip it gently from behind, effectively tightening the fabric flat over you. From where he stood, he could see your bra’s outline and how your breasts heaved with each breath you took.

This was driving him mad.

Your cleavage was so inviting and he had to take a step back, ensuring his erection wouldn’t accidentally brush against your ass.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take this off?” you asked.

You were so fucking sweet and innocent, and he wanted nothing more than to rip all of your clothes apart.

“Just let the program scan your body,” he said, voice strained and breath coming out in shallow pants. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied.

Such a good girl for him… his sweet girl…

He would want to ask that same question the day he got to teach you how to suck his cock.

You’d struggle at first.

But he’d be patient.

He’d probably need to come up with a serum to inject himself with to keep from exploding right away, and he couldn’t have that.

You would need proper guidance, wouldn’t you? How he’d love to have you on your knees, mouth dropped open and receptive.

His other hand was now pressed flat against your tummy and he nearly bucked his hips in response.

Careful, Miguel, he scolded himself.

Was this too much?

In reality, he didn’t need to be doing any of this for measurements, but he couldn’t help himself.

He needed you closer.

He needed to feel you shudder against his touch.

He needed you to need him.

You gasped softly once he started to moved his hand down ever so slightly, fingers nearly touching the waisgband of your pants.

“Ticklish?” he asked in a low voice.

You hummed, bucking your hips into him with a faint giggle, and he felt his cock into contact with your ass.

Oh, fuck.

He had to let go of you right away, flinching back.

You turned to eye him, worry plastered all of your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” he said right away, more precum droplets spilling out. “I think the analysis is complete,” he cleared his throat and turned his back to her, looking down to his bulge.

He wish he could set his cock free.

No.

He wish you would offer to set his cock free.

He wanted you to know and see how much his body craved yours.

“Miguel, are you okay?” you asked tenderly, moving to stand by his side, brushing his tense bicep. “We can finish this some other time.”

Was it really possible for someone to be this clueless? Was your inexperience that blinding? Hadn’t you felt his erection?

Against his will, he nodded.

He needed you gone right away.

He had to get off urgently.

“You’re overworking yourself again…”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

How he’d love to make you his and have you take care of him.

Your hand squeezed his muscles gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

Please, touch me… “No. I’ll just finish the suit and have you test it out soon.”

Your hand dropped.

Maybe if he asked you to let him fuck your hand, you’d let him. Maybe.

He’d settle for you watching him jerk off to you, at this point.

“Can I pick the colours?” you then beamed, glancing up at the orange screens. “Can I? Please?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you chirped happily, swiping across the customisation menu on the screen.

Miguel paced quickly into a storage room to his left, groaning into the back of his hand.

In no time, he had the front part of his lower half of his suit vanish, cock springing free, fully coated with precum.

He let out a strained and breathy sigh of absolute relief.

“Ay, Miguel…” he muttered to himself, realising just how badly this obsession had gotten.

His cock twitched, sending strand of precum to dangle from the tip.

From this angle, he could see your back, shirt still nicely tucked under your breasts, revealing so much of your skin to him.

That would do.

For now.

Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he set a slow pace at first, testing out his limit.

Dangerously close.

It was unfair that you were so close, yet so far. You were completely unaware of your effect on him.

Faint anger took over him.

You should be the one to bring him relief.

This was all on you… his sweet, innocent, inexperienced girl.

The pace quickened and he felt his fangs extending in anticipation.

You were bending over the desk, lifting your ass just enough for his mind to have imagining himself ramming into your from the back.

You’d love that position. Maybe not at first, but he’d teach you to enjoy thoroughly.

Being rawed and bred. You’d be a loving mother, wouldn’t you? You’d let him breed you over and over again, because you were just nice like that.

So eager to please.

He wished you’d bend over a little more, so he could fully immerse himself in his lust.

Feeling one fang dig into his lower lip, Miguel wondered how long it would take to draw blood, considering how hard it was for him to suppress his groans.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from you and his desire nearly pained him, because his hand would never be as tight as you, and it would never feel like you.

But he had to get rid of this now.

He had to complete your suit and mark you as his.

Everyone in Nueva York and across other universes would know you were his.

They would know not to cross you, for his wrath would be unmatched.

The sweet tingles of an orgasm soon engulfed him whole, and he threw his head back and fluttered his eyes shut, relying on his mind to keep your alive as he fucked himself for you.

Just you.

His sweet girl.

Just his.

He squeezed the first spurts of warm cum with his fingers, allowing himself go roll his hips in a broken rhythm.

The metallic taste of blood pooled in his tongue and he knew his fang has dug too deep, but he didn’t care.

He would break himself for you.

And you would, too.

You just didn’t know it yet.

Part 3

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x reader

[woozvc]

better left unsaid.

req (from 💩 anon) — "mingyu loosing his temper on you and it hurts like a bitch"

read pt.2 here - promises.

synopsis - "mingyu was the sweetest guy you knew, till he let his emotions get the best of him."

pairing — mingyu x gn!reader

genre/s — so much angst

cw— mention of a heated argument, screaming, reader flinches once, cursing.

w/c - 1k ish

mingyu is the sweetest guy you know.

you've dated people, some good some bad but, none of them treated you how good mingyu did.

in the haze of the “perfect relationship” you seemed to have forgotten that people will always act as people. human emotions are stronger than we give it credit for.

arguments are never easy, specially with a loved one but they're easy to solve with proper reasoning. you hoped.

it started with a shitty day. you woke up and the power of the entire city was out so you got late to your work. mingyu also had the same start, but everyone was late to practice so it got ignored.

nothing major happened, just small things throughout the day.

you lost one of your files at work, mingyu forgot the choreography more than once. you dropped your coffee at work, mingyu got in an argument with his manager.

a shitty day.

a shitty day that leds to a shitty mood.

you got home first, wanting this day to end as soon as possible. you dropped your bag near the door and face planted at the couch, just wanting the comfort of your home. mingyu arrived 2hours later. he entered hurriedly, wanting to do the same thing as you.

mingyu was a clumsy man. he didn't see your bag, tripped and hit his knee hard on the marble floor.

it felt as though the entire apartment shook. you got up and ran to him but he held his knee, got up and walked away not acknowledging you. it hurt but you shurgged it off, not wanting to pay attention to it. you went to check what you both could have for dinner.

next thing that happened was all of his tshirts were in the wash, it was your turn to take them out.

mingyu felt his annoyance rising but he buried it down, put on a old tshirt and walked to the kitchen limping.

“you forgot the groceries” you said chuckling, trying to reduce the tension in the house.

it was supposed to be a joke. mingyu didn't take it as a joke.

the entire day's frustration broke down. he pointed out you not doing the laundry, you pointed out the power outage, he pointed out his busy schedule and etc etc etc

but never in your 3year relationship with mingyu did you expect a little thing to get this bad. unknowingly you were raising your voices slowly till the ball dropped.

“JUST FUCKING SHUT UP ONCE A WHILE”

mingyu screamed at you with an exaggerated hand gesture and you flinched. he did something that made you flinch.

mingyu said something he would regret for the rest of his life. you physically stepped back. mingyu was a tall man and him screaming at you made him a lot scarier. you just stared at him wide eyed.

seeing your reaction and realising his words, mingyu immediately shut up. he covered his mouth and put his hand out

“baby I didn't mean to-”

“stop.”

you stepped back. you looked at his eyes now threatening with tears and walked to your room, locking the door and for a second sinking down on the floor.

a few minutes passed when you stepped out, you saw mingyu sitting at the kitchen floor. his eyes we're red with tears, face swollen. he looked at you and said with a shaky voice

“w-where are yo-you going?”

“don't call me for a while”

and you left, walked to your best friends house. he watched you leave, watched you walk out the door of the apartment the both of you made a home.

mingyu was the sweetest guy you knew, till he let his emotions get the best of him.

a/n - any complaints about angst will go to 💩 anon they fuled the angst writer in me (atleast both of you are alive in this fic! most of the characters from the stories I wrote in 2022 can't relate LMFAO)

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #caratsland #svt fluff #seventeen series #seventeen mingyu #seventeen angst #kim mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #mingyu x y/n #mingyu x you #mingyu #svt kim mingyu #svt fanfic #svt mingyu #svt #svt x reader #svt x y/n #svt angst #—nr.requests

[kitkatscabinet]

Step into my parlour, said the spider

Stepbro! Simon x reader

Warnings: this one’s kind of deranged. Simon is a fucked up little freak. I mean it when I say this is dark, read with discretion. Implications of murder, and non-con

Word count: 1.5k

Once again 141 server bringing out the worst in me, @chxrryghost @cooliofango see you guys in hell 🫡

Before you, life was a series of dull greys and monochromes, there was no warmth, just cold never-ending darkness that persisted in the form of his father's abuse. That didn’t matter now though, because nothing before you mattered.

Simon is nine years old when the angel (you) starts to live with them, he’s got no clue how his deadbeat of a father managed to finagle another woman into marrying him but he pays little mind to his new step-mum when he has you. 

You’re five years older than him, but you’re not like Tommy or dad at all. You’re kind and you tuck him into bed and give him cuddles and kisses that make him feel all fuzzy inside. You take him to the park and protect him from his dad. You try to hide the dark bruises that litter your skin, a consequence of shielding him, but Simon’s not so naive. 

He grows up hiding in your shadow, falling deeper and deeper into an obsessively deranged love for his saviour, the only person who loves him and treats him kindly. He seethes silently, waiting for the moment he’s big enough to protect you instead. 

By the time you’re sixteen, your mother has split, leaving you behind though you reassure Simon that you’d never have left him anyway. His father’s been out of a job for a while and you’ve been running yourself ragged to support Simon and Tommy. Tommy the bastard that he is doesn't appreciate the work you do and Simon is once again forced to grit his teeth and seethe as he watches you come home every evening like a zombie. Some mornings you don’t even make it to the bed to fall asleep, though Simon’s always waiting, dragging you under the covers before burrowing his way into your side. 

You let yourself get degraded by filthy men that slap your ass and call you names just for a measly tip. You’re one of the prettiest people on the planet which, unfortunately, attracts a lot of attention from the disgusting dregs of society. Boys your age and older, far too old to even consider glancing your way. The few brave enough to hover are always quickly scared off by Simon’s intense glares, and he preens when you pat his hair in thanks.

His dad notices too and Simon comes home from school one afternoon to find the man on top of you, hands wrapped around your neck as you struggle beneath him. A plate shatters over his dad's head and it’s not until Simon is on the floor and his old man is red in face, screaming at him that Simon realises what he’s done. 

You’re screaming and you shove his dad from behind, scooping Simon into your arms with adrenaline-fuelled strength you wouldn’t normally possess and are locking you and him in your shared room. Barricading the door and squishing Simon against you as your breath rattles. 

You fall asleep with Simon nestled against your chest, none the wiser to how his blood chants with the fervour of a thousand men, mine, mine, mine.

The universe finally seems to give you a break after that, his dad leaves the both of you alone and not long after your 18th birthday you get a cushy, well-paying job as a secretary for some hot-shot lawyer. Though Simon gets a little upset when you spend all your money on him, new clothes, new books for school, a GameBoy, whatever he wants. 

Best of all, his dad dies. The alcohol and drugs finally taking their toll on his body. (It’s not until a few years later that he’ll realise you were entirely too calm when the police came knocking. Serving them tea as you pretended to be shocked about the news.)

You get custody of him and Tommy and you move them into a much nicer neighbourhood. Though Simon’s not happy at having his own room and often sneaks back into your bed, knowing that you’ll simply sigh and open your arms for him, letting him snuggle against your chest. 

Simon should’ve known better, should’ve known that his happiness wouldn’t last. It’s not even a year into what you called the start of his new life that he comes home one afternoon from school to find you sobbing into your hands, hair and outfit dishevelled. Though you refuse to give him the details of what happened he manages to put two and two together from the state of your being and the knowledge that you’ve been fired. 

You take up waitressing again but it’s not enough. He’s not sure who ends up reporting it but a few days before his 14th birthday Simon gets taken away from you, no matter how much he kicks and screams. He tries to run away a few times but he’s always found and dragged away from you again. 

You move away not long after, having been offered a once-in-a-lifetime scholarship. Simon tries to understand as you explain through tears, kissing his forehead for the last time. He knows it’s selfish of him to feel betrayed but he can’t help it. Can’t accept that you’re leaving him. He doesn’t cry, instead, he immediately starts plotting. This is just a minor bump in the road, he’ll spend every waking moment until he’s eighteen perfecting his skills and plans and then nothing will keep you apart ever again. 

Time passes by excruciatingly slow, the only positive is that he’d finally grown even further, and had sprouted in height and musculature so much that he fears you might not recognise him. It takes him another extra year to find you, but when he’s twenty-three, with military resources at his disposal he finally, finally sees you again in person. 

You’re still the picture of perfection, clothes hugging your form so tantalisingly that Simon feels his cock throb in the confines of his pants just from seeing you. He steps forward, weaving through the crowd of the market only to stop in his tracks when a man wraps his arms around your midsection. Instead of rebuffing the touch you lean back and smile against him and Simon feels as if the Earth has been pulled from his feet. 

How could you do this to him?

He’s waited so faithfully for you all these years and you’ve replaced him? He watches as you kiss the interloper with a smile and Simon clenches his fists in fury so harshly his palms bleed. How many men had you let into your bed? How long did it take for you to forget him?

The plan’s changed. You’ve forced him into this. It’s not his fault that he’s had to plant cameras throughout your house. It’s not his fault that you’re so tantalising it forces him to break into your house, stealing your used panties to help get himself off. It’s not his fault you force him to learn you and your boyfriend’s schedule and it’s not his fault your scumbag partner doesn’t take his carefully worded hint to leave you. 

Your boyfriend is dead. Unfortunate, but needs must. Simon watches you sob into your pillow, hard as a rock as he imagines licking the tears from your cheeks and decides he can’t wait any longer. 

You’re so distraught that you don’t even notice Simon is in your house, you don’t notice until he swings the bedroom door open and you look up with a scream. He supposes he must make something of a terrifying sight, he’s a large man, and his face is covered by his trademark skull balaclava.

Simon allows you a few seconds to scramble around in panic before he crosses the distance, trapping your back to his chest and groaning as he humps into your ass. You scream, hitting at his arms as the tears start to flow anew and Simon throws you down on the mattress, weighing you down with his bulk. 

“Please, you don’t have to do this” you beg with teary eyes that do nothing but fuel his arousal. He does take pity on you though, restraining your wrists with his right hand and using his left to tug off his mask. He watches as your eyes gradually widen, elation filling his chest as recognition fills them. 

“Simon?” your voice wobbles and his name has never sounded better. Groaning, he rests his forehead against your collarbone, taking calming breaths to stop from cumming then and there. It’s okay though, he’s got all the time in the world now. You’ll spend the rest of your lives together, you’ll never be apart again.

#x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kat’s writing #cod ghost #cod simon riley #simon riley

[midniiights-garden]

General HCs on Mizu with an S/O

First Meeting: How would she have most likely come into contact with the reader?

Personally I believe that Mizu would have most likely met her future S/O whilst they were travelling or working.

I'm gearing this more towards non-binary/female readers so if you're a guy reading this I'm sorry 😞

Anyways, yeah she probably met her S/O whilst they were either running away from something, hiding themselves or maybe as a brothel worker.

Either way I really think the first meeting would go the same no matter how you met her.

She'd be pretty cold and distant as she is with most people, keeping her distance both physically and emotionally. At first she won't treat her future S/O that differently than others.

Her Type: What would her type be?

I see Mizu as someone who needs stability. So ideally her S/O wouldn't be someone with the tendency to need adventure or conflict to thrive.

She would probably want someone who knows who they are, someone she doesn't need to take care of as an addition to herself. Someone who is ok with being alone especially since Mizu strikes me as the type to need time to herself often.

I also think she wouldn't be great with words of affirmation, so if you really need words to feel secure I don't think she'd be a great partner for that. Throughout the show I notice that she shows appreciation mainly through acts of service and quaility time, and this would still be the case with her S/O.

In terms of apperance I don't think she'd actually care too much. I think she may have an unconcious bias towards other Asians since she was raised in Japan, but due to her prior experience with racisim I don't think she'd necessarily be willing to be with someone of European lineage. I think that this might change through time though, especially once Mizu manages to come to terms with her own features. Then I think she'd be pretty unbiased.

They'd also have to be more on the mature side. Not necessarily in terms of age, but just personality wise. Someone who is self-aware and understanding and paitent.

Trust: How trusting would she be?

At first not very.

Obviously she has had incredibly negative experiences with relationships, so once she had an S/O I think she may still struggle with making the difference between her past relationship and her current one.

This may result in a bit of a turbulent start and I think there may be more arguements.

However, as time goes on and she realises that her S/O is truly in love with her for who she is and would probably die for her she starts to open up some more.

I've seen other headcanons saying that she becomes more feminine once she's comfortable with her S/O and I 100% agree with it. Just imagining her with her S/O, her hair down and letting her partner put makeup on her makes me blush and giggle ngl. Like, she is stunning. Breathtaking. Absolutely gorgeous. Words cannot describe how wonderful she is.

Anyways-

Yeah it would be like the reverse of "calm before the storm".

Arguements: How would she handle an arguement between her and her S/O?

Ok, so firstly I think an arguement would probably arise due to her aforementioned unwillingness to open up. Her S/O would be tired of being kept in the dark or worried about Mizu and would pry, and Mizu would snap.

I think Mizu would actually end up storming off, wanting to cool down first before coming back.

Mizu isn't one to solve things with violence when it comes to the people she cares about, so I think she'd prefer to talk things out calmly instead of yelling.

It may turn into yelling if said S/O tried to follow her when she leaves to go cool down though.

After the arguement she may be a little cold for a couple of days before returning to her usual self.

Marriage: Does she want to get remarried?

At the beginning of the relationship I do not think she was very willing to get married again. (Fuck you M*kio.)

Of course, as I mentioned plenty of times before she would have a lot of reservations in terms of opening herself up emotionally.

She fears getting married again might be a Mikio pt. 2 which would not be great for her mental health.

But as the relationship grows and her S/O proves that they intended to stay by her side ring or not... that's when she starts to consider the idea again. Especially since this time it's with someone she truly loves and who loves her back.

Her wedding would be small. Obviously. No hate to my precious baby but she doesn't have a whole lot of friends nor family to invite over. It would most likely just consist of her S/O and her, Ringo and Akemi. Who may or may not have dragged Taigen along.

Mizu would get to wear her wedding attire and properly get married to the love of her life. 😭😭😭

I can imagine her being really nervous beforehand, wondering if her S/O might consider her ugly once she saw her in her wedding attire and what not.

But of course her S/O would be like "stfu you're beautiful".

All in all it'd be a pretty emotional affair, lots of crying (behind doors for Mizu) and hugs.

(A/N: Ok. So I may have lied when I said general. Listen, in my defense I'm basically just throwing up my ideas here.)

#i love women #mizu blue eye samurai #wlw #blue eye samurai #i love fictional characters #mizu x reader #mizu x you #x reader #x you #fluff #x reader fluff #headcannons #mizu come home the kids miss you #mizu

[dorabledewdroop]

The White Healer Chapter 5

Summary: We get to find out what really happened.

Warnings: Description of injuries. Lots of injuries please be careful. extreme Angst. Attempted self-death. Character death.

Author note: This chapter is a heavy with details of injuries. Please keep this in mind before you read.

Series Masterlist

X--X--X--X--X

That stone killed my sister.

Those words echoed in everyone’s head.

“Lady Y/n” Thor hesitated. “That is the mind stone. One of the six infinity stones”

Your glare shifted from the robot to Thor. The god actually seemed to shrink a little.

“Besides” Steve cut in, “Hydra has had the sceptre (which housed the stone) for the past 3 years and it was in Loki’s possession long before that. Do you think it was Hydra that killed your sister?”

Annoyed you huffed. Wanda had managed to sit you down, so at least there was no danger of you hurting anyone. Not that you would, but the look you gave Vision was unlike anything she’d ever seen.

“What the fuck is a Hydra?” You asked, breathing through your nose.

“Detka, Hydra is the organisation that gave me and Pietro our powers.” Wanda said gently. 

Her heart hurt as you refused to make eye contact with her.

“They were a terrorist organisation that intended to shape the world in their own twisted way.” Steve continued.

“Lady Y/n” Thor said gently. “Are you sure it was that particular stone?”

You thought about it for a minute, your mind going back to that god awful day.

“It looked more orange, than yellow” you decided.

Thor let out a breath. “That’s sounds like the soul stone” He said.

He immediately walks up to you and grabs you by the shoulders. Within a split second, Thor was against the wall, red mist pressing his hands against the wall. It took a second for the other’s to realise what had happened. Wanda’s eyes were glowing red, hands covered in red mist. Natasha had grabbed a knife and was standing in front of you facing Thor. Pietro had made his way to stand behind you without anyone noticing.

“O-okay” Steve said, raising his hands placatingly. “How about everyone takes a deep breath and calm down. Wanda, could you please let go of Thor? Nat, put down the knife. Let’s go to the meeting room and talk this out?” 

At once, everyone walked to the meeting room. Thor the last to enter. His eyes moved around as they slowly landed on you. Your gaze softened when you realised he had no intention of hurting you. It had just scared you when he grabbed you so suddenly.

“I apologise, Lady Y/n. It was not my intention to frighten you. I was merely stunned as it is the third infinity stone to come into play the past few years. I should have been more mindful of my strength”

“It’s alright Thor” You said softly. “You just surprised me. I’m not entirely sure what these infinity stones are but I understand your fear of them. And please, just call me y/n.”

His face broke into a grin. “Indeed y/n. As recompense, I shall introduce you to my favourite treat, the popped tarts!”

Chuckling you nodded.

Nat held your hand “Malyshka, do you think you could tell us about how you came across the soul stone?”

You nodded. You tried to speak but no sound came out. Your body physically unable to recount the story. Feeling utterly helpless, you looked at Wanda.

“Are you sure, detka?” She asked, concerned. 

You merely nodded.

“I’m going to show her memory to all of you as y/n’s having.. a little trouble speaking at the moment” Wanda said out loud. She had held your hand without anyone watching as almost everyone was sitting on the other side of the table. Pietro, however, noticed both of the women holding your hand and his heart warmed at the display.

“Hold on a second witchy” Tony interrupted. “Not all of us want you in our head”

Natasha glared at him where as Wanda merely nodded.

“How about this, I’ll share the memory with Nat and Piet” she said. “We can tell you what we saw”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Once Wanda had linked their minds, she spoke to you.

“Just recall the memory, detka. We’ll see it too”

You closed your eyes as the memory washed over you.

You must have barely been 13, your sister 10. Your parents decided they couldn’t afford to take care one daughter, much less two. Shortly after your sister’s birth, the both of them had taken you to the middle of a city and drove off. You had cried the entire time until a social worker found you, huddling with your sister for warmth. 

The 5 years you spent in the orphanage were pretty good actually, they gave you freedom to leave and return whenever you liked. Food was warm and the company was good.

As was custom, you and your sister went to the fair near a park. It was the most fun she had as she was finally allowed on some of the rides. The faculty had a deal with you, they’d let you enter the fair and all its’ rides for free as long as you cleaned up everything after they closed for the day. Was it fair? No. But it made your sister happy, hence it was worth it.

“Y/n” a voice called you. 

Your head shot towards the forest, a glowing orange light beckoning you closer. You looked around to see why other’s weren’t bothering with it. You decided to ignore it until it called your name again. Telling your sister you’d be back in a second and that she should go watch the flame festival show in the large tent. 

You headed towards the forest, deeper and deeper but the light from earlier was gone. Looking around for a bit you only noticed some scorch marks on the bark of a few trees but nothing else. As you turned around you noticed bright orange-ish red light in the distance. Figuring you probably headed in the wrong direction you started walking towards the distant glow. 

You frowned as you got closer, the trees had started thinning and you could hear some noises. The blood drained from your face as you realised the noises were people screaming. Immediately, you took off. Sprinting towards the source of the noises. You were panting as you neared the source. You slowed down as you saw the large tent that was on fire. You screamed out your sister’s name. A staff ran towards you.

“Please have you seen my sister?” You asked.

He shoved you aside and ran away, completely ignoring your question.

“Y/N HELP ME PLEASE” A familiar scream made your blood run cold.

You ran into the tent, the whole place in flames. You saw your sister stuck between two pillars, too scared to move. You ran and ducked under pillar, grabbing your sisters leg and pulling her towards you. You noticed she was violently coughing.

CRACK

The pillar you were under fell. You used all your remaining strength to throw your sister as far away as possible. You let out an inhuman scream as the pillar fell onto your back. You felt the red hot metal sear your skin, your body seizing under the pain violently.

You absolutely cannot pass out.

Crawling out you felt the skin on your back tear and you sobbed and screamed as you clawed your way out. Fresh tears made their way down your face as you noticed your sister had passed out, multiple burns on her arms and legs. Your arms weren’t faring any better. 

You tried to pick her up but your body wasn’t strong enough. Screaming in frustration you looped your arms around her back. Grunting in pain as you felt your back split open. Feeling dizzy from the pain but the adrenaline allowed you to drag your sister by the arms.

“Come here” A voice told you.

You saw the glowing orange light again in the forest. 

You somehow made your way there, despite your brain telling you to go to the ambulances that had arrived.

“We can save her” you heard the voice again.

The moment you got close to the light, it grew brighter. Blinding you, forcing you to close your eyes. When you opened them you and your sister were on the top of a mountain.

“Welcome y/n, daughter of (your father’s name)” A voice came from behind you.

You screamed in fear and saw a man in a hood floating towards you. As he neared you noticed his face was completely red, and he seemed to be missing a nose. You briefly wondered whether he could smell stuff but flinched the moment he floated closer. You backed up, keeping a protective hand on your sister. You then remembered how she was unconscious.

“You have been chosen” The man said. “The stone calls for your soul”

“Please” you whispered. “Please save my sister.”

He looked at you, refusing to look at your sister.

“You have been chosen” He repeated. “The-“

“Please.” You begged. “Please save her”

He sighed.

“Very well.” He said. “But a sacrifice must be made. A soul for a soul”

You looked at him confused. He merely floated towards a cliff, you leaned forward and saw a design at the very bottom of the cliff. You stared at him in disbelief.

“You.. want me to walk down there?” You asked uncertainly.

He shook his head.

“One must make a sacrifice to obtain the power they so desire” He said solemnly. “The stone has chosen you. To obtain the power you seek, you must sacrifice that which you love the most”

You stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re saying if I throw my sister down I can heal her?”

He shook his head. “A soul sacrificed can not be brought back, however it is the price required for the power you seek”

You realised what you needed to do. Tears made their way down your face as you came to a decision. You walked towards your sister and put your hand on her chest. Her heart beat very faintly. You kissed her cheek softly.

“I’m sorry bunny. I hate to do this but it’s the only way” You whispered.

You glared at the red faced guy. You nodded. He floated back towards the edge, carrying your sisters body.

“Wait.” You called out, walking towards him.

He paused, right at the edge, looking at you questioningly. You merely smirked.

“Bye bunny” you said and jumped off. 

“NO” you heard him shout.

You kept your eyes on your sister as you fell. Closing them as you neared the ground. When you hit the ground you had expected pain or just.. nothing but you weren’t expecting warmth to take over your body. The warmth increased to an uncomfortable degree. Soon it started burning everywhere. You let out a scream as you felt everything.. burn. Wait. Scream? How could you scream? 

You opened your eyes to find yourself back on top of the cliff. You looked around and saw the floaty guy look at you. Panicking you looked around for your sister.

You stood up, the searing pain was gone.

“WHERE IS SHE?” You screamed at him.

You tried to throw a rock at him but it merely disappeared into his cloak.

“Oh Liebchen” He said sympathetically. “The stone chose you. It made the decision to take your sister instead of you”

“No.” You whispered, falling to your knees.

Tears made their way down your face. This isn’t fair. This isn’t what it was supposed to be like.

“Revel in the power you’ve gained. For you cannot die. Not now, not ever. Your soul is eternal.” He said, glowing until he disappeared.

None of that mattered. Your sister. Your bunny. She.. was gone. Unable to take it any longer you fell to the ground. The last thing you saw were the trees and the night sky. Then. Everything went black.

X--X--X--X--X

Taglist: @marvelwomen-simp @nothanksbye07 @jono723 @luadyjcmd @alexawynters

Note: Hope y'all enjoyed. Happy reading?

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda x reader #marvel #the white healer #wandanat #wandanat smut #natasha romanoff x reader

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Babysitter (34)

Family Night

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 34- W/c 5k

Tag list- @natsluttt @cerberus-spectre @dorabledewdroop @bibliophilicbi @hopelesslyfallenninlove @simpform1lfs @get-the-fuck-outta-here @natashaswife4125 @marvelwomen-simp @supercorpstan97 @aliherreraaa @aru-son @the-ox-fan20

Family Night

A soft knock at the door gradually dragged you out of your peaceful slumber, a tired disapproving groan spilling from your lips to signal your reaction of being woken up at two in the morning. The second knock was followed by the visitor calling a name, their scared and disturbed tone catching your attention.

"Mom," sniffled one of the twins from behind the door, your body waking up properly as concern started to fill you up. Your gaze flickered to the woman wrapped up in your arms, her face buried against your chest where she fell asleep not that long ago, having needed your comfort for most of the night as all the bottled up worries and stress about her mother, the twins, Vision and work seemed to suddenly spill out of her lips as you held her through it, sticking to your word of being there to support her through it. You knew how tired she was so you decided to unravel your tangled bodies as carefully and swiftly as possible, wanting to make sure whichever twin it was outside was alright.

You opened the door quietly, looking back briefly at the curled up body on the bed, fear taking over for a moment as she moved, a sigh of relief escaping you when you realised she was just rolling over before your attention became solely focused on the boy in front of you.

Tommy sniffled once more, lifting his hand to wipe away the tears in his eyes as he peered up at you, your face softening at his distressed state.

"Hey," you coo softly, voice a little raspy from having just woken up, causing you to clear your throat quietly, "What's wrong, Tommy?" You crouch down to be closer to his level, your hands going to fix his bed tousled hair, smoothing the brown locks while gazing into his watery eyes.

"I had a nightmare," he manages out, wiping his eyes once more, your brows furrowing at the boy's state as it clearly upset him a lot, "A bad one." He adds as you pull him closer for a hug, his smaller body melting against yours as he wraps his arms around you. Your hands soothingly rub up and down his back as he lets out a shaky breath, holding onto you tightly as you try to calm him down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you murmur gently, pulling back from the hug to look into his eyes, gauging his reaction. He nods subtly, his gaze flickering to the floor as you stand, his smaller hand taking a hold of yours causing your heart to melt a little but worry to flood through you.

Billy always seemed to be the more affectionate twin with you as well as being more emotional, so Tommy's current mood concerned you. His hand mirrored his tight grip during the hug, the action making you think that he was scared you would disappear if he let go.

You let him hold your hand as you guided him downstairs, flicking the living room light on and squinting a little as you adjusted to the brightness of the room, leading the boy to the sofa. You flopped a little onto the cushion, your own body tired but you ignored that for the moment as he joined you on the furniture, hesitantly moving closer to you. His side was pressed against yours, his hand reaching back to hold yours again, his fingers anxiously playing with yours as your concern only grew.

"What happened in your nightmare, Tommy?" you ask in a whisper, the boy subconsciously moving closer to you as he remembered the unpleasant dream. You waited patiently despite the ungodly hour that the clock displayed, knowing that there was no use in being pushy as it may have just upset him further.

"There was a monster," he mumbles, staring at your hands that were together, "It... It got you and Mom." His voice is quiet as he confesses, your face turning sympathetic, his words making your other arm wrap around his body, enabling him to cuddle into your side. He sniffled once again and you felt your heart break a little at how scary this monster must have been, your lips pressing against the top of his head as he rested against you.

"Oh Tommy," you coo out in a comforting manner, "It's ok, the monster didn't get us." Your words are nothing but soft and gentle, aiming to reassure the boy in your arms.

"It felt so real," he whispered, tilting his head to peer up at you, nothing but vulnerability and fear swirling in his eyes. "I thought... I thought I lost you both, the monster he- He got you both-" Tommy cuts himself off as he lets out another distressed noise while you murmur soft and comforting words, your hands gliding up and down his arms as he gradually quietens.

"Shhh, I'm here, I'm here for you Tommy," you murmur, holding the boy as close as possible, trying to think of something to say that would help him. You thought back to what your father would do when you were little after having a bad dream, remembering an old trick he would use. "Do you know what my Dad would say to me after I had a nightmare?" Your voice is a delicate whisper, the boy shaking his head and looking at you with interest and curiosity, wiping the tears that were building in his eyes once more. "He would always tell me that a monster's weakness was love," you say, realising a little at how cringy the words sounded but you didn't care, his soft and soothing words would always calm you and help you sleep again, the poor man having to carry you back upstairs into bed every time.

"Love?" he questions, brows furrowing a little and you remember doing the exact same thing, a soft chuckle escaping you at his words.

"Yes, love," you say with a hint of playfulness in your tone, hoping to make the boy smile a little, your shoulder nudging him. "He would tell me that if you love someone, no matter how scary the monster is, they won't be able to hurt the person you care about." He stays quiet for a moment, thinking over your words carefully before speaking up again.

"But I love Mom and you a lot and the monster still got you," he mutters, making your mouth open and close. You never questioned it, you just agreed and cuddled up to your dad, telling him how much you loved him.

"Well..." you drag out your words, thinking of a reasonable counter argument, "When you saw the monster, what did you feel?" He furrows his brows at your question, the answer to him being obvious.

"Scared," he replies, not following where you were going with this.

"Well, that was the issue then," you say as if it were obvious, his once distressed expression now replaced completely with confusion. "What I mean is, you have to think about how much you love the people when you see the monster, that's what scares them off," you explain, a small 'oh' of realisation leaving his lips as he finally understands you.

"Does it really work?" he asks after a while, his head turning to look at you again as during the brief silence he had cuddled up against your side again.

"It does," you whisper in reassurance, "No monster ever got my Dad again after he told me that." Maybe you were lying just a little to him, but you don't care as he seemed satisfied with your answer, moving to hug you.

"I'm sorry Y/n," he whispers against you, your arms wrapping around him as you welcome the embrace.

"You don't need to be sorry Tommy," your tone soft as you whisper back, "I told you, I'm here for you if you need me-"

"No, I mean, not about the nightmare," he says, pulling back and moving to sit next to you, his brown eyes staring up at you. "I should never have said those mean things about you when I came back from my Dad's," he says with an apologetic look in his eyes, your lips tugging into a small smile at his sorrowful expression. "I didn't mean any of it, I do need you here," you bring him in for another hug, letting his smaller body relax against you as he's pressed against your side, head resting on your shoulder once you both part after the hug.

"Thank you for apologising Tommy, I really appreciate it" you murmur, "And I hope you know I'm not here to replace your Dad, ok? I'm here because I love your Mom," your tone then turning softer and more playful ,"And you and Billy obviously." He lets out a small laugh at that, the room being enveloped in a comfortable silence after that as you let him relax in your arms.

You don't realise how long you've been sitting in the tranquil room with him until a soft snore leaves his lips, a smile stretching across yours at the cute noise leaving him. As slowly and carefully as possible, you lifted his head off your shoulder so you could slip off the sofa, moving to stand to pick the sleeping boy up when you almost jumped out of your skin at seeing Wanda standing at the door frame, her presence unknown and therefore a surprise.

Her eyes were a little puffy from the crying she did earlier, her green lacking the joyful glint as exhaustion was evident on her features along with worry, although a small smile still persisted on her face at the sight of you.

"He had a nightmare," your voice was quiet so you wouldn't wake the boy up as you lifted him into your arms, careful not to disturb him too much. You walk over to Wanda at a leisurely pace, not wanting to drop him or fall over something, the older woman's lips tugging into another small, subtle smile at the expression on her son's face as his cheek was smushed against your shoulder. Her fingers delicately brush a few strands of his hair out of his face, her eyes flickering over to you with a new emotion swirling in them.

"Thank you Detka," she murmurs with a raspy voice, your lips briefly meeting hers for a small, tender kiss, the small smile on her lips growing a little.

Walking up the stairs with Tommy in your arms proved harder than you thought, each step causing his head to move against your shoulder, your face a grimace as you were scared he was going to wake up with every step you took. Luckily, he didn't somehow, the rest of the journey easy as you lowered him into his bed, quickly tucking him in before checking on Billy who was still sound asleep, your gaze then going to Wanda who was hovering by the door frame with a soft expression written across her face.

"Did we wake you up?" you murmur while closing the door as quietly as you could, your arms wrapping around the older woman as you melt against her warmth, eyes closing and savouring the comfortable feeling of her body against yours.

"No, I woke up because I went to roll over and it felt suspiciously easy," she whispered in a teasing tone to lighten the atmosphere as you made your way back into her room, her body clinging against yours as you both climbed back into bed. Her arms snake around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to her as her head rests against the pillow, her eyes searching yours as you can't do anything but gaze into the various shades of green that were only just visible from the gentle moonlight seeping in through the curtains.

"I let you roll over," you mutter, making her smile as you both knew that was a lie. You loved to hold her as close and as tightly as possible, it was just more comfortable. The feeling of her entire body pressed up against yours, your arms wrapped around her, was easily the most comforting thing in the world to you, the only other contender being the position of your head snuggled against her chest for obvious reasons.

"Mhmm sure you do Detka," she hums out, her fingers sliding under your shirt to trace random patterns against your skin, your eyes fixated on hers as you could stare into them forever.

Wanda can feel a slight blush taking over her cheeks at how enamoured your stare is, the soft smile on your lips filling her chest with warmth as your smile grows that little bit wider once noticing the pink tinting her cheeks. You don't say anything to tease her, simply relishing the moment with her.

"Thank you once again Detka for taking care of him," she whispers, her fingers slipping out of your shirt, your lips forming a small pout as you miss the warmth of them, the disappointed expression immediately being replaced by a relaxed one as they slide into your hair, her nails delicately scratching your scalp.

"It was nothing Wanda," you dismiss, deeming it standard to help him and give Wanda a break as she clearly needed it, your eyes fluttering close at how soothing her touch feels.

"It meant something to me," she whispers back, your eyes just about opening in time to see the heartfelt look in her eyes. You can't help but lean forwards to connect your lips, perfectly slotting them against hers softly as you kiss her with passion but also tenderness, showing her how you feel with just a simple action. "How are you so perfect?" she whispers against your lips, the smile on your face widening at the familiar words, her fingers moving to cup your cheek as she looks at you with a loving look.

"I'm not," you whisper back causing her smile to grow wider as you go along with the words.

"You are to me," she murmurs back, her tone laced with honesty and care as her fingers caress your skin.

"Look at you stealing my line," you mutter, kissing her once again, both of you smiling into it, "Thief."

"Says the person who's stolen my shirts and hoodies," she chuckles out back, making a point by sliding her hands down your body, tracing the hem of the shirt that was once hers before you stole it.

"Touche," you whisper back, hiding your face against the pillow as she chuckles at how cute you are, her hands pulling you closer. "I love you," your voice is muffled by the pillow but Wanda can still hear you, her lips pressing against your temple as your eyes close, both of you tired.

"I love you too, Detka," she whispers, her own eyes fluttering shut as her body relaxes against yours, sleep effortlessly taking over you both.

***

A smile crept onto your lips as the older woman's arms snaked around your middle from behind, her head resting on your shoulder as she watched you curiously as you made dinner, a soft and teasing expression written across her face as you leaned back against her body a little.

You were so glad that the joyful glint in Wanda's eyes re-emerged over the last couple of weeks, the stress of her mother fading away as Natalya grew stronger every day, her recovery progressing as best as it could, allowing Wanda to return to the woman you fell so deeply in love with. You could see how much happier she was with the knowledge of her mother's safety, so you decided to embrace the light mood and suggested having a family night with the twins, especially after the last couple weeks, to which she agreed to instantly. You remembered how she murmured how it was a brilliant idea before claiming your lips innocently, the intimate action soon turning not so innocent until the twin's knocked on your door, asking for help with reaching something in the kitchen this morning

"Smells delicious, Detka," she hums out, turning her head to rest against your neck as you prepare the lasagne for dinner, the dish being one of the only ones you could somehow make taste divine. Her words gently brought you out of your thoughts of earlier on in the day, the smile on your face practically engraved as you couldn't help but feel a warmth bubble in your chest at how close Wanda was to you, her fingers tracing small patterns against your shirt.

"Me or the food?" you tease, making the older woman smirk against your neck, her lips softly meeting the skin there to torment you, her teeth grazing a sensitive spot making you shudder in her arms, the spoon in your hand almost falling into the half assembled dish.

"Can I say both?" she rasps out, pressing another kiss to your neck before pulling away, resting her head on your shoulder again, smirking to herself as she could see the pink tinting your cheeks, the way you let out a small, shaky breath and moved your body closer to hers.

"No," you sigh out, making the last layer before washing your hands swiftly, turning around so you could face the older woman, her enticing green eyes focussed on you and only you. "You have to choose," you whisper in a playful tone, your own arms wrapping around her waist as you pull her body closer to yours, practically pinning you against the countertop as you peer up at her a little.

She bites her lip while thinking momentarily, her eyes flickering between your eyes and lips before she finally answers, having far too much fun teasing you.

"I'd have to say the lasagne smells better," she teases making you look at her in fake offence before she moves her mouth to the shell of your ear, her tone dropping, "But I already know what tastes better," her hands drift a little lower with her suggestive words, your cheeks now red as your eyes darken, her chuckling a little at your flustered state as you move to hide your face at the crook of her neck, melting against her body.

"You're such a tease," you mutter against her skin, the older woman aware of how easy it was to turn you on, laughing a little against your body as her fingers glided up and down your back aimlessly.

"You secretly love it, I know you do Dorogaya," she murmurs and she's right. You do love it but you don't love the constant throb between your legs when with her, just wanting to let her take you right here in the kitchen but unable to as the sound of footsteps on the stairs indicate the boys were coming down.

"Ew," groans Tommy playfully at the sight of you two, Billy smiling at the endearing position you two were in as you hugged each other, both boys unaware of the reason you were hiding your face.

"Ew," you mimic in a mocking tone, pulling away from the safety of her neck to stick your tongue out at the boy, the action making Wanda shake her head at your antics while Tommy just mirrors the action to tease you. You raise your brow at him which makes him and his brother smile at your challenging look, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Your fingers quickly move to Wanda's chin as you tilt her lips down to meet yours, both boys groaning dramatically at the display of affection while you barely even kiss Wanda, the two of you merely smiling against each other's lips at tormenting the boys in a joking manner.

"So gross," Tommy mutters once you finish making you laugh once more, the boys waiting a little impatiently as they were excited for what you had planned for 'family night'.

"So gross," you mimic again and Wanda merely smacks your behind in warning to play nice, the action out of the boys' view, your cheeks tinting back to red again while you clear your throat, ready to tell the twins the exciting plan you had promised them. "Ok so, for family night the plan is simple," your tone becomes theatrical as you look at the twins whose bodies buzz with excitement, "Build the best pillow fort ever, eat dinner and then eat a load of sugar in the best pillow fort ever."

"Yay!" Both twins say at the same time, having wanted to build a pillow fort with you for ages while Wanda snaps her head over at you, not aware of the final part of the plan.

"Excuse me?" she says, raising her brow at you and tilting her head in that deadly combo. Oh god, fix it quickly.

"I mean, an appropriate amount of sugar," you reply with a charming smile, not so subtly winking at the twins who laugh at you, Wanda rolling her eyes at your seemingly immature nature with the boys.

"If they don't sleep tonight, I won't be the one trying to get them back in bed," she warns making you chuckle, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to you, her motherly stare faded into a soft expression at the way you gaze into her eyes with nothing but joy.

"Deal," you say without hesitation, unaware of how much harder the task would be.

***

The pillow fort lived up to its name of the best one ever, the combination of blankets, pillows and furniture taking over most of the living room as all four of you sat in the den, your eyes focussed on the twins with a regretful look.

Tommy's body hadn't stopped moving for what seemed like the past hour after you snuck him an extra bag of sweets, forgetting how hyper the boy could truly get if he had any amount of sugar, never mind the amount you had given him. Billy wasn't as bad but you saw how his leg refused to stay still as he laid on his stomach, drawing something in his sketchbook while the rest of you tried to focus on the film, Wanda too busy enjoying seeing you internally panic at having to deal with the boys.

Your body leaned further against the older woman who's back was against the bottom of the sofa, all of you laying on the abundance of blankets and pillows on the floor, her arms wrapped securely around your middle as she refused to pass on the opportunity of a cuddle, unbothered by the light teasing from the boys, knowing it was all playful. You were seated in between her legs, your fingers drawing random patterns against her legs as her fingers mirrored the action on your stomach, the two of you simply savouring each small touch as the film played on, your eyes more focussed on Tommy though who got up once again to fidget into another position.

Having had enough of his pacing, you threw a small pillow at him to get his attention, his head snapping over to you with a mischievous grin, your eyes widening as he picked up the small pillow, his hands wrapped firmly around it, his intentions clear.

"Don't you dare," you warn, Wanda chuckling and hiding her face behind your body, using you as a shield for what was about to happen.

"Pillow fight!" he declared in an enthusiastic cheer, his brother's attention immediately gained as he wanted to join in, grabbing another pillow before they both charged at you, hitting you with the pillows. Their attacks weren't powerful but they were fast, the feeling of Wanda chuckling behind you as she held you against her not helping as you tried to wriggle out of her grasp to avoid the attacks, infectious laughter spilling from everyone's lips as you tried to stop the onslaught of pillows.

Whack after whack, you couldn't stop each pillow the boys used as they could barely control their energy, chuckling after every hit, the sound of their laughter along with Wanda's causing a smile to stretch across your face despite the circumstances, your chest filled with nothing but love.

Eventually, your hands managed to grab the large pillow off Billy, throwing it somewhere where he had to retrieve it before doing the same to Tommy, giving you a space of opportunity to get payback against the older woman. Swiftly moving your body, you manoeuvred in Wanda's arms so that you were on top of her, moving to press her body down against the thick blanket laid out, her hair sprawling against it as her eyes widened, looking at you in disbelief and shock.

"Get her!" you chuckle out, moving to pin her hands above her head so she couldn't fight back, your legs straddling her waist as you smirked down at her, the boys then attacking their mother who couldn't do anything to stop the attacks due to your hold on her.

Their attacks seemed kinder to their mother, softer and not as often making you roll your eyes at the boys, continuing to encourage them to get Wanda which only fuelled the older woman's motivation to get revenge on you as she caught glimpses of your mischievous and playful smile between pillows lightly hitting her face.

When an adorable giggle left her, you couldn't help but laugh along with the twins, your grip loosening giving her the chance to flip the positions, to which she effortlessly did so as she overpowered you.

"Oh Detka, you're going to regret that," she panted out, mirroring your actions and pinning your wrists above your head, only needing one hand to keep yours still while she straddled your body lower, preventing you from using your legs as much. The boys then attack you once again, your face constantly being hit by soft fabric as you see the older woman smiling down at you softly in between hits, the sight inevitably causing you to smile as well despite noticing how they hit you harder in a joking manner.

"No!" you scream a little when you can feel Wanda's fingers start to tickle your side, your body jerking under hers as you were extremely ticklish, the boys stopping their whacks as they are too busy laughing at your reaction. Your body desperately tries to escape the feeling of her fingers gliding up and down your body, her tickling relentlessly as you wriggle under her, tears of laughter pricking at your eyes as the feeling becomes too much. "Stop, please stop," you say while laughing, unable to stop as she chuckled softly above you, tickling you a moment longer before sensing you needed to stop properly, her hands now delicately resting against you as she remained sitting on you, letting you catch your breath as your eyes fluttered shut. Your chest rose and fell as you tried to recover, gradually calming down until one last pillow hit you in the face, starting another set of giggles to spill from you, your hands reaching down to your stomach as it hurt from laughing so much.

"That's the end of the pillow war," Wanda says in a soft and gentle voice, her fingers subconsciously drawing a heart shape with her fingers against you as you calmed down once again, the boys flopping on the blanket next to you and catching their breath as well, Wanda comfortable with her position on top of you.

"That was the best pillow fight ever," Billy says in an amazed tone, his smile practically reaching his ears as he tilts his head to look at you and his mother, the sight causing Wanda to smile back softly at him, her heart melting at his tone and expression.

"It really was," you pant out, staring up at Wanda with a content expression as your hands move to interlock with hers, thumb brushing the back of her hand as you want to remain in the moment forever, the look in her eyes signalling she wished for the same thing. Wanda couldn't stop the way her chest bubbled with love, the warmth enveloping her whole body as she looked between her children and you, unable to express the pure joy she felt at the interaction.

"Can we do 'Family night' more often?" Tommy asks his mother before looking at you, sticking his tongue out at you once more as you roll your eyes at his constant antics, far too similar to his uncle's teasing ways. "I really enjoyed it," he whispers, your smile widening at his small confession.

"Of course we can," she replies in that soft and caring tone you love so much, her eyes conveying nothing but tenderness as she continues, "How about we try to have one once a month?" Both boys nod their heads eagerly at the idea, making you and the older woman both smile, her fingers still playing with yours.

"No stress," you say while looking at Wanda, her face softening, "No arguments, no homework," the boys chuckling at your last comment, "Just the four of us, having fun as a family."

"As a family," Wanda whispers back, unable to stop herself from leaning down and giving you a chaste kiss, both boys groaning once again at the display of affection which only makes the two of you laugh, the older woman moving to lay next to you as the four of you relax together, having had the perfect night.

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wandavision #wanda marvel #mommy wanda #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fanfiction #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda smut #wanda maximoff fan fiction #wanda fluff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fav #dom wanda maximoff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic series #fluff #FLUFF AND SMUT #angst to fluff #fluff and romance #fluff and humor #rough smut #soft smut #eventual smut #gxg smut

[cloudsmateria]

leon kennedy x reader / college au

summary: you and your best friend leon had gone off to university, too busy to see each other for the longest time you'd both been away. you eventually find the time to meet up, getting drunk and acting on some building up feelings :3

warnings: start of a smut, alcohol, not proof read idk its kind of a shit ramble that i didn't put much cohesive effort into but it's quite cute so i posted it

anyway, i’ll probably do the smut in p2

words: 2.7k

It had been a month since you last saw Leon. Ever since you started law school, and he got into his cop training program both of your schedules had been stacked, despite you both still living in the same city the 45-minute commute to each other's homes was too much. As your best friend, you both managed to call each other every other night, confiding about whatever stupid experiences you both had in your new lives.

Tonight, you finally were able to agree on him coming to your apartment tonight, as you finally managed to get all work out of the way to have a fully free weekend off. You didn't realise how excited you were for his arrival until he texted you he was at the door. You sprinted through the halls and threw the door open.

"Leon!" You shout, jumping onto him and wrapping your arms around him.

"Y/n." He smiled, hugging you back.

“I haven’t seen you in way too long.” 

“We saw each other on Facetime last night.” You finally pull away with a smile. 

“You won’t even let me have a moment to be sweet.”

“It weirds me out, you're impossible to take seriously.” He rolls his eyes in response as he walks into your apartment, falling onto your couch, you sit next to him, kicking your legs up and leaning your head against his shoulder. “Did you wanna order takeout?”

“I wanted to go out. Haven’t left my apartment to explore the city since I joined the training academy. But we’ll just stay in here for a few minutes, catch me up, then we can go outside and do dumb shit.”

“Catch you up on what?” You laughed. “You’ve been my virtual therapist for the past month. Let’s talk about you. Show me what you learnt in your training or something, entertain me.”

“You’re right, you’ve talked too much, your voice gives me a headache.” You slap his chest and he lets out a light laugh, grabbing your wrists and pulling you over him to lay on his chest. “Get comfortable first, it’s long.”

“Doubt it.”

“You have it easy. This training is just as physically draining as it is mentally.”

“It shows. You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you.” You say, tracing your finger up his arm that has noticeably grown in size, and he’s already been going gym since he was 15.

He laughs. “You must've missed me bad, I’ve never seen you this nice.”

“What’s the training like?”

“I’m at the top of the class right now but the coaches are fucking evil, 4 people have already left.” He rambles on about the jarring people he’s met and the few friends that he’s made until the story is over and he gets up regretfully as he loses the weight of your body on top of him. You go into your room to change as you are still in pyjamas, getting into a skirt with a baggy sweater you wore a little too much.

“Is that my jumper?” Leon asked as you walked out. “Is it? I've had it for ages." He steps closer and snorts when he gets a closer look, flipping the back to see the label.

"You stole this from me last year."

"You mean I borrowed it indefinitely."

"I could arrest you."

"I'd like to see you try your best, trainee. It looks better on me anyway, finders keepers."

"What if I took it back off you?"

"You'd have to catch me first."

"I'm pretty fast."

"Not as fast as me." You grin before pushing him and sprinting out of your apartment, the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you.

"You think you can lose me?!" He taunted.

"I've done it before!" You shout back, running down the stairs of the apartment complex, and out into the streets, almost losing your breath from how much you were laughing. Suddenly, he sped up to an ungodly speed, picking you up when he caught up and throwing you over his shoulder. "Oh my god! What do they feed you in training?!" You yell, slapping his back.

"Mostly protein." He says, sarcastically.

"Are you gonna put me down or carry me around the city like a caveman?"

"I’ll drop you."

"Don't even joke about that." He laughs.

"Fine, fine, I won't." He puts you down and you both start walking around the city, looking for a corner store to get into.

"Let’s get wasted." You say, pointing to a small corner store.

"You’re so irresponsible." He said, going into the store and coming back out with soda and a bottle of vodka, he popped it open instantly when he came out, taking in a mouthful without wincing, passing it over to you straight after as you both walked down the street.

"I found this nice spot, it's 5 minutes from here."

"You didn't tell me about this when we were on Facetime."

"I was hoping to show you in person, I haven't told anyone else about it." You say, taking a mouthful of the burning liquid, coughing slightly, and passing it back over.

"Well, lead the way."

After a few minutes, you were standing on the roof of an abandoned, bordered car park with a pretty view of the river that ran through the city. You already had a wooden bench up there that you took as someone left it on the side of the road.

"How did you find this?" Leon asks.

"I just went on a walk one day and saw the entrance was bordered up and decided to explore, no-one ever comes up here." You said, leaning against the rails. "How much have we drank?"

"About a quarter of the bottle. Do you want more?" He asked.

"Yeah." He passes it over to you. "Do you remember the time we broke into that abandoned hospital near our high school?"

"And you freaked out when you thought that fake skeleton was real.."

"You're never gonna let that go are you?"

"We had to climb out of the window and I had to catch you before you fell to your death. Of course, I'm not going to let it go, you owe me."

"What do you want then? A drink?”

"I can pay for my own drinks and I just paid for yours." He said signalling to the bottle in your hand.

"You get to continue to enjoy my lovely company, that's all I owe you."

"Good enough." He sighed, taking a swig. The both of you sit around, both of you talking each other's ears off until he makes a suggestion.

"We should play a game."

"What's the game?"

"Truth or dare."

"Yes! I don't remember the last time we played this. Truth."

"Any crushes yet?"

"Honestly, not really. There are some cute guys in my uni but I'm just too busy with work. Truth or Dare."

"Dare."

"I dare you to finish the bottle."

"No problem." He said, finishing the bottle, and dropping it on the ground. You laughed at him, knowing he's going to be out of his mind later.

“You’ve been going to too many parties.” You say, watching in astonishment. “This is definitely some pretence for a future alcohol problem.”

“You’re gonna be the reason for my future alcoholism.”

“To be fair you are the type to become an alcoholic over a girl.”

“You’re that girl. You’re the most annoying thing in my life and I can’t get rid of you.” 

You hit his arm.

“You hit me too. Can’t get worse.” You roll your eyes with a smile.

“Seriously, you got anything going on with any girls?” You ask, feeling a bit of tension rise. He gives you a knowing grin. “Because I love gossip, don’t get any ideas.”

“Yeah, her name is Sienna. Funny girl, might ask her out soon.” You nod, questionably annoyed. “I’m joking. God. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, got something you wanna tell me?”

“The alcohol is just hitting.” You say. “Don’t get so full of yourself. You know I wouldn’t get with you if you were the last man on earth.”

“Yeah, right.” He smiles amusedly, a plan in mind. “Truth or dare, y/n?”

"Dare."

"Kiss me." Your heart stops.

"I'm not kissing you."

"You have to."

“Do I?”

“Never took you for a girl who’d pussy out on a dare.”

You sigh.

"You have some sick satisfaction out of tormenting me." You say, standing up and straddling his thighs. Fuck. You can feel the thick muscles of his shoulders as you rest your hands upon them. 

"You have no idea." You stare at him with a small frown.

"You're so lucky I'm drunk." You lean in slowly, feeling his fingers trace over your skin, sending goosebumps all over your body. You're just a few centimetres away from his lips, your lips parting, your heart thumping, his gaze dropping down to your lips. Suddenly, you hear him quietly laugh as you start to close your eyes.

"I'm not actually going to kiss you." He says.

"What?"

"You don't have to kiss me, it was a joke."

"Oh god." You sigh, faceplanting into his shoulder.

"You're so cute." He snorts, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I think you’re the one who’s gonna make me an alcoholic." You mumble. 

“Come on, let’s go back to your apartment before you jump off the railings.” He says, letting you get off.

"You're evil." You say once you get to the ground.

"And you're so gullible. How is someone supposed to not take advantage of that?"

"Now you’re showing your true colours, you’re going to regret saying that." You say as menacing as you can, before tripping up from how tipsy you were, just for him to grab the back of your sweater to keep you upright.

"Keep threatening me, I love it."

“Freaky bastard.”

“You have no idea.” He says, grabbing your hand to speed you up for you to trip again, he laughs as you manage to catch yourself. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“No thanks.”

“Too bad because I want to get back in a timely manner.” He says, wrapping his arm around the back of your knees and carrying you off. You weren’t going to complain. 

“Are you not drunk?”

“I’m drunk. I just have more spatial awareness than you.” He carries you the quick 5 minutes to your house. Managing to walk all the way up the stairs with you still in his arms, his stamina was kind of hot, or maybe those were just drunk thoughts. 

He sets you down on your couch, getting you both a glass of water to put on your side table. 

"I didn’t say this but I took some judo classes." You say, just letting whatever dumb shit stumble out your mouth as you take a sip from the glass.

"Did you now?" He says sarcastically.

"We should spar."

"You never fail to surprise me with your stupid ideas." He says while watching you get up. "Are you that confident?"

"You're scared, that's why you're trying to chicken out." He pushes himself up off the couch.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” He says, watching you hype yourself up, jumping up and down.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Come at me then.” He said, fully intending to go easy on you. You quickly try to tackle him onto the floor, wrapping your leg around him to drop him, and to his shock he falls onto his back, leaving him groaning and rubbing his back. “I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“Fuck yeah! Told you you’d regret it!” You shout, jumping up, he grabs your leg and pulls it down making you fall over him, rolling over so that you were pinned down by your wrists.

“How cute, Leon.” You smile, tucking feet underneath him onto his chest and launching off you and getting up. You usually weren’t this successful given you’d only gone to 2 classes, the drunkenness definitely provided you some much-needed confidence. He laughs breathlessly from the rollercoaster you just put him through, resting on his wrists for a second before standing up with you. 

“You wanted me to show you what I learnt in training right?” He says, as you rub your hands together mischievously. You run toward him, him holding both of your hands when you try to push him, pushing against each other as he swipes both your feet from under you and pins you to the floor, his shins pressing on your thighs to make sure you don’t pull the same trick again. Both of you are still breathing heavily from the high of the last round. 

 "You should give up now." He whispers, lacing his fingers in between your own.

"You should know better." You whisper back, smiling. His eyes drop down to your lips, his head fogged as the alcohol in his system starts to kick in more.

"What if I don't?" He leans in, brushing his lips over yours, your stomach fluttering, you were so glad you were drunk. You never would've come up with this idea if you were sober.

"What are you doing, Leon?" 

"Beating you up.”

"You're drunk."

"So are you." He replies, connecting your lips. The kiss is slow and soft. Not how you expected a drunk make-out to be. His lips part and your tongue meet his, the both of you letting out quiet sounds as the kiss gets more heated, his body weight shifting down. His arms wrap around your waist, under your jumper as he stands up with your legs wrapped around him. "We shouldn't be making out on the living room floor." He says and presses his lips against yours again. You were already a little light-headed from the alcohol, his lips trailing down your jawline, your neck, the soft breaths of his breath against your skin, it was almost dizzying. His foot pushes your bedroom door open and he places you down on the bed his lips still all over and his fingers lifting the jumper over your head. He trails his fingers over the waistband of your skirt.

"How much did you miss me?" He breathes against your lips.

"More than anything."

"How much did you miss me, Leon?"

“I was going insane." He whispers, his fingers slipping into your underwear, sliding them off and throwing them across the room. He sits up, taking his shirt off.

"Now that's just the alcohol talking."

"It's not, the time away made me realise something I should've ages ago." He said, leaning back over and kissing you. His hand trailed back down under your skirt, a finger gliding over your slit, a soft moan coming from his lips.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil fanfiction

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [6]

description: Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.

word count: 14.5k

trigger warnings: gore/violence (as per) blood, nakedness? Fear of drowning. I have said this before, Dove has a dark past with themes that include abuse in a relationship (torment, manipulation, prostitution etc) drug use, please do not read this if this is not okay with you. Inspired by Last Night in Soho (dir. Edgar Wright) which is rated 18.

main masterlist | series masterlist

“So? What about the other gods?” Marc asked, witholding a heavy sigh as he looked over at Khonshu, Dove still nestled into his chest. The vibrations of his words rattled against her forehead, and she wished that for just a single second she could get a fucking break from the life she lived, from the virus that seemed to spread to every area of her life, from knowing the only denominator that linked every awful thing brought upon herself was her.

If it wasn’t her every waking moment spent pining after any scrap of kindness Marc could give her, then it was wishing Steven was here to talk to. He always knew how to make it better. How to cheer her up. He was a lot like Grace in that sense, that he knew exactly which part of her brain was troubling her and managed to weasel his way into the darkness, draw out the sickness and replace it with only good. And if it wasn’t wishing Layla would understand she was not a home-wrecking mistress, then it was her dreams being riddled by Grace, the one sore spot in her heart that seemed to never heal.

She was starting to forget what Grace looked like, she’d realised with a numbing pain. Started to forget where her freckles were, the way she smelled, the shades of honeycomb blonde in her soft locks. She was forgetting, an ailment no amount of healing armour could eradicate.

She’d rather be ripped to shreds all over again if she could see her in the flesh just one more time. Even as a ghost, even as a mirage, she’d take it all again.

“Are they just gonna stand by and allow someone to unleash Ammit?” Marc asked his keeper, his large hand still resting on her crown with a warm softness. She sniffed, pulling away from him with a troubled frown.

“To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” Khonshu explained, resting his goliath form in an oddly casual sprawl on an abandoned car.

“What’s the worst they could do?” Dove asked emptily, her tired eyes catching sight of the dead bodies for a split second before she quickly looked away, pretending her stomach didn’t lurch at the puddle of red sap that pooled beneath them.

“Anger them enough and they’ll imprison Seth and I in stone,” That had her head shooting up to the bird-like god, brain whirring at the golden ticket out of this whole mess.

“What?” She asked, stepping towards him, “You mean they can do that? They can relieve us of duty as your avatars?”

“See how you fair against Harrow without the protection of healing armour, little mutt,” Khonshu snapped, and the girl deflated on the spot. That was something she hadn’t thought of. Even if she were no longer Seth’s avatar, Harrow would still be planning on eradicating innocent lives. It was too late for taking back that duty now, she was in far too deep to bury her head in the sand now, no matter how much she’d wanted to.

How many moles had Grace had? Four, in a horizontal line from her ribs to her spine, or was it five? Fuck, what colour were her eyes? Blue, she knew, but what colour exactly, what shade, what hue?

“Alright, so what?” Marc bit back, throwing his hands up in defeat. He, too, had had the fleeting jump in his chest at the idea of being free from his servitude. “You got any good ideas?”

The god thought for a moment, his skeletal chest taking a deep, weighted breath behind its linen robes. A sigh of dismay.

“I have a bad one,” He said, and with a small movement he disappeared into the cool breeze passing over the two of them, as if he were nothing more than a pile of ash, or a thought thrown to the ether.

The two of them spared a glance at one another, Dove’s demeanour still shaken when Marc surveyed her with a soft, cocoa gaze. The wind picked up around them before either of them could speak, Dove’s hair whipping around her sticky face, catching on her cheekbones, the need to peel and scratch and gnaw at her skin overwhelming her with the texture, anything to get the damned blood off.

“What is he doing?” She asked, her hand subconsciously reaching out for Marc’s when the world around her began to darken. But not just for herself, she realised, but because the sun was disappearing.

No, that couldn’t be right. Throwing a squinted, pained look at the clear blue sky, the smell of the metallic tang on her skin slapping her in the face. Her eyes locked on the white orb in the sky that was indeed being devoured by a slightly smaller black circle moving in front of it, the moon. Khonshu was creating a solar eclipse. Switching the light out on an entire section of the world, drawing far too much attention to himself than would be allowed by the gods.

“Sending the gods a signal they can’t ignore,” His deep voice echoed around the clearing, the wind carrying the sound to their sensitive ears.

She felt Marc take her hand as darkness swept over them, unnaturally fast for any solar eclipse, tugging her back towards the town where cries of startled citizens were beginning to meet her ears.

“Come on,” He murmured, his warmth grounding her astonished mind, her eyes quickly adjusting to the shadow that swallowed the sands.

“I don’t know whether to applaud him for the guts or curse him for putting you in danger,” She mumbled, not missing the way their hands seemed to gum together from the equal amount of ichor on them. She didn’t miss the way Marc’s knuckles were blown open, the flesh around them sore and sliced from his fist fight with the mercenaries. She made a note to fix them later.

“That tends to be the way with Khonshu,” Marc replied sourly, the two of them taking a long set of old sandstone steps back down to the city.

She huffed, more agitated than he had ever seen her with a solid frown on her normally gentle forehead.

“Well maybe when all of this is over, we find a way to get rid of them both together?” She proposed, and he couldn’t help but lurch at the fact she saw a together for the two of them after all of this. Not together in love, he chided himself, but Layla had been the only other person to ever see him as worth sticking around for. It was nice to have Dove too.

Flashing her a barely there smile, he squoze her hand lightly. It fell the second he caught sight of the bird headed god and his jackal like companion waiting for them at the bottom of the steps as if they heard their devious little plan.

“That was abit over the top, don’t you think?” Marc sassed, keeping hold of Dove’s hand and steering her away from Seth’s looming gaze, even if to hold off his intruding presence for a second longer than necessary.

“Hurry, they’re gathering their avatars now,” Khonshu demanded, the two of the goliath gods trailing behind their own minions.

“Aren’t they scattered all over the world?” Marc asked, and Dove was glad he was here with her at least, she was sure by the way her stomach was twisting so painfully she would have retched her breakfast by now. She was going to have to meet more gods? Not just any but the Ennead, the effective high council of Egyptian Deities and plead their case to the ancient beings? The current track record set by the Gods she had met had caused nothing but misery for her short life, so the idea of introducing eight more to that mix sent her chest pounding.

“Yes, but for a meeting with the Ennead, a portal presents itself anywhere,” Seth cut in, halting the two humans in their step. His face, his presence, was not one that they simply could get used to. A chill ran down both their arms, and she felt him tug her just a bit closer to him.

“Okay, so where’s ours?” Marc asked, and as if to summon the portal in question, a low rumble only they seemed to notice rocked the earth beneath their feet, though it seemed too delicate to be an earthquake, too harsh to be oncoming footsteps. It was then that bricks in the nearby building began peeling away, crumbling in on themselves to form a long archway corridor. The walls were lined with hieroglyphs she was certain wasn’t part of that building, more likely wherever it was the portal led to.

“Last time I spoke to the gods, they banished me,” Khonshu spoke solemnly as the two of them stepped towards the doorway. A faint, amber light flickered against the symbols etched into the stone walls, illuminating them with a golden glow that reminded her of Seth’s staff.

“Join the club,” Seth growled with a bitter chuckle, and Dove fought the urge to point out the sheer amount of times he had slaughtered his own brother for power that had led to his banishment, but she thought better of it than to be the one receiving his wrath. “Our case against Harrow must be indisputable,”

The two of them hesitantly stepped forward, Marc subconsciously moving in front of her as if to want to head in there first, check if it was safe. But there was no time for heroics, and he didn’t doubt Seth wouldn’t have her defend herself if things started to go south. Hearing the two gods retreating behind them, Dove whipped around to see the beasts slinking off through a nearby street.

“Aren’t you coming?” It was perhaps the only time she would ever want the God of Death there to support her case. Though, upon thinking about it, she guessed Osiris seeing his killer may not go down well considering the god’s reputation.

He snickered darkly, throwing a glance to her over his muscled shoulder that rippled with corded tendons with every movement.

“You know I love a family reunion.

Dove’s jaw slacked, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline. They were so fucked.

Marc huffed, and the two of them stood looking down the long corridor with a shared hesitance. Once they went in, they were going in blind. Into a space where there were beings even more powerful than the gods they were bound to. Who knows what the Ennead were capable of, whether they were known to hold grudges around two exiled gods and the humans they deemed worthy of their service. Would they see right through her? Right through this innocent little marionette she played every single second. Would they see her for exactly who she was, would they see the chaos festering in her heart? The rot eating away at her bones?

“Ready?” Marc whispered, the sound barely meeting her ears. He looked over at her gently, eyes wide and anxious, though he seemed more worried about her than himself. Her eyes were glazed over, tired. Her hand was cold in his palm, yet she gripped onto him tightly as if he were the only thing she had to ground herself. She looked back at him, though he could tell she was far away, she wasn’t here with him, the same as this morning in the room, when her smile had cracked for just a single second and he saw the sadness behind her eyes that rarely appeared. He hated it.

She didn’t speak, just nodded and it was enough for him to draw her even closer, hold her hand even tighter.

The two stepped into the tunnel, their footsteps echoing down the long chamber, engulfed in a cloak of darkness from the lack of sunlight. It certainly wasn’t a new building they were entering judging by the erosion on the crumbling walls, though the hieroglyphs were surprisingly well preserved. A light flickered at the end of the passage, the only thing giving them any idea where to go as they clung towards one another. A large figure of a head came into view, starting small but the closer they got it became clear the figurine was actually huge, large enough to tower over both of them ten times over. She guessed by the head piece and the jewellery they were royalty, or at least the spouse of a pharaoh, well respected. Revered. A tomb for an esteemed member of Ancient Egyptian society.

She remembered Steven showing her a special edition guide to Egyptian myths they had in stock just three weeks ago, how he’d been waiting for them to get the shipment in for months since it was so low stocked everywhere else. He’d nudged her every chance he could get when they finally got to take their lunch break, turning his new prize to her to show her every diagram or photo or excerpt he could, telling her more facts that he’d read in other books, talking her ear off the entire train ride home too. She thought him the smartest man she’d ever met; thought his intellect, his sheer excitement to share his interest with her was the sweetest and most attractive thing she’d ever seen. He certainly didn’t make it easy for her to not kiss him silly right there on the spot.

Two more figures came into view, two behemoth statues flanking each side of the head, one a falcon, a distinctive crown atop his stone head, the other a woman with two large ostrich wings as her arms, curled around herself.

“I can’t believe it,” Marc’s head whipped to the side, Steven’s face reflecting in the polished golden engravings on the stone walls, his chocolate eyes lit up in wonder like a boy on christmas. His hands clasped together in front of him nervously, though his mouth was pulled into a gobsmacked smile, his gaze flicking around the enormous expanse of the room as if to take it all in at once. “Oh- my days. We’re inside- we’re inside the Great Pyramid of Giza,”

Marc’s head flicked to the room that opened up into a colossal square, unmistakably a pyramid built for the worthiest of pharaohs.

“Steven said we’re in-” Marc started, his voice low, gentle as if to not alert whatever it was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, only for her to cut him off with an equally hushed tone.

“Great Pyramid, yeah” She nodded, her eyes stunned and overwhelmed. Nodding towards the Falcon statue, she pointed with their joined hands, “That’s Horus wearing the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt.”

“God of Healing and Protection?” Marc asked, recalling the few things he knew about the other gods. She nodded, her eyes never ripping away from the expanse of priceless relics in front of them.

“As a man, yes. Horus as a Falcon represents Kingship,” She explained, watching his eyes trail over her face with a strange look, softening just a touch more if it were even possible. Turning back to nod towards the other statue, “The woman with the ostrich wings is Ma’at, judge of the hearts of the dead. She represents justice and order, balance and morality. This was a Pharaoh who wanted the greatest of respects and fortune in his afterlife,”

Marc’s jaw slackened at her brain, practically seeing the cogs turning in her bright eyes, the flame from the torches dotted around the tomb giving her face a beautifully warm glow. She looked divine, as if it should be her with statues erected in her honour, as if she were the one who deserved a wonder of the world in her name.

“I think I’m in love,” Steven’s besotted voice came from the reflection behind him, feeling the alter’s eyes enraptured with her face just as much as he was. Marc nodded once, ripping his gaze away from her to focus on the unfamiliar territory ahead.

Now was not the time for childish feelings, he chided himself, though Steven’s words had cut him deep, confirming for Marc something he already knew. It wasn’t just a little crush he was in the way of - Steven was in love with this woman. And he was wrecking it, he was simply a wall in between two gentle creatures that deserve nothing else but each other.

He always knew he ruined everything.

A frown settled on his face, avoiding her gaze with a sneer as they ventured forward into the tomb.

“Come on,” He murmured, unclasping her hand and quietly stepping into the cold catacomb.

“One evening,” He had said, waving his finger in her face at the door like a master scolding its pup, “You girls can have one evening out,”

It was probably because the neighbours had started getting suspicious about the two girls that would sit in the window but would never leave, or perhaps it was a treat for being such good little victims and remaining complacent. They didn’t know. At first Grace had said it was a test, a test of loyalty. It wouldn’t be unlike him to give them a sick game to test if they really were faithful to his command. But perhaps it was a treat? After the two years they had remained in that house, remained together, this was the first time they were allowed outside that wasn’t the garden.

They were ecstatic.

Don’t be fooled, he was sure to collar the two of them before they could step foot out the door, his fingers squeezing just the slightest bit to tell them exactly what would be waiting if they were to run or go for help. Don’t be stupid, now girls, he reminded with a low grumble. And they were gone.

It had started with a brisk walk down the street, past the abandoned hotel that sat opposite their bedroom window, its welcome sign springing to life every evening even after its years out of business. The girls had a prance in their steps, truly with no idea where they were headed since they couldn’t see past a certain point from their spot in the window. Once the road turned into a long slope down, the houses getting bigger, the yards getting greener, the road getting quieter, was when it settled in that they were outside again.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Grace whispered, her head tipped to the heavens, the crease on her brow ironed out. She took a deep breath, her mouth pulling out into the biggest smile she had ever mustered, Dove swore she could count every single one of her teeth. “We’re fucking OUTSIDE!” She yelled, no doubt waking up the neighbours. It was dangerous, drawing attention to themselves, but Grace couldn’t care. The Summer breeze filled her lungs, the seven o’clock sun fell over her face in full force, the feeling seeming to be extra warm than what she was used to. Because there was no window there. Because they were free.

Until eleven, in four short hours, but they were free nonetheless. The birds had never sounded louder, the air never tasted so sweet.

She couldn’t help but join Grace in taking a long, deep breath, a laugh bubbling out her throat, loud and joyful. Perhaps the happiest she’d felt in years. Like slipping out of a cage, a bird with its wings spread. She rose her arms to her sides, feeling the wind whip entirely around her middle, and suddenly the two of them were running. The street was empty, save for the two sets of footsteps slapping against the concrete as they sprinted down the descending hill, their fingers brushing against each others every now and then before Grace reached over and clasped her hand tightly against hers.

They were free.

It wasn’t long before they’d reached the beach, the one mother showed her as a child, the one she’d been to when the boys were little. It was nothing spectacular, nothing like they’d see in a foreign country. The sea was cold as anything since it was still England after all, the sand was mostly rocks, but the sound of the waves rolling in on their little slice of heaven.

The two lay on the hard sand, shoes kicked off and fingers buried into the course grain, just feeling. The sea was far from lapping at their feet; though ice cold, they wouldn’t find it in themselves to care anyway. The freezing water would barely even scrape the surface of the elation they felt now, there truly wasn’t anything that could simmer the way their hearts pounded in their ears.

“Three hours left,” She reminded, only to have Grace tut her and swat at her arm.

“We won’t be late, stop worrying,” The blonde chided, sand sticking to the side of her cheek as she turned her head in the sand to see her companion, “Just breathe,”

She knew she’d meant ‘breathe it all in’, the day, the feeling of their cage door being blown open, but she couldn’t help but do as Grace had commanded and take a deep salty breath in.

The sun warmed her as the shore breeze cooled her. A balance. An equilibrium. Her mind was blank for the first time in a long time. The waves may as well have been the thoughts ebbing and flowing from her mind.

“In some other universe, this is our life every single day,” She finally muttered, as if too scared to speak it into existence and risk waking up from whatever dream they were having. Grace snickered, their fingers meeting once more. Grounding. Warm.

“Do you think so?” Grace asked, her cornflour eyes squinting in the sun, watching the way her friend’s eyes remained closed, soaking up the entire thing. “You think we’re together in other universes too?”

“I hope so,” She responded, her toes sinking into the warm sand just a touch more, clinging to the back of her bare calves. “I hope I’m with you in all of them,”

Grace smiled, and her eyes opened then, meeting the sky with a tired blink before she turned to where Grace was staring at her. The two simply looked at one another, as if looking in a mirror of themselves though their shell was entirely different. Like their souls had met an equal in their gaze.

“I don’t care which one I’m in as long as I have you,” Grace whispered, clenching onto her hand with a soft desperation. She sighed, turning back to stare at the sky, a new openness at the difference the vast blueness held from her bedroom ceiling.

“I hate that house.” She confessed, though Grace already knew she did. “I feel like I’m-” She welled up, and Grace shifted to rest her forehead on her shoulder, “I feel like I’m in a coffin. Like I’m in a tomb. Like I’m screaming and banging on the door but everyone assumes I’m dead already,” Her brothers. They never responded to her letters, texting was too risky. But the envelope with the money made it to them once a month, she always sent it with the hope they would understand, understand she hadn’t left, that she wasn’t gone. But perhaps she was. She felt already gone. Felt like a corpse walking. “Maybe I already am dead,”

“I would never let that happen to you,” Grace whispered, nuzzling her face into her bare shoulder, “Me and you in every universe, right?” She asked, nudging her arm against hers to make her point, “Cage, house. Beach, tomb. I’m with you in every one of them,”

Dove’s breath was caught in her chest when she saw the sheer size of the pyramid. They didn’t call it the Great Pyramid for no reason, she supposed, but the sculptures alone were some of the biggest pieces of art she had ever seen, larger than any relics they had at work.

Marc took a slight lead, heading towards the centre of the room, where the floor lowered into a pit-like square, the floor a cold stone and undisturbed. Nine smaller, seated statues lined the steps down to the trench, one for each of the Ennead they guessed quickly. Eight doorways, similar to the one they had just exited from, dotted the remaining walls. A slight flash of light came from two of them, where a young woman stepped through the door to the close right.

She was beautiful, Dove noted immediately. Her sepia skin glowed in the dark lamp light, her midnight black hair silk over her shoulders. She was effortlessly graceful, beautiful gold jewellery winding over her wrists and neck, her eyes fox like yet gentle as she peered at the two newcomers.

“Khonshu’s antics are unparalleled.” She said with an accent Dove couldn’t place other than the melody it spelled over her every word. “You must be his avatar,” She said with a glint in her eye Dove knew was not just from the fire light. She was only a single pace behind Marc by the time he reached the bottom of the steps, yet she felt entirely lost, as though she were just floating her way down to where the woman met them, her legs jelly and wobbling.

“And who are you?” Marc asked politely, though she could sense the wariness in his tone. Untrusting. Ready to make a run for it if it came to it. She saw how his shoulders held the tension he rarely seemed to displace, she wished she could simply shove her face in between his shoulder blades, hug him like she had in the room. Feel him relax under her touch. She wished they were anywhere else but here. Anywhere but where the walls seemed inevitable, seemed to seal in around her, their very purpose to keep the dead inside.

“I’m Yatzil, Avatar of Hathor,” The woman announced, nearing the pair with a smile. Friendly, Dove noted, but she saw the way Marc tensed even further as she reached them, a look of plain fear flashing over his expression, as if she were about to be snatched away from him by the relatively kind looking woman. “Goddess of Music and Love? Surely Khonshu mentioned her,”

Marc shook his head slightly, a grimace on his battered face, “The gods aren’t exactly his favourite topic,”

“Not even when they are old friends?” Yatzil pushed, and Dove straightened up when she saw the playful way the avatar studied Marc with. Something boiled in her chest, something hot and sour, like her lungs were trying to choke her from the inside out. She didn’t like the way she was looking at Marc. To say he was hers only to look at drew even more tumultuous feelings in the pit of her stomach, but unlike Layla, who could barely stand the sight of him without steam blowing out her ears, she was interested. She was flirty.

She wanted out of this sinking ship already before she did something she would regret.

The woman looked over Marc’s shoulder then, only just noticing the shadow that seemed to peak from behind him, her eyes wide yet calculating, a vast contrast to Marc’s furrowed brow that glared at everything.

“And who might you be?” Yatzil’s voice was mellow as she took in the new figure, her gentle gaze never wavering. Perhaps she wasn’t so much flirting as she had guessed, and she wanted to chide herself for getting so worked up so quickly. Maybe she was just overly friendly to everyone, being the Goddess of Love and all that.

She was almost embarrassed with how quickly she had become possessive over Marc. It was hard not to when she was accompanied by an extremely attractive man that seemed to draw eyes everywhere he went. She thought she had enough trouble with Steven and Dylan, let alone a Goddess.

Chancing a look at Marc, the two of them agreeing solely with a single silent exchange, she told Yatzil her name.

“I’m Avatar of Seth,” She confessed, not missing Yatzil’s face tightening, her smile becoming a tad more forced. Her once gentle eyes became intrigued, looking the girl head to toe, before turning back to Marc.

There it was. The turn. The moment she realised she was not to be trusted. That she was rotten to her marrow.

“I did not know Seth had a new avatar,” She said, all traces of warmth gone as she surveyed the younger woman with a new suspicion, “How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” Marc cut in, sensing Dove’s anxiety by the way she fidgeted with her fingers, grabbing her hand back into his own to stop her from picking at the skin around her thumb. He hated it when she did that, saw how sore it made her digits, how she would bring band aids with her in her bag in case any of the scabs broke skin, “It’s not why Khonshu called this meeting,”

“Yatzil,” A voice called down to them, and it was then that the pair realised the rest of the avatars had made it, standing behind each of their podiums that represented their gods. They looked like regular people, though she supposed so did she and Marc. That was the point of them. It made Dove wonder if there were hundreds of them out there, if she had walked past them in the street before, thinking nothing of them.

Yatzil gave them a strained smile, leading them towards where the four other avatars stood, waiting to pass conviction on the two of them. She couldn’t help but feel like a lamb being led to slaughter after that stilted introduction, as though they were heading to a chopping block with cuffs and a bag over their head, the avatars facing them all judge, jury and executioners.

Her trial was over before she had opened her mouth. Just the very sound of Seth’s name had set Hathor on edge, let alone when she faced the god Seth had repeatedly assassinated. His own brother, Osiris. Or even his sister, Isis.

“Have they told you how this works?” Yatzil asked calmly, heading to the steps towards her own podium, where Hathor’s proud statue watched them approach, a pair of long cow horns straddling a large sun disk signalling her seat.

“Not really,” Marc answered for the two of them as Dove naturally fell behind his shoulder, gaze flicking to the new sets of eyes that peered down on their lowered figures. She hated the way they picked her apart with their unfriendly glares, vultures circling a carcass waiting to dive in and clean her off to the bone. They would have her for breakfast any second now. “Is there somethin’ we should know?”

No, they wouldn’t. Marc would never let that happen. Marc would protect her. She trusted him with every fibre of her being, trusted him as much as she trusted Steven. He would protect her.

“I try not to fight it, it’s a strange sensation but you’ll get used to it,” Yatzil said vaguely, bunching her rust coloured dress in her hands to ascend the ancient steps, her satin-like hair rolling down her back as she turned away from them. Her head flicked back jarringly, Hathor’s spirit consuming her body smoothly, as did the other avatars, the humanity flickering from their harsh stares and swirling into a bright white, the gods taking place in their vessels.

“In attendance,” Yatzil’s voice was still the same, though it held a new level of power, a confidence that only an other worldly being could carry, the clarity of a creature that had seen the earth for thousands of years, “Horus, Isis, Tefnut, Osiris, and Hathor. To hear the accounts of Khonshu and Seth,

A cold spread down her spine, minimal compared to the other few times Seth had taken her body as his own, gentle almost. A soft whoosh of power flooded through her vertebrae, spreading up her neck and through her throat, releasing through her lips as a small sigh. It was benign, as though there was simply a hand stroking down her back compared to the leg numbing force he usually took her with, the kind that made her head dark and fuzzy, the force of being locked out her own body, this felt nothing like that. Perhaps Seth was on his best behaviour in front of his older brother who they both knew could exile the God of Death to stone.

Tormenting and breaking a young girl's mind did not send the message of urgency the four of them needed the Ennead to understand.

She felt Marc’s hand twitch in her own, causing him to drop her palm once more, and she guessed Khonshu had also taken his place inside his avatar. Yatzil would have had a heart attack had she been put through what Seth had tormented her with if she thought this was a ‘strange sensation’.

The weight of Osiris’ glare fell upon her shoulders, and it became clear there was no love lost from the God as she looked upon his frown.

“Brother,” The growl emitted from the human man’s throat, a sneer tugging at his lips, “I trust this is your doing, you and your newfound play thing,” He eyed Dove’s cowering body with disgust, a calculating scowl on his relatively young face. The man couldn’t have been older than thirty five, dressed in a smart business suit and a face that not a single laugh line marred, as though he hadn’t smiled a day in his life. Fitting, she thought snidely, for a god so serious.

Yet those thoughts felt like Seth’s. And with it brought a new wave of peril, unlike the one that came after she would black out. Could he hear her thoughts? Had he buried herself into her head, her only place of solitude? Or maybe was her brain just that cruel all on her own?

“You should be on your knees thanking me, brother,” The words spewed from her chest unprompted, and it took everything in her not to clasp her hand over her mouth to stop it. It felt like someone had reached into her lungs and dragged the accusation up her oesophagus. It was a clap of thunder that echoed around the enclosed chamber, a dark cry that met her ears, leaving her gobsmacked that that was her voice.

“And why is that, brother?” A woman to Osiris’ right, his sister-wife Isis, snarled. Dove wanted to sink to the floor and beg for forgiveness from the two deities that looked at her with a disdain that tainted her skin. She wanted to plead for them to send her home, send her away from all of this mess, just please stop, stop looking at me like that. But instead what came out was the voice, his voice, ripping from her throat with a ferocity that was nothing like hers.

“Were it not for me, dearest sister, and Khonshu, we would not be here meeting to discuss a matter that threatens us all,” Seth’s growl seemed unnatural coming from such a small creature, her eyes wide and afraid as she cursed at the gods with his tongue. Whether it were Seth speaking or not, she was the one they looked to with hatred.

A slender, dark-haired man flanking the other side of Osiris, undoubtedly their son Horus, snorted bitterly, his eagle eyes gazing down the steps to the woman whose head snapped to him.

“You threaten us all, Set. You and your chaos. Your need for vengeance.” He spoke with an Irish lilt, his mouth sneering just as well as his father’s, “It is clear by your actions there is no end to the darkness and turmoil you wish to cause mankind, as well as to your own kind.”

Osiris raised a hand to his son, taking over the brunt of the reprimanding. Dove didn’t doubt this had been what it was like for centuries, she knew the pain of being the oldest and having to mother her own brothers. Though, exiling them to a stone for all eternity for endangering lives was a new concept even for her.

The eyes narrowed in on her as Osiris puffed out his chest to speak, his voice a calm command that rattled her bones.

“It is our job in these vessels to remain unseen, to keep the peace between our world and the humans,” He was rather quiet despite the petrifying effect he held over Dove, the way his and every other god sized her up as she quivered in her place. “Do you not hear how they cry out? That is fear. You scare them, brother, for your own personal enjoyment. We have long since understood you love the taste of their horror. Imagine the hatred they would feel if they saw what lay beneath that young flesh.”

Dove’s eyes lined with tears. She knew the insults were directed at her counterpart that could hear them just as well as she could, that she felt bristling uncomfortably in the back of her mind at the sound of the offence, yet the darkened eyes and sneers they accounted her with churned her stomach in guilt as if this were her own trial. Her own sentencing.

They would fear her if they knew who she really was. What she really was. And the sick part of her knew the darkness had laid under her skin long before any of this. She choked on the words Seth tried to force out of her, gritted her teeth for him to keep quiet, to just let the onslaught end. Let her sentence be carried out, let her be hung, drawn and quartered under their resentful gaze even if to let the pain end, just let it end, just let me go, release me from this life-

“Alright now-” Marc’s voice was fuzzy behind her, the slightest step he took forward towards the gods was stopped by Osiris’ angered voice, a firm look snapping to the new culprit.

“And you. You’ve been banished once for nearly exposing us Khonshu,” Just like that, their attention had been stolen from the pitiful girl that shook in her spot as if no more than a street dog, mangy and yet guilty looking. “And you know we despise your garishness,” He continued, Marc stopping in his place to hear what the high immortal had to say, “Your showy masks and weapons. But manipulate the sky again, and we will imprison you in stone.”

“Spare me your self-righteous threats,” Marc’s voice was a strained call of anger. Clearly Khonshu had a lot to say to the council, Dove mused to herself behind a weakened expression, “I was banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you,”

“We have not abandoned humanity,” Horus chimed in, a pinched glower on his young face, “They abandoned us. We simply trust our avatars to carry out our services without calling undue attention to ourselves,” His eyes shifted back to the young woman who gulped under his fire. “Is this why you’ve resurrected the one who caused them so much pain? In the name of aiding the humans? Look at the bloodshed that has already been drawn under her hand,”

He nodded to the state Dove was in, the gummy redness that stuck to her arms, that buried under her nails, that smeared across her face. There was no denying that she had caused such a massacre. There was no running, no hiding from their judging eyes.

“Avatars are not enough! We need the might of gods. Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm. Seth has been the only one brave enough to unleash his strength on those who deserve it,” Marc jolted back as Khonshu left his body, a deep draw of breath expanding his lungs. Dove’s eyes flicked to him in sorrow, seeing the toll the god was taking on him, even if just for a second, the urge to bury her face into his arm and ask to go home overwhelmed her.

“The avatars that remain here are simply meant to observe. We decided long ago we did not wish to meddle in the affairs of man,” Osiris spoke calmly, though the order was clear. The two of them were to submit, to yield under their commands.

“We will decide our best course of action,” Tefnut cut in, under the guise of a glamorous earth-brown woman, her shirt a pop of reds and oranges that brought out her hooded dark eyes even in the lowlight of the tomb. Her gaze was just as intimidating as the others, though she looked at Dove with something more akin to understanding than the rest. The eyes of an elder, who had seen more than the others. A wisdom that only came with thousands of years on the earth they deemed unworthy of their protection. “Speak your purpose,”

“We call for judgement against Arthur Harrow,” Her own voice constricted at the rage that had now overcome Seth’s words, the vitriol that settled under her skin, that boiled her blood for a fight that was not hers.

“The charges?” Came Isis, in the form of a placid, moonlight woman, her doe-like, hazelnut stare serene yet piercing when accompanied with the disappointed purse on her cherry blossom lips.

“Conspiracy to release Ammit,” Khonshu’s exclaim ripped its way through Marc’s chest as a single tear dropped down the man’s tawny cheek from the effort in which the god tore at his psyche.

“That is a heavy accusation, Khonshu,” Osiris said seriously, bringing his hands together as if to search himself for guidance. The man took a deep breath, a silence settling over the room for a moment, the five avatars awaiting to hear their superior's judgement.

She practically felt Marc’s heart pounding in his bones, heard the way the deep breaths rattled his lungs, how his chest burned with effort. She was glad for them at least that Seth had listened to her plea to hold his, her, tongue, allowing Marc to take the brunt of the conversation. She knew the recklessness of the god would only dig them their own grave, that they would be left with little to no hope of taking on Harrow without his help.

Osiris sighed, looking to one of the smaller doorways burrowed into the side of the pyramid. “Let us summon the accused,” He ordered, an orange flicker of light emerging from the catacomb. Dove felt her chest seize at the whoosh of fresh air that came through the doorway, hearing two weary footsteps making their way towards them, scraping against the sand that dusted the hard, stone floor.

And with them, Arthur Harrow appeared.

Handsome for a man of his age, yet his eyes were soulless blue pits, little to no remorse for his schemes behind them. Instead, he seemed to be excited, jumping for the chase, the cat and mouse game the three of them had going. He seemed almost animated to see their newest intervention to halt his plans as he stepped into the tomb, a fake look of bewilderment on his older face.

His hair was greying wisps around his jaw, his suit a plain mahogany two piece that dragged against his espadrilles. He slowly stepped towards them with a cold stare, his jaw clenched in a hidden smirk as he sought the attention of the Ennead.

“So I see from Khonshu’s current makeshift avatar, the purpose for this meeting must be nefarious,” He said plainly, the false innocence in his expression causing a hot anger to wash over Dove’s face.

This time it was her own. Seth was still there, dormant behind her cranium, still seething from his reprimanding from his older brother, twisted with hate at the sight of Harrow, but the overwhelming feeling of outrage was hers.

“Not to mention this poor little soul Seth has taken as his own,” His blue pools of nothing slid to her, the dare to retaliate set and matched in his eyes, “The young one knows nothing of the trouble she’s causing, this is business well beyond her understanding,”

A threat. A call for a challenge. A taunt for her to show what she hid from the world, what festered inside her this whole time. What he had seen with a single touch of her wrist the first day they’d met in the museum.

There is a darkness in you.

And then it was that night all over again. It was the screaming, it was the pure, visceral hatred she had felt for him, for the man that had put her there. It was knowing she was never going home, that she was never going to see her sweet niece grow up to run rings around her teachers. It was knowing her brothers wished for nothing to do with her. It was knowing every one of her letters went unanswered.

And chaos, oh there is chaos,

It was remembering Grace’s laugh through a sob and the fact she would never hear it again. It was the way the light from the abandoned hotel sign next door lit up her room with red, something she had always hated, she could never sleep for the brightness of it. Then again, she struggled to sleep anyway. It was the red of the shoes the girls wore, the other girls, the others from the club. The emerald room, the way they watched her dance like a puppet on a string before things truly went wrong.

Something wicked this way comes.

It was knowing her brothers couldn’t stand the sight of her because of him, because of the choices she’d made for him. For love. She wanted to scoff. It was the men that came at night, the ones that she saw in her dreams even now, the ringleader of them all being the one to tell her what a good little lapdog she’d been for him. The one she’d called boyfriend.

It was the knife, it was the blood. It was the body that burned as she’d torched the house in her escape.

And I see you are truly something wicked.

“You know exactly why we are here,” Khonshu cried from behind her, though Harrow took no notice of the call, his mouth twitching to fight off a smirk as he saw the way her chest deflated at the sight of him, knowing he knew her. He knew her, the way Seth knew her.

The way she was terrified even now that Marc and Steven would someday know her.

“Rip his tongue out,” Seth hissed into her ear, chomping at the bit to be let out from the slight control she had over him in front of the Ennead.

“I must admit I do not miss the sound of that voice.” Harrow turned solemnly to the gods, the nervousness falling over his face like a performance. “But speak, old master, to the point,”

“Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb?” Khonshu accused, Marc’s body being seized by the god’s might. Dove grabbed his wrist in her own when she saw his chest heaving heavier by the moment. The man looked as if he might throw up any second from the weight of it.

“I was in the desert, but if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the nile” Harrow said calmly, his hands weaving together in front of him to solidify the guiltless ploy he was giving, “Khonshu has searched for Ammit’s tomb since he ensnared be into his service. His vision is obscured by jealousy, paranoia and his-”

“COWARD,” Seth struck her chest with a lightning bolt of fury, the growl drawling from her throat in a volume that made her jump, Marc glancing her way when he felt her fingers clutch him ruthlessly, “Filthy, conniving CRAVEN,”

“Do not trust the word of shamed gods,” Harrow countered, turning to glare at the pair that looked at him helplessly, their chests pounding with the strain of a deity overtaking their vocal chords, “These two are unhinged, as willing as one another to cause destruction in the human world. And as for their avatars themselves,” Harrow huffed, though a smarmy smile shadowed his face as he looked between the two of them, “Well, they are about as unwell as the gods they serve,”

“How do you mean?” Hathor asked, a small frown scrunching her gentle almond eyes.

Harrow considered the two of them, his piercing gaze falling on the young woman first, a hint of malice flicking over his face as he watched her squirm under his ruthless stare, as if waiting for the killing blow, waiting for him to run a sword clean through her sternum. Get it over with, her eyes pleaded, let this be done, shoot me between the eyes and set me free.

“This girl,” He began, her breath catching in her lungs, “She seems innocent enough, what with the crocodile tears and the deer in headlights look about her,” Harrow gave her one last sneer, before turning back to face the gods with a faux woeful look plastered on his face, “But this fawn is in fact the hunter with a loaded rifle. I have seen what she is capable of, the anger and vengeance the tortured soul wishes to unleash on those who stand in her way, the corruption in her heart- it’s no wonder Seth found her suitable for his needs,”

Her mouth had gone dry, she realised as she swallowed roughly, tears burning behind her eyes, she felt Marc staring at her. Fuck. He saw her, he saw right through her. And if he saw her, then what would Marc think of her? What would he see if he were to crack open her muddled little mind and peer in? He would hate her. And oh god, Steven-

Her throat bobbed with a silenced sob, her chin wobbling pitifully.

“And as for him- This is a man who literally does not know his own name.” Harrow continued his onslaught, making Marc clear his throat uncomfortably at the fact his biggest wound was bared open for the taking, the scar that wouldn’t close having salt poured into the crevice. “He has a marriage certificate under the name Marc Spector-”

“LIAR!” Khonshu’s agitated attempt at regaining composure was thwarted by the glisten in Marc’s lost, cocoa eyes that seemed to do nothing but watch as his chest was pried open.

“Employment records under the name Steven Grant,”

“Stop,” This time it was Marc speaking for himself. His voice hoarse from Khonshu’s yelling, yet it was more of a wounded yelp, a plea for mercy from the man who knew everything about him, knew all of his darkest corners, and threw it out in the open for them all to see.

“I have seen him speak to himself-”

“Shut up,” Marc yawped, an animal in a cage yowling for release.

Dove felt the anger begin to rev under her skin once more. Marc had been immovable since the moment she knew him, the moment she saw him in her bedroom stiff as a rock as she’d hugged him. Had rarely shown anything but a cold indifference, if not the occasional smile. He had been the only thing keeping her sane between the entire situation, the one person she trusted to quite literally drag her back from the depths of death a thousand times over. Because, while he was a moody sod most days, it was Marc. And Marc would fight tooth and nail for her.

“I have no idea how many personalities he must possess,” She felt Marc weaken under the hold she had on his wrist, “The man is clearly insane,”

It was happening in slow motion. Just as Marc crumbled into a disheartened sigh, the frustrated tears welling in his eyes, the final chord holding together her growing temper snapped. She felt her vision blacken for a moment, as if she had taken a long blink, which she wished she had in hindsight, she’d read on the internet closing your eyes and taking a deep sigh temporarily relieves stress. Something about giving the synapses a moment to process information. But she hadn’t. And neither did she feel the imposter crawling up her spine the way she did when Seth wanted her body as his own. No this was her, this was her entirely alone.

By the time she had come to, she had taken two quick steps towards the snide man, fingers outstretched for a sharp slap across his high cheekbones when she felt five metal claws hugging her fingertips, the razor edge of each enough to take a sizeable chunk out of his face had she made contact.

But she didn’t. Because no sooner had she gotten an inch away from doing so, her hand was stopped by a cerulean ring cuffing her hand mid air, preventing her from moving in the slightest.

Osiris. His hand held the same bluish-grey energy between his two fingers as he seethed down at his younger brother’s avatar.

“We will not tolerate violence in this chamber,” He bit, forcing the girl to her knees to face him, her head hung to the floor. She felt Marc’s eyes burn the back of her skull, his legs itching to approach, to wrap her up in his embrace, if only to protect her from Osiris’ hate. She chewed her cheek in guilt, when a thought quickly struck her as she looked to her knees ashamed.

Her suit, the one Seth usually donned her in. She was in her suit. She had never summoned her suit before, had steered clear from the fact entirely actually, yet the material was stretched comfortably over her skin as it was all the other times Seth shoved her consciousness aside to make room for his own deeds.

But she had summoned it herself.

“It brings me no pleasure to tell you these are two deeply troubled individuals. Khonshu is taking advantage of him the same way he abused me, the same way he aspires to abuse this court. As Seth is preying on a chaos-filled, young woman whose only goal is nemesis. Take action before it is too late,”

Dove tuned him out, her own internal crisis weighing far heavier than the insults Harrow was hurling to her. She had brought out the Hellhound herself. Not as Seth’s puppet or as his doll for toying with but as herself. As a reflection of what she wanted to do to Harrow.

For the first time in almost a decade, her body felt like it was almost her own again.

“Let us speak to Marc Spector. He seems the more reasonable of the two,” Horus ordered, and Marc almost scoffed at them had he not been so hurt by Harrow’s words, not been so defeated by the doubtful looks the Ennead had in their once cold glares now that his illness had been revealed. “Are you unwell?”

It was direct. Inescapable. And yet he didn’t care for their judgement anymore, just the fact she seemed uncomfortable being forced to her knees so harshly, a mongrel forced to sit quietly for a bone.

“I am.” He breathed hoarsely, “I am unwell. I need help. But that doesn’t change the fact that this man is-” Marc could barely finish his sentence without trailing off in angered tears as he glowered at the floor, knowing there was very little he could say to change their minds, “Would you just let her go? Please?”

“This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu-”

“This is not about my feelings, I am not the one on trial here, nor is she. It is him,” Marc seethed at Hathor, Yatzil, who’s pitiful eyes bore into his skin, flaring his anger, god would he just let go of her, look how her head hung low, how her knees pressed painfully into the cold floor, how she was forced to submit, “This is about how dangerous he is if you would just listen for a second,”

“He has committed no offence,” Osiris ruled coldly, tired, as if the situation bored him completely. “This matter is concluded.”

And that was it. The bonds that held Dove into low obedience were ripped away from her, her hands finding the floor gently as she stayed there, her head dipped to glare at the stone, the anger ebbing and flowing at her hot face like the banks of the Nile.

“And brother?” Dove’s head perked the slightest amount, though it was not her, but Seth responding to his counterpart on his behalf. She looked up at the god through broken, reddened eyes, a tear glistening on her cheek that she let fall to the ground with no fight. “Cause chaos like this again and you’ll be begging for a ushabti when I’m finished with you,”

With that, the avatars were returned to their bodies with moonlight white eyes, a jolt in every one of their spines, before they began heading back to their portals with not a single word uttered between them. As if Marc and Doves lives hadn’t just been raked out for all to see, all to judge. All to sentence.

Walking past the girl still crumpled in defeat on the floor, her heart too heavy to lift herself, Harrow watched Marc’s angered eyes carefully, a final sneer on his shit-eating expression.

“I’d leash that bitch of yours before she hurts anyone else, Spector,” He murmured, loud enough for the two of them to hear, not loud enough to cause a scene.

Like a dam breaking, her shoulders sank in on themselves, Marc quickly rushing to meet her on his knee, a warm hug wrapping around her where he could, just as she expected.

“Hey come on, we need to go, princess,” Marc whispered to her, and she could do nothing but give a sad nod, avoiding his eyes at all cost.

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, a sob crawling up her throat that felt even more present when she saw her clawed fingertips staring back up at her, “I’m sorry I tried, I tried to push him down, I-”

“Shhh,” Marc soothed, nosing her hairline, “It’s alright, it wasn’t your fault,” He murmured, hands going under her arms to lift her off the ground carefully. She stood, not without clutching onto him, gently of course since her suit and weapons made it difficult to not hurt him, and the entire idea that she had conjured it herself seemed tainted by the way they had looked at her. The way anyone would look at her if they knew.

“Marc,” A voice whispered, but Dove was too lost in her own self pity to take note. She felt as if she was back on that beach, her eyes lost in a canopy of blue, the wind cold on her skin. Lost in the world, yet seen, too seen, by those gods, by Harrow. Too trapped in her past, in what she’d done, knowing there was nothing stopping what Seth wanted her to do. Feeling for the first time, with the suit around her that she had summoned, she had ownership over herself, feeling as if she entirely wanted nothing to do with it.

Release me, release me from this wretched body, release me from this head, take me from this pain with a quick death.

Yet.

Keep me here, grant me control, let me greet my own demise.

An equilibrium yet to settle. A scale tipping to and fro, a puzzle with no solution. A set of coordinates with no longitude. Continuing. Unanswering. A person missing half their soul.

She, impossibly so, felt worse than she had when she woke up.

She found herself again laying back on the hotel bed, staring at the white, plaster ceiling. After Marc had spoken with Yatzil about a possible solution to finding Ammit before Harrow and his followers, the pair of them had headed back to the hotel in silence. Well, Marc had attempted to make conversation as he led her to the taxi, but it was clear from her lack of response, only broken by the occasional sniff or nod of her head, that she was in no mood to talk.

Taking a deep sigh from her place on the cot, she lifted her hand to run over her tired face when she was stopped by a crusted sap rolled up between her fingers at the touch, and she let out a clear gasp, jumping up from the sheets.

In the daze of it all, she’d forgotten she was covered in blood under her suit that she coaxed into disappearing before the taxi pulled up. Her face, hands, legs, all smeared with the sticky substance that now stained the white duvet.

“Fuck, oh fuck, for bloody fuck sake, fucking shit-” She swore violently, bunching her fingers into fists at the sight, Marc ducking into the room from the small balcony faster than she could let out another curse.

“What’s going on?” He took one look at her sad eyes, the way the redness smattered over her face, guilt flashing in her expression as he saw the mess on the sheets.

“I’m sor-”

“I’ll have my guy tip the cleaners, it’s no biggie,” He brushed off, taking a step towards her, attempting to uncurl her fists manually with his much larger hands that had just as much blood on them. Though, it was mostly his from where his wounded knuckles were now weeping. “You should probably take a shower though, we’ll raise too many questions looking like this,”

She barely nodded, eyes glazing over as she understood what he was saying. Clean yourself up, you’re scaring the locals.

“They only have a bath,” She murmured quietly, avoiding his eyes, scratching at the blood that quickly dried on her arms, picking at it like the glue that stuck to your skin as a kid making crafts, coming away in thin, onion peel layers.

“I’m sorry if it’s not the nicest hotel around, but my guy did his best-” Marc snipped slightly, watching her face scrunch up in frustration.

“No, no, not that, it's lovely, I’m just-” She took a deep breath in, her lungs rattling, her throat constricting with the secret she’d never had to tell. He’d think she was ridiculous, a woman of her grown age. “I can’t take a bath,”

“Of course you can, I’ll go run it for you now,” Marc headed for the bathroom, sick of this back and forth. He just needed her clean, needed to get that shit off of her, get rid of that guilty look in her eyes, needed to fix everything-

“No, wait,” She stopped behind him as he turned the brass tap, hot water gushing into the luxurious, square bathtub that had been built into the nude marble, stacks of ‘freebies’ and candles lining the edge. This was definitely meant for a honeymooning couple wanting a sexy week away under the Cairo sun, banging in every room, not two people who were barely friends possessed by gods and racing to stop the end of human lives. “Wait, Marc,”

“What?” He barked, turning back to face her with the first annoyed glare he’d given her all day. She knew the pair of them were at the end of their tethers, and that he was trying to care for her in the way Marc always did, the kind that only half the time involved actual any affection. “Look, I know it’s full of rose petals and shit, but I’m trying, princess,-

“It’s not that it’s-”

“I know it’s shit but it’s the best we’ve got, and I know Steven would have gotten you somewhere better-”

“I’m scared of water, Marc,” He shut up at the sight of her deflated expression looking at him through embarrassment, shut up at the sight of her squirming on the spot at his irritated rant.

“Huh?” He hissed, utterly thrown off by her words, feeling as if he hadn’t heard her correctly, “You’re fine with water, you’ve showered at Steven’s before. Is it me? I can go if you want privacy-”

“No, Marc just stop, please,” She mewled, turning her head to her hands ashamed, picking at the skin that had come loose, no matter if it pained her so. “It’s not you, I- I can’t be underwater, like under under water, not like showering when it’s only there for a second, it’s more drowning than anything, so baths are just a no go,”

But she sounded far away. Because the realisation for Marc had set in, the understanding of being scared to be held down, to feel the water rising up your legs, past your knees, up into your lungs. And then he was back in that cave again, he was feeling the water trickle in, he was screaming for RoRo to talk to him, to take his hand, he was hearing his brother’s little body splashing, hearing the water crowd his throat, drown out his cries for help. He was climbing out of that wretched cave soaked and running back home to tell his parents what had happened.

Taking a laboured breath to remind himself he was in the bathroom, with her picking at her nails, the tap running being the only sound between them for a moment. Sighing heavily, he fought the tears that burned behind his nose, forcing them to be swallowed down in the interest of helping her.

“What if I stayed?” He asked, her head shooting up to look at him in shock, mortified he was being so brazen. Rolling his eyes at her naïveté, he continued, “I’ll turn around and just sit on the toilet seat, but I’ll stay. Make sure nothing bad happens,”

She went quiet for a moment. She needed to get clean, get this forsaken muck off her, it was driving her insane. The smell of it alone, fermenting under the hot sun, was turning her stomach, not including the fact she felt rotten every time she thought about where it came from. Those bodies, that boy.

She nodded, the hot water steaming up the window by the time she’d decided.

“Okay, yeah. I suppose that would be okay,” She murmured to herself, fidgeting nervously. “You’ll just sit right there?”

He nodded gently, his hands coming to pull her fingers from mauling themselves, “Absolutely. Right there.”

“And you won’t look?” She asked shyly, eyes batting up at him through tired lids, to which he smiled slightly.

“Not a peak, now come on, bath’s almost full,” He ducked out of the bathroom to allow her to get undressed, not missing the way her fingers seemed to cling to his hand for as long as possible before he left. “Call me when I can come in,”

“Okay,” She replied through the thickness of the door. Taking a deep breath, she tucked her clothes into a neat pile under the sink, despite the fact they were wrecked with the same red gunk she was going to have to scrub off her skin. Switching the taps off gently with two squeaky turns, she held onto the bath edge with a deathly tight grip. It was only a foot of water, and Marc was right there. He wasn’t here anymore. Bath’s had once been her favourite part of the day. She loved a bath, had never felt so relaxed. She wanted to scream at the way her chest locked up as she stood in the water.

It was piping hot, scalding her skin, and maybe it was the punishment she deserved for all the blood she’d shed. Maybe it was the toll she had to pay to get clean.

Sinking to her bottom, she couldn’t help but clench onto the side of the bath for support, eyes locked on the way the water swayed towards her. It was just a bath, she’d had one millions of times before him, he wasn’t here to-

“You can come in,” She called, conscious of the way her back was to the door, swishing some of the french lavender bubble bath in to make the water milky, obscuring any sight of her body he would have caught a glimpse of.

Not that he would try. Marc was much too respectful for that.

He came in wordlessly, shutting the door behind him to keep the warm air in the bathroom. Plonking himself down on the toilet seat, he saw her hair spill over the lip of the tub edge in his peripheral vision, but little more.

For a moment they were both silent, uneasy at the new atmosphere created. The humid air was thick in their throats, the excuse they gave themselves as to why they weren’t talking. Marc inhaled the sweet vanilla and floral notes of the bubble bath, cursing himself when his mind ventured as to that being what she would smell like all evening.

“I’m sorry the room is so…” Marc trailed off. What was he to say, so clearly meant for two people on a nonestop fuck-a-thon? Aside from the fact the minifridge was stacked with whipped cream and chocolate spread, not for breakfast he’d had to explain to her, the bedside table full of condoms, the bathtub filled with rose petals, it was very obvious they stuck out like two sore thumbs with their rare and short affections in a place like this.

“What? Straight out a porno?” She quipped, earning a short laugh from him, symphonying the splash that came as she began scrubbing at her arms finally.

“A high end porno atleast,” He corrected, the tension in his shoulders loosening when he heard her giggle.

“Right,” She drawled, leaning over to grab the chamomile scented soap, “No one’s getting stuck bent over a tumble drier any time soon in a place like this,”

Maybe it was the fact she couldn’t see him, or it was the least shitty thing that had happened all day, but Marc couldn’t help the way a laugh, a real, chest tightening laugh, spilled out his throat. It was completely out of character for his glacial demeanour, usually the best she’d get is a smirk he’d try to hide or a huff through his nose. But it was a true, amused laugh. She smiled, despite the water coming away pink in her fingers as she scrubbed.

A brief moment passed over them where the only sound came from her hand dipping in and out of the water. This wasn’t so bad, she supposed, if she ignored the way her stomach rolled with bile every time she felt herself slipping further into the water. The milky pool itself wasn’t what scared her, it was the waiting to be pushed under, held under despite her clawing and scratching at his arm. It was his way of keeping her in check, reminding her even in the bathroom she was not permitted to privacy, to her own thoughts. She still felt his hand weaving its way into her hair, shoving her down until the water rushed up her nose, the gasp she’d let out choking on the exotic scented liquid. It was all just another one of his little games, and when she’d resurface, spluttering and clamouring out of the tub, he’d simply laugh and tell her to stop locking the door.

She hated the smell of that soap anyway. Too rich, too perfumed, too fake.

“I used to bath my brothers when I was younger,” She said after a while. She didn’t know why, or what had made her think about it, or why Marc needed to know, but she said it anyway.

“Yeah?” He replied, sounding distant as he picked at the blood under his own fingernails. “How many?”

“Four, all younger,” He blew air out of his cheeks solemnly, “We didn’t have much money, it was just my dad and he could never keep a job to save his life. I tried getting a job but turns out minimum wage for thirteen year olds is pennies,”

Marc stayed quiet, chewing at his lip. He had yet to ever hear her talk about brothers, or parents, or anything other than Steven and how much she wished he was here. That and of course why James Bond is a chauvinist, though he knew the first one was much dearer to her.

“Sounds rough,” He bit out, feeling the need to remind her he was still listening. He saw her shrug from behind the curtain of hair that fell behind her, obscuring his view.

“We got by. I was hungry some nights, but we were happy. They were happy. That’s all I cared about,” Marc felt a guilt gnawing at him. Sure, after RoRo passed his mother became a beast that had yet to release him from her claws, but they had never worried about money. Their house was easily three stories high, he had a meal three times a day, Elias always took him out to buy a new toy when Wendy had been particularly cruel. Birthdays, Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, he always had whatever he wanted. Anything, except his mother’s love, but that couldn’t be bought, could never be earned back for what he’d done.

He felt disgusted with himself for being so self piteous about his childhood when Dove had barely afforded to eat at risk of her siblings going hungry.

“I used to get Matty in there first, he was the oldest. Only a couple years between us but he loved when I would give him his toys the others weren’t allowed to play with. We used to have to share everything, clothes, toys, school books, so having his own boat in the tub made him feel special.” A smile, achy but good, passed over her face, a warmth blossoming in her chest at the thought of the life she hadn’t had in so long. “He knew he had to be quick because there was only one tub of water to last all five of us, so we used to play ten rounds of I-spy and then he’d have to get out. Eventually he’d pick the most difficult thing to spy so I’d never guess and he’d get to stay in longer.”

Marc stopped then, watching the back of her head with a silent stare, quickly understanding she was in her own world entirely. “Then it was Sam’s turn, he was a year younger than Matt. He hated getting shampoo in his eyes so insisted I washed his hair for him, even though he made me swear to never tell his friends because it would damage his street cred,” She chuckled to herself, sounding far away from where Marc cracked a small smile, “Kid was seven years old and thinking he was tough enough to take on the world.”

“The other two?” Marc prompted with an ache, a need to know more. More about the little Dove that tended to her hatchlings, to her nest, whose voice sang with something he had never heard from her, a sad kind of happiness he never thought possible.

“Joey was next. He’d start to complain that the bath water was getting cold by this point so I’d sneak some water in from the kettle. He was a little younger than us, I think mom and dad had thought three was it for them. But two years after Sammy, out popped Joey. Fattest baby you’ve ever seen. Refused to speak until he was three, and then suddenly he was blurting out full sentences.” She smirked, eyes glazed over as the pink swirled into the water, beginning to run out of where it dried in clumps in her hair. She would need to wash properly, she realised. Wetting a flannel, she held it behind her, careful not to get any droplets on Marc’s leg. “Marc?”

He snapped out of the reverie he felt he shared with her, his head filled with the image of four little boys, a mirror of her. Maybe their noses were a little bigger, their jaws sharper, but their hair would fall over their shoulders the same way, unless she’d trimmed it for them. He pictured her running ragged after them, reminding them to floss, to tidy their rooms, to do their homework.

“Yeah?” He asked, taking the cloth from her hand.

“Would you be able to get the…” Blood. Blood. Blood. “Stuff out my hair please? I can’t get my head under but it’ll dry soon if I don’t get it now.”

“S-sure,” He said softly, almost caught off guard that she was inviting him to get even closer to her nude form. Setting a towel on the floor, he turned the small bin over to give himself a seat as he gently ran the wet cloth over her locks. He would need to use shampoo probably, there was some on the side of the sink but he refused to push her. “What about the youngest?”

“Micheal,” She said, her voice pure with sweetness. “He was definitely a surprise. Came three months early, came out kicking and squealing like he had a vendetta against the world.” She chuckled to herself. “He was so tiny I could get away with washing him in the kitchen sink. Matty would say we could peel him and put him in a stew with the rest of the potatoes. But he was so good, he would follow me around when I got home from work, even when he turned into a teenager he would never leave for school without hugging me and making sure I had lunch. I never did, but I would lie because otherwise he would worry too much about me,”

The crimson seeped out of her hair with every brush of Marc’s hand against the locks, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up hearing her bliss. She was different like this. Yes, she was usually happy, bar the few times she had gotten teary over the blood and gore, but speaking about her brothers made her glow with something new. A bliss he hadn’t seen in her yet. One he wished he could cling onto with everything he had, keep her wrapped in like a bubble of her happiest memories.

“By the time I got in the bath it was cold, like fully cold. And the water was dirty, I tell you three boys and a baby get into so much mess than I’d give them credit for,” She continued, her eyes fluttering closed at the way he gently stroked her head, stopping every once in a while to re dampen the flannel in the water. There was no way he could see anything since the soap had made it so cloudy, but she didn’t think she could find herself to fully care with how loose her body felt, floating under the heat. She found herself trusting him enough to lean back into his hold, relax under his touch instead of flinch. Because it was just Marc. And Marc would never do that.

She tipped her head back to give him an easier access to her scalp, sighing when his fingers seemed to pick at a clump, removing it manually when it wouldn’t release with the cloth alone. Her stomach flipped as to a guess as to what it could have been.

Flesh? Brain matter? You tore those men to pieces like the savage you are, it’s no wonder Osiris said the people were scared of you, you’re beastly, disgusting loathsome creature who deserves every bit of pain Seth gives you-

“Four brothers and a father? You and your mother must have been ripping your hair out in testosterone,” He said, gently smoothing the tangles out of her tresses, continuing to wipe at the tangles until the water ran clear.

“Just me. Mom ditched when Mikey was born,” She said calmly, though she felt his hands stutter as she did. “It’s fine. She believed that giving her son’s biblical names meant god couldn’t see her drug benders. I think she forgot her kids could though,”

Marc hesitated. Words, some that he couldn’t fathom putting together, caught in his throat. He hated the pity people would give him whenever he were to divulge his own secrets he kept hidden in the dark rooms of his mind even Steven had no access to.

“Please say anything except I’m sorry, otherwise I may have to give you a big wet slap across the mouth,” She quipped, relieved when she heard a small snigger, finally. She’d hate to lose that calm, carefree version of Marc she’d had this evening. Hate to scare him off like the spooked rabbit he was, send him racing down into his dark burrow again. “But yeah, it was grisly being the only girl until Billie was born,”

“Billie as in another brother?” Marc asked with a confused frown.

“Billie as in my niece,” She replied, making a gentle start to clean the gummy resin off her face, “She was named after Billy Joel when Matty lasted all of one week being sixteen and got a girl pregnant. Girl bailed on the kid as soon as she was born, Matty felt like he could do a better job of it than our dad could, and Billie was family. Although she somehow got it in her head that she was only allowed to listen to Billy Joel since that’s where her name came from,” She snickered, remembering the countless mornings she chased the naked toddler as she screamed ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’.

“How old is she?” Marc asked, the water running mostly clean now, yet his gentle pawing at her hair had yet to stop, more for his own state of mind now than her own. She was so soft, soft everywhere. Even the way she sighed into his touch, the few times his fingertip had met her neck, met the top of her spine. Soft, warm; inviting, addicting. Clean, good, pure, god she was heaven on earth. Fixed, he could fix it, fix her hurts.

“She’s…” Dove quickly counted in her head, coming up with a thick throat when she figured the answer. “Nine. She’ll be nine now,”

Nine. She’d missed so much of her little life, she’d barely been at school when she’d left home. Missed her losing her first teeth, missed her learning to ride a bike, missed moving to bigger school.

She’s better off without me. Dove chided sourly, though tears built in her eyes.

“You see her much?” He prompted, letting the short bout of silence settle over them as she rinsed her face carefully.

“No, I uh-” She cleared her throat, her head tilting down to play with her fingers, picking with her thumb nail under the rest, “My brother’s don’t speak to me anymore,”

Marc froze. This, unlike the other time he’d been ready to apologise, felt like dangerous territory. While her mother walking out had felt like passing news to her, this felt like a rope unwinding thread by thread, getting ready to snap in his face at any point.

“Oh,” He eventually came up with, stuck between wanting to ask more and wanting to keep his distance. A tug of war between himself and wondering what she wanted him to do. What Steven would do. “How come?”

“Just you know, life got in the way. We all said some things, did some things,” She sniffed, her eyes closing as she skirted around the truth, “Truthfully I don’t deserve their forgiveness even if they did want to talk,”

“Come on now,” Marc reasoned, his eyes filling with a softness only she saw, his fingertips caressing her scalp with a gentleness he didn’t know his battered hands could muster. “I’m sure that’s not true,”

“It is,” She cut him off definitively, “I think, sometimes, maybe I was just born wrong. Like I just came out the womb rotten. Like I deserve the way the gods looked at me today, like I’m every bit as revolting as Harrow says I am,”

“Hey,” Her head flicked over her shoulder at the anger in his tone. She hadn’t meant to spill, hadn’t meant to overflow her brain like that, have the words jump right out her throat. Maybe she was too relaxed here. She expected judgement, or disgust, or pity. But no, Marc just looked pissed. “That is not true, do you hear me? Everything he said about you is wrong,”

“But if he’s wrong, then why does all this happen to me? Why does it happen if I don’t deserve the badness?” She asked him quietly, because Marc knew all the answers. Marc knew everything, always knew what to say even if he didn’t realise it.

He took in her damp, clean face that stared up at him in naive grace. Her eyes gazed right up at him into his soul, seeing past every defence he had tried to throw up against her, everything unintimate between them gone as she soaked away the blood.

“Sometimes these things just happen to people. Sometimes there is no deserve,” Marc said after a moment to chew on his words. His hands cupped her face gently, her eyebrows furrowing as his thumb wiped the wetness from her cheek that rolled down in a couple glistening bubbles. “You are amazing, do you hear?”

She was silent.

Marc, in what was possibly the most tender thing he’d done since he’d first met Layla, slowly leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on her forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed, a held breath exhaling on his clavicle, cold unlike the warmth of her cheeks.

He drew back, the scent of french lavender and vanilla invading his lips, tasting sweet on his tongue.

And yet the pit of guilt only sank in Dove’s heart at the gesture. The pit that devoured her every second of every day. She didn’t deserve his kindness, his sweet words or his saccharine kisses. Marc would hate her if he found out what she was, who she was. If he knew the reason she left home, left her brothers.

If he knew she was a murderer.

MCU

@blackcat420---69

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery8895-blog @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child d @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly @seraphimcollections @katboops @kmhappybunny240

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #jake lockely fanfiction

[bella-rose29]

Darling

Nikolai Lantsov x f!reader

Woke up in a lot of pain because my body systems hate me, so I wrote this (I'm doing better now)

Word count: 1.4k (wtf i didn't mean to write this much lol)

Warnings: periods, anything period related, swearing, this is also based purely on my own experiences (although not the bit where he's hugging her 🥲), not proof read/edited

Tag list: @bubybubsters, @el-de-phi, @hauntedenthusiasttragedy, @iambored24601, @itsyoboo-jassy, @karensirkobabes, @kentucky-criedfricken, @little8sun, @mvidaaaa, @naushtheaspiringauthor, @notoakay, @simbaaas-stuff, @pietromaximoffsbabe (i'm so sorry lovely i completely forgot to add you earlier)

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking, fuck, fuck!"

"You alright, darling?"

"Yep, all good, Nik!"

Y/n was not at all good. She'd woken up next to an empty space that morning, smiling and shaking her head when she realised where her husband was, sat at his desk and already working, and then had felt an excruciating burst of pain in her abdomen. She heard Nikolai stand up, his chair thumping against the carpeted floor as he came over to the bed.

"Yeah, you're very clearly not alright, darling," he said as he took in her pained expression. "What's going on? Do you need me to get the healer?"

"Monthly cycle, and yes please," she gasped out.

"Okay. Are you able to move?" Y/n shook her head, blinking back the tears that were forming in her eyes. "Alright darling. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? Just gonna get the healer." He planted a kiss on her forehead, then practically sprinted out of the room. Y/n would have laughed if she thought it wouldn't hurt.

Nikolai really was only gone a few minutes, returning on his own but laden with heat packs. Y/n felt tears form for a different reason as he knelt down next to the bed to activate the heat packs, placing them on her lower stomach, adjusting them so that they all fit. The healer appeared with an assistant then, bag in hand as she sent Y/n an apologetic look.

"How are you doing, Your Majesty?"

"Not great," she whispered, eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to force the pain away. It was times like these that Y/n wished she were Grisha; if she were a Healer or a Tidemaker then maybe she could heal the pain away or force her body to comply through the water in her brain. The healer and Nikolai were talking, although Y/n couldn't make out what was being said, but then a minute or so later her husband was out the room and the healer was placing her hands over Y/n's abdomen, attempting to ease the Queen's pain. The assistant had brought a change of underclothes, helping Y/n to swap them.

"The King has just gone to arrange some things so that your day is easier for you, Your Majesty, he'll be back in a bit. I'll stay here for as long as you need, and in a moment I'll ask you to take the tonic on your bedside table, alright?" Her voice was calm and soothing, and Y/n felt ready to drift off.

"What's the tonic for?"

"It should alleviate some of the pain. We've only recently developed it, but it's had an incredibly high success rate."

"Oh, okay." She was feeling better now, the work the healer was doing helping hugely, and the heat packs distracted from what pain was left over.

"Are you able to sit, Your Majesty?"

"I think so, hang on." Wincing at the stab of pain when she moved, Y/n gritted her teeth, and with the help of the healer was able to sit up in bed. Nikolai returned then, now carrying a box of some description, and his face lit up at the sight of his wife looking better.

"I've got chocolate," he said, lifting the box. "And I managed to convince the head cook to surrender a couple of those breakfast pastries you love so much. Don't feel you need to eat anything now, darling, just let me know and I'll get it for you." She laughed lightly, flinching when it made the pain increase, and took the hand he offered when he sat down next to her. He managed to manoeuvre them so that he was sat behind her, a leg on either side. He pressed kisses to her hair every now and then, arms stroking up and down her arms, sometimes drifting down to gently stroke her stomach.

"Do you think you're able to take the tonic now, Your Majesty?"

"Yeah, I think so."

It tasted bitter going down, and nothing seemed to happen, but the healer reassured her that it would kick in within about 20 minutes.

"I just need to go and sort a few things out, Your Majesty, but I'll come back every so often to check up on how you're doing and bring you more tonics, alright?"

"Thank you," Nikolai said, grateful smile appearing on his face. The healer and her assistant bowed, exiting the room. The couple sat in silence for a while, Y/n basking in the warmth of the packs and her husband's body behind her, and the soft touches of his hands on her arms. Her heart ached with how gentle and loving he was being, and the tears came back. Hearing her quiet sniffles, Nikolai panicked, thinking it had gotten worse.

"What's wrong, darling? Does it still hurt?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Well, yes, but not as much. It's not that though. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed by you, Nik."

Although she couldn't see it, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Me? Why?"

"I've never been looked after like this before. It's nice. And I guess because we were arranged I thought you wouldn't care that much, but you do, and my body is all out of whack right now which isn't helping but it's making me want to cry because I love you."

Nikolai was silent for a while, never stopping stroking her arms, but Y/n started to worry. She was just about to speak up when he finally spoke.

"I love you too, Y/n."

Then she really did start crying, tears slipping down her face and wetting the bedsheets. Nikolai turned her face towards his, softly wiping away what he could and leaning in to press his lips to hers. It was brief, but more full of love than any other they'd shared, and Y/n couldn't believe how lucky she'd been in getting him as her husband.

"Wait," she said, pulling away with a frown. "What about your meetings?"

"Cancelled them," Nikolai shrugged. "You're more important to me, darling."

"Won't Zoya be mad? That you're leaving things to her?"

"She was actually weirdly understanding for Zoya. I'm fully convinced I'm going to be sent some very strongly worded letters involving death threats, though. Or made to plant face first into the lake by a strong wind."

Y/n giggled, picturing the scenario, and made a mental note to ask Zoya to do just that. Preferably when Nikolai was in just his slacks, suspenders and undershirt, and not for any particular reason.

"You'll be fine, Kolya."

~~~

Later that day, Y/n was feeling much better, having taken another dose of the tonic, and was sat outside by the lake with Zoya. Nikolai had rescued a frog (although the frog looked rather happy where it was) and was placing it on the bank. All of a sudden, the wind picked up, and Nikolai was pushed in the water, arms windmilling as he fell. It was a warm day, so he'd taken off his jacket, and while Y/n did feel a little bad for asking Zoya to push him in, all regrets were washed away when he emerged from the lake, completely soaked with water from head to toe.

He stalked over, trying not to smile at how loudly his wife was laughing, and pointed an accusatory finger at the Grisha General.

"I know that was you, Zoya. How could you, to your King, of all people!"

"I was just doing what my Queen commanded, Your Majesty," she mock bowed from where she sat, smirk on her face as she watched Nikolai wipe the water from his eyes. Y/n was still cackling next to her, and Zoya was glad to see her friend doing better than this morning.

"Darling Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like a hug?" Her eyes widened, almost comically so, as Nikolai leaned in, arms open wide. She shrieked with joy as he got closer, pushing him away (not really, he was far too strong).

"Nik!" she laughed, all thoughts of pain completely forgotten.

He did eventually get his hug, but only when he was clean and dry (Y/n had found bits of grass and water plants in his hair), and not threatening to cover Y/n in lake water.

"Thank you, Nik, for everything today."

"Of course, darling. I love you."

"Love you too," she hummed, drifting off in her husband's arms.

#grishaverse #netflix shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x y/n #nikolai x y/n

[redhairedwolfwitch]

Scars - Ona Batlle x Reader

A/n: I am going to say that this fic includes implied/suggested past self harm, so read at your own risk, nothing really explicit is said but still be careful, look after yourselves. This was a fic idea from a fic challenge where the title was suggested to me by an anon, then an anon provided feedback that the fic would be a good read, so I hope it is... it's short but sweet though (like me hehe)

///

You hid them well. Under clothes, under tattoos in some cases. For some of your scars were accidental. Some were from the ACL surgery you'd had a few years ago, you were just unlucky back then. Some weren't accidental.

It felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over your head, goosebumps running up your skin as her fingers began to trace each scar on your body, her eyebrows knitted together as she wondered the story behind each one.

"Ona... that tickles."

“I have never seen these…” Ona whispered, meeting your eyes as you turned around, feeling Ona’s hands rest on your waist, fingers running over old scars.

“We hadn’t exactly gotten to that point yet. But I guess you were going to see them eventually.” You explained, letting out a sigh as you leaned into Ona’s touch.

Neither of you had planned to get caught by the rain, but the two of you were foolish, and went out in Manchester without coats. Both drenched by the time you had returned to your place.

Ona was borrowing some of your clothes. The relationship was still fresh at 2 months, so she hadn’t got a lot of clothes at your place yet.

Getting changed in your room, you removed your wet clothes first, grimacing at how your socks were somehow also damp, along with your soggy shoes.

You hadn’t heard Ona walk in, she hadn’t meant to walk in when you were in a state of undress, but she had already walked over, fingers gently running over the scars she had no idea that you had.

“Can, can I put some clothes on? It’s not exactly warm, despite how much my skin is on fire as a result of your touch.” You stumbled over your words slightly as Ona’s fingers ran over your pelvic bone and towards your thigh, making her realise what she was doing as her ears burned.

“Yes, yes… clothes…” Ona fumbled, watching as you turned around to reach for the dry clothing laid out on your bed.

It wasn’t just scars you were hiding, Ona realised, her eyes widening in wonder of how you had managed to hide your back from her, taking in each detail, each scar or tattoo, before it was covered by the t-shirt you put on.

“A lot of my…scars, bring up bad memories. Like my ACL injury when I was younger,” your fingers gestured to your knee as you sat on the edge of your bed to explain, and tug on a comfy pair of jogging bottoms, grabbing the pair of socks too, “I struggled through that recovery, developed unhealthy coping mechanisms,” your fingers ran over the tattoos on your arms, but it wasn't the tattoos themselves you were focussed on.

Upon closer inspection, Ona’s eyes widened again, realising that some of your tattoos were covering scars on your body.

“The scars fuck with my body confidence too. Luckily, or maybe not, I’m sponsored by Nike, so I can use that as an excuse to wear their UV swim shirts and a pair of swimming trunks on holiday. Otherwise, I don’t change in front of people often, even the team. You’re… you are the first person to see this much of me in a long time.”

You weren’t used to being this vulnerable. Barely able to look at Ona, your eyes stayed on your hands, watching as she gently took your hands in hers and gently squeezed.

“Then I am the first to say this in a long time, yes?” Ona paused as you frowned slightly, wondering what she was saying, but she was smiling softly, one of her hands moving to run over fingers over your arm.

“Your scars, they show you are a survivor, and they make you even more beautiful. You don’t have to hide them, not from me, I think that you are beautiful, and so strong, mi amor.” Ona met your glassy eyes, gently reaching over to wipe away a tear that managed to escape.

Opening your mouth, you wanted to speak but no words left your lips, leaving Ona to pull you into her arms. You buried your face in her shoulder as you held onto her, her body muffling your sobs.

Whispering sweet comforts into the crown of your head, Ona pressed a quick kiss there before continuing to hold you in her arms. Her beautiful survivor.

#ona batlle x reader #woso x reader #ona batlle imagine #woso imagine #woso imagines #ona batlle imagines #manchester united women x reader #manchester united women imagine #manchester united women imagines

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt XII good omens sEAsOn 2 (the non-traumatic part) episode 1

Alright yes I know, I know, it's been two days since the livestream. I was reading fanfiction. Don't blame me, love made me crazy, and all that. I'm enjoying myself as much as I can before we get to the season 2 finale. But here we go, season 2, episode one, maggots:

[on reading this back after finishing, a lot of text is my being in love with Crowley. mainly, points 3, 4, 9, 14, 17, 18, yes I have issues, feel free to skip that for an absolutely concise and precise summary]

Before the livestream starts, everyone decides that there will be no spoilers whatsoever on the chat, even hidden with the black, because I have a tendency to keep clicking and revealing them. I'm sorry, temptation and all. I have emotional support fruit, an apple, two kiwis, two sapotes and two bananas.

When the livestream starts, it has to be restarted, because I am an incompetent nincompoop and have somehow managed to muck up my settings. And it is absolutely imperative that I watch the opening scene.

So then I do. And immediately have to consume my emotional support apple because I am so fucking in love with Crowley. Already? someone asks. Yes bloody already, I need that apple.

Thanks, guys. I'm broken. Crowley. Just. She looks so peaceful and untraumatised, so delighted with the plans, so full of wonder at what she's creating. Let there be light, she says, and rather than seeing Crowley turn off a streetlight with a flick of his fingers, we get to see her create nebulas. Aziraphale looks at her and he's just instantly so spellbound, and who would bloody blame him? His wings just do a slight dip of realisation that he's fucked when Crowley says the gorgeous line. Look at Crowley. Worried about the apocalypse. Smiling at Aziraphale, and we can see Azi's concern because something as pure as that has to be protected and Aziraphale knows what Heaven will do to Crowley if she dares to ask questions. Crowley is angelic and filled with light and Aziraphale sees that and tries to keep her safe with his words.

Hey spoiler alert, it doesn't work, Crowley's wings are greying even as she protects Azi and Crowley falls and I hate everything and I am filled with unbridled rage.

UNDERSTAND? RAGE.

I am speculating how much pain and torture Crowley went through when she fell into Hell that first time. I am told to not ask questions I don't want answers to.

Maggie sells records, Aziraphale is a cutiepie, and Maggie is very gay for Nina.

Crowley is lounging on a park bench, suit and skinny tie, just being all sexy and demonic and probably contemplating nihilism.

Crowley spreads awareness about duck health. No bread, guys. Frozen peas. He also angsts a lot to Shax (whom I keep mixing up with Michael) about the meaning of life. Someone points out that this is very Barbie of him. "do you ever think about death". Ah, Crowley.

More lesbians gaying. I would kill for Nina's hair.

JIMBRIEL IN THE HOUSE. I WON'T SAY ANYMORE ABOUT HIS ENTRANCE BECAUSE THIS IS NOW A TOPIC OF CONTROVERSY. BUT JIMBRIEL IN THE HOUSE.

Aziraphale, ah I love him, absolutely fucking panics and has the loading symbol over his angelic little head at all times. FINALLY, THIS SHOW IS A COMEDY.

Crowley is leaning on his Bentley and mmmmhm his arms and his lounging and his personality I am back to crunching on my temptation emotional support apple.

Sorry back to the summary. Jim finds Aziraphale funny and says he loves him. Someone points out that this was the fandom upon encountering my dumbass self. "You're funny Asmi we love you."

Aziraphale is a little bitchy babygirl, really just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. Just absolutely slaying through every Jimbriel scene. 100000/10.

Six shots of fucking espresso in a big cup. Crowley, I love you. Can I love Crowley any more than this? Yes I can. My love for Crowley is like the universe, infinite and yet ever-expanding, explosive with entropy.

Crowley holds the door open for Aziraphale and holds his plate and honestly what absolute husband (gn) behaviour.

CROWLEY MEETS JIMBRIEL WHO IS FUCKING DUSTING AND LEAPS BACKWARD AND JUST RELIVES TRAUMA WHILE JIM IS CHILLING AND AZIRAPHALE IS STILL GAY PANICKING. I LOVE THIS SHOW.

MARRIAGE QUARRELS ABOUT ADOPTING JIM, JUST ANOTHER DAY IN THE FELL-CROWLEY HOUSEHOLD.

Coffeeshop AU lesbians time.

Heaven is horrible.

MURIEL IS BABY I LOVE THEM HELLO CUTIEPATOOTIE.

There is an ethereal paper file.

Beezlebub beezles their way into Crowley's car and is very concerned in Hell about finding Jimbriel.

Nina's partner is a toxic ass don't worry about it.

Sulky Crowley says he's back and apology dance time mmmhm.

Miracle hide Jimbriel time, but they've got to be subtle. They do the miracle. Jim is glad to have friends.

They are very proud of themselves for their subtle miracle.

THEY ARE SO FUCKING USELESS. FUCKING USELESS LITTLE GAYASS DISASTERS JESUS LORD IN HEAVEN. LITERALLY IN HEAVEN ALARM BELLS ARE EVERYWHERE.

GREAT JOB, GAYS. GREAT JOB.

End of episode one. Take this screenshot.

#good omens mascot #good omens #good omens fandom #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #crowley #aziraphale #lgbtqia #maggots #neil gaiman #anthony j crowley #crowley needs a hug #gabriel #jimbriel #jim short for gabriel #jim short for james short for gabriel #good omens 2 #go 2 #good omens summary #not really im just simping over crowley #and admiring aziraphale's bitchy babygirlness #icon behaviour really #ineffable idiots #IDIOTS #ineffable fandom

[skyeeuphixia]

𝚕𝚒𝚙 𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚛 // 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔

lip gallagher x girlfriend oc (Delilah)

summary: in which lip is given an ultimatum

▪️ ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ ○ ○ ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ ▪️

warning/s: alcoholism, violence

words: 3.4k

▪️ ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ ○ ○ ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ ▪️

"I don't like it when you're drunk Lip. Find me when you're not."

That was the last thing that Delilah said before leaving the Gallagher house. 

Lip stayed glued to his spot as he stared after his girlfriend, his eyes filled with nothing but regret. He couldn't turn around. He couldn't face his siblings, or Kev or V, all of them stood behind him. 

He didn't want to see Veronica judging him. He didn't want to see Kevin looking shocked. He didn't want to see Debbie sad. He didn't want to see Carl and Ian angry. 

But most of all...

He didn't want to see Fiona look disappointed in him. 

2 years ago, when Lip asked Delilah out on a date. Fiona gave him one piece of advice:

'Don't fuck this up, cause that girl is special'

But now he's afraid he had done just that. 

How did he let himself get to this point? 

▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ 

After building up this reputation of being the family genius, it was a real smack in the face when he got to college and realised how difficult it was. Suddenly he wasn't a genius surrounded by stupid and average students anymore, now, everyone was smart, smarter than Lip, and he found himself unable to keep up.

College wasn't as easy as Lip believed it would be.

Lip excelled in school, acing every class, scores so high and consistent that a college professor believed he was a cheat (which Lip swiftly disproved) and the first Gallagher to get into college. 

Not to mention, he didn't realise that College would take up a lot of his free time as well. Sure in high school he'd get homework, but it would take about 30 minutes, and then he'd get the rest of the day to himself. But college was an entirely different story. He was drowning in assignments, a never-ending stream of readings, essays, and exams. He barely had time to sleep. Trying to balance; College, Family issues, assignments, a relationship and taking care of his basic needs were proving difficult to manage. And it was beginning to take a toll on him. He was almost never able to relax.

But the occasional drink did seem to help, however.

"Hey, so I was thinking-" Delilah says, walking alongside Lip in the direction of his class, Delilah went to the same college as Lip, unfortunately, their classes were at different times, so their schedules rarely lined up, they stayed in different dorm buildings and those dorm buildings were at opposite ends of the large campus.

"-after my class, either I can go to your dorm, you can come to mine or we can go to the library or something and do some studying together. Cause I have an essay to do, and you have that essay due tomorrow which you'll probably want to go over, and we can help each other out," she suggested with a smile.

"Yeah uh, I can't I'm going to that party tonight," Lip says his hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking down at his feet as he walks.

"The frat party? But you hate people like that," Delilah remarked, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Yeah, but, it might be fun. Plus, free booze is a good way to forget about all the jerks," he chuckled.

"But what about the essay?"

"Don't worry about it, Del," Lip replied nonchalantly.

Delilah stops walking, tilting her head as she looks at her boyfriend, analysing him intensely. Lip takes a few moments to realise that she's no longer beside him, he turns to look at her but she speaks before he has a chance to question her.

"Have you even started the essay?!"

"Yeah, yeah of course I have," He excuses, looking back down at his feet. Delilah walks back up to him, standing directly in front of him.

"Look at me," She says, still staring at him intensely, causing Lip to reluctantly raise his head to look at her. "Have you started the essay?" 

Lip had one weakness and that was Deliah. Delilah seemed to be the one person he could not lie to. He didn't want to say it out loud, she already knew the answer, he could tell, so he simply shook his head at her. 

Delilah looked at him with an indescribable look of shock, disappointment and disbelief, "Lip it's due tomorrow! This isn't like homework, this will affect your grade!"

"Yeah I know, but I'll...I'll get it done I swear!" Lip promises.

"So you're not gonna go to the party?"

"Nah I'm still gonna go I promised my roommate but I'll just do it when I get back,"

"Lip...this really isn't a smart idea, please just come study with me," Delilah begged, she already knew his grade was currently at a D, and she was worried that missing this essay would be the beginning of the end. 

"Del...I'll, I'll just go for like an hour, and I won't drink and I will go straight to my dorm and do the essay," He tells her, looking at her genuinely. 

Delilah looked at him with a look he couldn't quite describe, but it was the look she gave him when he initially doubted going to college and the look she gave him when he briefly dropped out of high school. It was the type of look that said 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed.'

"Promise?" She asked, holding out her pinky to him, causing Lip to chuckle at the gesture.

"I promise," He locked his finger with hers, and they continued walking toward Lip's class, sharing a small smile, their words no longer necessary.

▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ 

No drinks turned into one drink.

One turned into two.

Two into four.

Four into seven, until Lip woke up in his dorm the next day with no memory of how he got there. A quick look at the clock indicated to him that it was two in the afternoon. Not only had he not done the essay, he hadn't even shown up to his lesson. 

Lip just lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wallowing in his own self-pity before there was a knock at the door. Somehow, in his severely hungover state, Lip got himself to the door, opening it to reveal Delilah, whom he let in without question. 

"Hey, Emma mentioned her boyfriend told her you didn't show up today, you ok?" Delilah inquired, her concern evident as she stood in the middle of the dimly lit room.

Lip, battling nausea, managed to mumble, "Yeah, just uh...not feeling great today." 

Delilah, however, was beginning to notice the telltale signs – Lip was wearing the same clothes as the previous day, avoiding the light streaming through the window, and his breath reeked of alcohol. The pieces fell into place. "Are you hungover?"

Lip, still battling the pounding headache and the queasy feeling in his stomach, attempted to conjure up an excuse, but Delilah's perceptive gaze left him feeling exposed. He scratched the back of his head nervously. He shifted uncomfortably under Delilah's gaze, his attempt at avoiding eye contact was now more conspicuous than ever. He cleared his throat and mumbled, "Hungover? Nah, it's not that... I just had a rough night's sleep, you know?"

Delilah's expression remained sceptical. She was no stranger to Lip's occasional indulgence in alcohol, and she was also aware of how alcohol affected his family so she knew all too well what could happen if he overdid it. Her concern deepened as she approached him, placing a hand gently on his arm. 

"Lip, you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and you look like you haven't seen daylight in a while. And why does your breath smell like a distillery if it's not a hangover?"

Lip sighed, realizing that he couldn't keep up the charade any longer. He looked down at the floor, feeling ashamed. "Okay, fine," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I had a few drinks last night, and then a few more, and... I messed up, Delilah."

"Lip, you promised me you wouldn't drink, especially not on a school night. I trusted you. And what about that essay you were supposed to finish?"

Lip's guilt was written all over his face as he tried to avoid the confrontation. "Look, Delilah, I know I messed up, but it was just one night, you know? I didn't think I'd end up like this."

"Lip you're not in high school anymore. You can't do this. If you keep making mistakes, if your grades continue to slip, you'll get expelled and then what? Love, you have so much potential, you can do so much with your life, why are you wasting it?"

Lip finally met her gaze, and he could see the disappointment in her eyes. "Delilah, I promise, this was a one-time thing I won't let it become a problem. I messed up, and I'm really sorry. I'll work harder, I'll catch up on the essay, and I won't let this happen again."

Delilah looked at her boyfriend, she didn't know how to feel. She wanted to believe him, and part of her did, but part of her was screaming at her not to believe him, part of her believed Lip was already in too deep, but Lip was as stubborn as they come as if he would ever admit he needed help.

"ok...I'm choosing to trust you,"

▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ 

As the days passed, Lip's descent into a pattern reminiscent of his father became increasingly apparent. The vibrancy that once characterized him began to fade, replaced by a weariness that settled in his eyes. His dishevelled appearance mirrored the neglect of his responsibilities, and the promise he made to Delilah seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

His academic life suffered the most. Lip was back to his high school ways, and started missing classes regularly. The threat of expulsion from his professors became a persistent shadow, hovering over his academic career. Lip's disregard for his education mirrored the same lack of concern that had marked his father's life.

Alcohol, once an occasional escape, became a daily crutch. It wasn't just about relaxation anymore; it was a way to numb the growing dissatisfaction and disappointment within him. The scent of alcohol clung to him like a familiar companion, and the lines on his face deepened as the weight of his choices pressed down.

Delilah, consumed by her exams and unaware of Lip's unravelling, found herself distanced from the person she once knew. Their interactions became infrequent, and Lip's excuses for his absence grew thin. She knew something was wrong, but she was busy and was never able to find a time to meet him, and over text, it's hard to tell what state someone's in, so Lip was able to perfectly mask his drinking through the protection of a screen. The promise of love and support now seemed like a distant memory.

The similarities to Lip's father became more pronounced. The cycle of self-destructive behaviour, a pattern Lip had sworn to break, now threatened to consume him. The downward spiral was not just about missed classes and too many drinks; it was a reflection of a deeper struggle within Lip—a battle between the person he aspired to be and the shadow of his father that loomed over him. But every day he still told himself the same thing.

I'm not my fucking dad. 

When the next break in the college term came, he returned home to his siblings, which was both nostalgic and haunting, as he realised how much he loved it yet didn't want to be stuck there. And how did he handle those haunting thoughts? By drinking of course. 

The Gallagher siblings noticed this of course, but they wrote it off as Lip destressing after a long college term, after all, they didn't know this was an everyday occurrence for him. He's lip! He's supposed to get out, he's supposed to be ok! He's fine!

And for the first few days he was, he was able to fall under the radar as his siblings dealt with the usual Gallagher chaos and was currently drinking a beer on the couch as his siblings did their own things around him. Yet he had forgotten something, in a drunken haze a few nights previous, he had invited Delilah over, reality was about to smack him in the face, and he had no idea.

When he answered the door and saw Delilah, he felt his mind running at a million miles an hour. He didn't know why she was there. What she wanted. If she could tell he was drunk. His mind was both blank and full of thoughts at the same time, and the sudden shock of his girlfriend being stood in front of him, made all the guilt he had been drinking away come back.

"Del! Hey...uh what are you...what are you doing here?"

"You invited me? You don't remember?" She chuckles.

"Sorry sorry, things have just been uh, crazy you know how it is here, come on in." He says, stepping to the side to let her in. 

Delilah offered a faint smile as she stepped into the chaotic Gallagher household, where the usual mayhem of the family's daily existence continued unabated. Ian was nowhere to be seen. Frank, was ranting about some new get-rich-quick scheme in the corner to Kevin. Fiona and Veronica were cackling about the events of their last night out. And Debbie and Carl were arguing about something stupid. Lip's siblings had become accustomed to the chaos, and so the presence of his girlfriend had gone unnoticed.

"I tried to call and check it was still okay for me to come over but you didn't pick up, I thought I'd come anyway though...I've missed you"

Lip's heart sank at the sincerity in her voice. He had no idea how to explain the disarray of his life to her, especially now that she was standing right in the middle of it. His attempt to mask the smell of alcohol on his breath with a forced smile was feeble at best.

"Missed you too, babe," he mumbled, his words slightly slurred. "Sorry, it's just a bit chaotic here, you know how it is."

Delilah nodded, seemingly understanding, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. She had always been perceptive, and something about how Lip was acting didn't sit right with her. Delilah finally at Lip more closely, her brow furrowing. "You seem...off, Lip. Is everything okay?"

Lip tried to laugh it off, but it came out as a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, just... you know, dealing with the Gallagher circus. It's uh...it's been a long day."

Delilah wasn't convinced, but she let it slide for the moment. However, as she continued to talk to Lip, the pieces of the puzzle were slowly coming together. Lip's slurred words, the distant look in his eyes, and the fact that he was clearly trying to hide something were all red flags. Delilah notices the two empty beer bottles on the coffee table in front of the couch, the one place nowhere else was and the final piece slides into place. "You're drunk again...aren't you?" 

Lip's eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for a convincing response. "Drunk? No way, Del. I mean, yeah, I had a couple earlier, but it's nothing. Just needed to unwind, you know?"

Delilah's concern deepened, and a mixture of disappointment and hurt flashed across her face. "Lip, we talked about this. You promised me you wouldn't let alcohol become a problem again. What's going on?"

Lip could feel the weight of his broken promises pressing down on him, and he struggled to find the right words. "It's not a problem, Del. Just a couple of drinks. I've got everything under control."

"Don't lie to her," Ian's voice suddenly came from the stairs, in a tone so cold so...displeased, it caught the attention of everyone in the room.

"What do you know Ian?" Lip slurred slightly, becoming slightly agitated as all the attention in the room was now on him, there was no hiding from the truth now, and Lip knew it. 

"What do I know? I know that since you've been home you've drank up to 5 beers a day, some days more. I know that it's clearly a problem if you're lying to Delilah about it. I also know that you've missed almost all your classes and you're on the brink of being kicked out of college!" 

Everyone in the room stared at Lip a few people letting out a shocked 'what?!', except for Delilah who just looked hurt, she trusted him...and he broke it.

"How do you fucking know that?" Lip slurred, pissed off that his issues were being exposed. 

"You left your email on your laptop open," 

"You had no fucking right-" 

"Ok! Lip this is not the right time for this, if there's a problem we can talk but right now let's just leave it," Delilah says sweetly, almost as if she was talking to someone younger than her as she places a gentle hand on his shoulder, which Lip only shrugs off.

Lip's anger flared, fueled by the alcohol coursing through his veins. "You had no right to snoop around my stuff, Ian! This is my life, my business, and I don't need you or anyone else judging me!"

Ian's expression remained unyielding, his concern masking any irritation he might have felt. "Lip, this is everyone's business when it's affecting you like this. We're your family, and we care about you. We don't want to see you self-destruct."

Lip's voice grew louder as he tried to defend his actions, his words slurring together. "Self-destruct? I'm fine! I can handle a few drinks, and missing a few classes is not a big deal. College is overrated anyway."

The room seemed to grow tense as Lip's rant continued. Fiona, his older sister, exchanged worried glances with Ian. Delilah, however, remained remarkably composed in the face of his anger. "Lip, I'm not here to judge you. I'm here because I care about you. But you can't deny that something's not right. We can work through this together, but you have to be willing to admit that there's a problem."

Lip's frustration only mounted as he felt cornered. He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You're all overreacting. I don't have a problem. I can stop whenever I want. You all don't get it," he ranted, his voice rising. "I can handle my shit. I'm not like Frank. I'm not some fucking alcoholic!"

Delilah could see that Ian was also starting to get heated, and she was worried that he and Lip would begin to get physical and fight one another. She knew Lip's defences were up, she knew he felt judged, intimidated, and guilty, and having everyone there was making things worse for Lip, not better. 

"Ok, maybe this isn't a conversation we should be having with so many people," She chuckled nervously her voice still gentle, She moved closer to Lip, trying to defuse the tension. "Love, let's just go outside, and we can-"

But when Delilah's hand touched Lip's shoulder, he reacted with more force than he intended, shoving her away, unintentionally causing her to hit the wall. The room fell silent, and everyone took a defensive step closer, their faces reflecting shock and anger.

Lip stared at Delilah, his eyes widened with regret, realizing he had acted impulsively. Delilah, after a moment of anger, looked down, composing herself. She glanced up at him, restraining her tears.

"I don't like it when you're drunk Lip. Find me when you're not." Her voice quivered slightly before she swiftly made her way out of the Gallagher house. 

Lip stayed glued to his spot as he stared after his girlfriend, his eyes filled with nothing but regret and tears. He couldn't face his siblings, or Kev or V. He didn't want to see the judgment. He didn't want to see the shock. He didn't want to see the sadness. He didn't want to see the anger.

But most of all he didn't want to see the disappointment. 

It took a few moments, but he turned around to face them, his body trembling slightly, as a few tears escaped his eyes, the Gallaghers distraught at the sight of their broken brother.

"W...why did that happen?"

▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ • ▪️ 

(fin)

#lip gallagher #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher x oc #fiona gallagher #shameless #ian gallagher

[kepamount]

scary movie 👻

kepa arrizabalaga x reader x mason mount - a smutty ghostface one shot

warnings: explicit hard smut, sort of scary?? (y/n thinks she's being attacked by a murderer), potentially triggering content so please read at your own discretion!! sub!reader, dom!kepa & dom!mason, double penetration, anal, oral sex (m and f receiving), choking, slapping, dirty talk, degradation and praise, pet names, edging, overstim, crying, fingering, face-fucking, knife kink, mask kink, i think that's it but lmk if i missed something!

word count: 10.9k+ (she's big)

a/n: happy halloween bitches! i've literally been getting ready for a night out and i suddenly remembered that i wrote this lmao so here you go! this is not at all edited so pls be warned about spelling and grammar mistakes (i literally wrote this in a brainrot over night so it's probably almost unintelligible lol), and i don't have time to double check my warnings but this is kind of intense so pls pls be careful reading it! x

The shrill ringing of my phone breaks the calm atmosphere in the house, making me jump out of my skin. I pause the episode of Pretty Little Liars as I get up from the sofa, wineglass in hand, and I head into the kitchen, my phone sat on the counter. My heart lifts with the thought that it’s probably my boyfriend calling to let me know he’s on his way home from work, but disappointment floods through me when I see that the screen’s lit up with an unknown number. I reject the call with an irritated sigh before checking if Kepa’s texted me, but our last communication was a few hours ago.

I decide to distract myself by checking on the pasta in the oven (I always cover the top with a thick layer of cheese and put it in the oven for it to get nice and melty, just how he likes it). I don’t cook very often, but I thought I’d make dinner as a surprise for my boyfriend tonight. He’s been really busy recently – all the training and travelling and exhaustion from matches has meant we haven’t been spending a lot of time together. And the time we have managed to spend together is usually a couple hours with dinner in front of the TV until he’s snoring loud enough to make the neighbours’ dog bark.

To cut a long story short, I need Kepa to rail me before I lose my mind. They always say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but unlike other men, Kepa’s stomach leads to his dick. A good homecooked meal and a couple glasses of wine? The man’s ready to go all night. So I’m hoping a candlelit dinner tonight will lead to him bending me over the table. I even put on my good lingerie set, so I’ll be very disappointed if this doesn’t go to plan.

My phone starts ringing again, the unknown number persisting, but I reject the call. I don’t have enough patience to deal with a call centre right now. I knock back my wine, pouring out another glass and knocking back half of that too, my body full of impatient energy. I just want him to get home so I can touch him and kiss him. He’s been even sexier than usual recently, looking all big and hot in the goal, veins and muscles rippling whenever he saves a shot. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having to press my thighs together during every match, praying I wouldn’t leave a wet spot on my seat.

The phone rings again, and I let out an annoyed huff when I see it’s the unknown number for the third time. I snatch the phone from the counter, pressing the green button and holding it to my ear. ‘Hello?’ I say, silence on the other side for a few long moments before I hear a low ‘hello’ in response. The voice is male and unfamiliar, sounding distorted. The line must not be great.

There’s another few seconds of silence after he speaks, and I roll my eyes. ‘Yeah?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone patient. ‘Who is this?’ he asks, and I frown. Does he not realise he’s calling me? ‘Who are you trying to reach?’ I ask, a low chuckle sounding in response. ‘What number is this?’ he asks, sounding amused, and I shake my head. Idiot. ‘What number are you trying to reach?’ I ask in response, getting another low chuckle in response, the sound making my pulse jump.

‘I… don’t know,’ he responds, and I can’t help but roll my eyes again. ‘I think you have the wrong number.’ ‘Have I?’ ‘It happens. Don’t worry about it,’ I say before hanging up, putting my phone back down on the countertop. I pick up my wineglass and head over to the sliding glass door that leads out onto the patio, my reflection clear in it. I really hope Kepa appreciates the effort I’ve made for him – this dress is sexy and not comfortable at all, meaning I look insanely good in it.

My phone starts ringing again, and I sigh deeply before picking up the phone, answering the unknown number despite my common sense telling me not to. ‘Hello?’ ‘I’m sorry. I think I called the wrong number,’ the man says, and I take a moment to compose myself. ‘So why did you call it again?’ I ask slowly. ‘To apologise,’ he responds, the smirk clear in his voice. ‘You’re forgiven. Bye now,’ I say chirpily, about to hang up before I hear, ‘wait, wait. Don’t hang up.’

‘Why?’ I ask, leaning against the countertop and running my finger around the rim of my glass. This guy’s probably just some perv trying to get off, but at least this is some entertainment until Kepa gets home. ‘I want to talk to you for a bit.’ ‘There’s trillions of numbers for that, creep,’ I respond with a small smile before I take a sip of my wine.

‘Yeah, but I called yours,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow. This guy can’t have intentionally called me, can he? ‘I thought you said this was the wrong number?’ ‘I lied. Why don’t you want to talk to me?’ he asks, switching the topic before I can dwell on it too long. ‘I don’t know who you are.’ ‘You tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine,’ he says, and I let out a laugh despite myself. This guy’s deluded.

‘I don’t think so,’ I say, flicking the rim of my wineglass with a manicured nail. ‘What was that?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes again. This guy needs to learn boundaries. ‘My wineglass.’ ‘You’re drinking wine?’ ‘Mmhmm. It’s date night,’ I say happily, getting excited again at the thought that Kepa will be home soon. ‘Date night?’ ‘Yep. My boyfriend doesn’t know it, but I’m surprising him with dinner tonight.’

‘Just dinner?’ he asks, and I let out an irritated noise. ‘What do you mean, ‘just dinner’? I’ve spent ages making this.’ ‘No, I don’t mean it like that. Dinner’s great. It’s just… isn’t it usually dinner and a movie?’ he asks, and I smile to myself. I’m hoping we won’t have time for a movie tonight – I want to be preoccupied with other things. ‘Yeah, but I think we might skip the movie.’ ‘You can’t skip the movie! That’s the best part of date night. Especially if it’s a scary movie,’ he says, his soft voice taking on a sudden edge that makes my hair on my arms stand up in worry.

‘What? Don’t you like scary movies?’ he asks, no edge to his voice. I must have imagined it. I tell myself to relax, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t mind them.’ ‘What’s your favourite?’ he asks, and I think for a moment. ‘I like Scream. Ghostface is a good villain. What about you? What’s your favourite?’ I ask, met with a brief silence before he murmurs, ‘guess.’

‘Um… Nightmare on Elm Street?’ ‘Is that the one where the guy has knives for fingers?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes for the twentieth time this conversation. How can he start a conversation about scary movies if he doesn’t even know Nightmare on Elm Street? ‘Yeah, Freddy Krueger.’ ‘Freddy, that’s right. I liked that movie. It was scary.’ ‘The first one was, but the rest were bad,’ I say, taking a sip of my wine before my eyes flit up to the clock on the wall. Kepa should definitely be back from training now.

‘So… you mentioned your boyfriend,’ he says, and I can’t help but laugh. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Where is he?’ he asks, and I frown. Even he’s wondering where the hell Kepa is. ‘Why do you care, stranger?’ ‘That’s not my name,’ he says amusedly. ‘You didn’t tell me your name.’ ‘You didn’t tell me yours either. What is it?’ he asks, and I take another sip of my wine before I respond, ‘why do you want to know my name?’ ‘Because I want to know who I’m looking at,’ he responds, voice deadly soft, but the words have the effect of if he’d shouted them.

My blood goes cold, my eyes flitting to the back door. It’s pitch black outside, too dark to see if there’s anyone lurking. ‘What did you just say?’ I whisper, legs feeling weak as fear stabs through my body, my pulse skyrocketing. ‘I want to know who I’m talking to,’ he says slowly, as though he’s speaking to somebody stupid, and I shake my head, knowing what I heard.

‘That’s not what you said,’ I say shakily, rushing over to the door to make sure it’s locked, the handle not budging an inch. I feel a bit of relief flood through me – as long as the security system is working, no one can make it into this house unless their fingerprint is on the database. Perks of having a rich boyfriend. ‘What do you think I said?’ he asks, tone playful, but a sick feeling has already settled low in my stomach. This isn’t fun and entertaining anymore – I just want Kepa to get home.

‘I have to go,’ I say suddenly, and he chuckles lowly. ‘Your boyfriend isn’t home yet. Don’t you want the company?’ he asks, sounding mocking like he knows how scared I am right now. ‘No.’ ‘Are you sure? You don’t like being alone, princesa,’ he says, that one word making all the tension flood out of my body.

I’ve been waiting for Kepa to get home, but he’s the idiot on the other side of the phone.

‘Oh, thank God. Kepa, this isn’t funny,’ I whine. ‘I’m not your boyfriend, y/n. Don’t thank God yet,’ he teases, my relief tainted by a little bit of uneasiness. What if it really isn’t Kepa? But it has to be. He obviously has a voice distorter on, which is hiding the usual Spanish lilt to his voice, and princesa is his pet name of choice for me.

‘Cut it out, Kep. You’re scaring me,’ I say quietly, and he laughs gently. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of, baby. If you keep on being a good girl for me, I won’t hurt you,’ he murmurs softly, and I let out a little breath. It’s definitely him – no psycho murderer would be reassuring me. ‘Fine. I’ll be a good girl for you. Just come home,’ I say, the fear in my stomach subsiding, replaced by the desire that’s been sitting there for weeks.

‘I’m on my way. But I want you to be ready for me, princesa.’ ‘I am ready for you. I’m wearing… my boyfriend’s favourite dress,’ I say lowly, trying my best to sound all seductive, and I’m rewarded when I hear him take a breath to compose himself. ‘I can see that. You’ve put his favourite perfume on too, and you’re drinking the wine that gets you all worked up and desperate. I’ve been watching your every move,’ he whispers, the words making me a shiver run down my spine. My eyes flit up to security camera in the corner of the room, identical to the ones in the corner of every room in the house. Both of us can watch from them live on our phones.

‘You might want to answer that,’ he says suddenly, words followed by the doorbell echoing through the house, making me jump. I keep the phone to my ear as I head out of the kitchen and into the foyer, shivering from my bare feet on the cold marble floor as I walk to the front door. I open it without any hesitation, the empty porch making me falter. I thought he’d be stood there, but there’s nothing there except for my car parked on the driveway, his nowhere to be seen.

‘Who’s there?’ I call out in a sing-song voice despite the uncertainty still swirling around inside me. What if this is an A-grade stalker, who’s pretending to be Kepa to lull me into a false sense of security? And I’m the moron throwing the door open and shouting out to him. ‘You should never say ‘who’s there?’. Don’t you watch scary movies? It’s a death wish, babe,’ he says suddenly, reminding me that he’s still on the other side of the phone, and I quickly shut the door, making sure it locks afterwards.

‘Okay, enough’s enough. You’ve had your fun. Just stop now,’ I say quietly, chewing on my lip nervously as I head back to the kitchen. ‘Or what?’ ‘Or… my boyfriend’s gonna be home soon,’ I say with a small smile, his little laugh reassuring me. It has to be Kepa I’m talking to. ‘Oh, really?’ ‘Yeah, and he’s gonna be pissed when I tell him what you’re doing.’ ‘Will he?’ ‘Yeah. He’s 6 foot 1, and super big, and he plays football, so he’s athletic, and he’ll beat the shit out of you,’ I reply, my words met with more rich laughter.

‘I’m sure he will, baby. Or maybe I’ll gut him like a fish,’ he says sinisterly, striking fear into me again. Calm down, y/n. It’s just Kepa. It couldn’t possibly be anyone else. ‘What do you want?’ I ask, putting on the helpless damsel-in-distress voice, and he chuckles softly. ‘I want to see what your insides look like,’ he murmurs in a velvet voice, the words laced with a dirty innuendo that makes my underwear dampen considerably.

‘But first… let’s play a game. If you answer my questions correctly, I won’t lay a finger on you. If you get any of them wrong, I get to do whatever I want to do to you,’ he bargains, sparking my competitive streak. If winning means I don’t get his touch tonight, fine by me. I’m too competitive to lose. ‘Okay. Go ahead,’ I prompt.

‘Here’s your first question. Who’s the killer in Halloween?’ ‘Hmmm, I’m not sure I remember,’ I tease, and he laughs lightly. ‘Come on, princesa. You know this one. White mask, stalks babysitters?’ ‘Oh, right... it’s Michael Myers!’ I exclaim, as though the name only just came to me. ‘Good girl. You’re doing well. Ready for your next one?’ ‘Mmhmm.’

‘Who’s the killer in Friday the 13th?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes. He really thinks he can trick me with this? ‘Mrs Vorhees, Jason’s mother, followed by Jason himself in the sequel,’ I say happily, and he lets out a little sigh, disappointed I got it right. ‘You’re too good at this.’ ‘You know it, baby. Come on, give me another one,’ I say tauntingly, and it’s like I can feel the atmosphere shift over the phone.

‘Okay. Which door am I at?’ he asks, voice deadly soft again, and I freeze, uneasiness filling me. ‘Kepa…’ ‘I told you already, princesa. I’m not your boyfriend. Now answer my question if you want to win,’ he prompts, and I take a deep breath. He’s using my pet name to reassure me that it’s him without ruining the act. I’m not in any danger.

‘Um… the front door,’ I answer, waiting with bated breath for a response. But I’m met with a long silence, the tension multiplying with every second that goes by. And then finally he whispers his reply, the one word sending a shiver through me. ‘Wrong.’

I hear the door behind me slide open and I whirl around, ready to greet my boyfriend with open arms, a big smile on my face. But the smile on my face slips when I’m met with the sight of a figure stood in the doorway, dressed in a floor-length black robe, face covered by a white Ghostface mask. The figure’s hands are covered with black gloves, and in one of them, he’s holding a knife. A very sharp, very shiny, very real knife.

My mouth drops open in a bloodcurdling scream, and I run for the foyer staircase without a moment’s hesitation, the sound of my feet hitting the marble echoing loudly as I sprint up the stairs. When I hear his thundering footsteps, my heart misses a beat, fear filling my veins, and I can’t help but scream again when I turn to see him following me up the stairs.

I look ahead, knowing I’ll fall if I’m not careful, and I head straight towards mine and Kepa’s bedroom. Once it’s locked, only he and I can get in with our thumbprints, so it’ll prove if it’s him or not. As soon as I’m in the room, I shut the door and lock it with shaky hands, the silence that follows making me feel even more on edge. He’s probably stood right outside, just biding his time.

I take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves, and it’s only when my ringtone sounds out into the silence do I remember that my phone’s in my hand, the sound making me jump again. I answer without any hesitation, met with low chuckles on the other side. ‘You’d make a good final girl, princesa. That was a real scary-movie scream,’ he teases, and I let out a low sob, tears in my eyes.

‘I’m scared, Kep. Why are you doing this?’ I ask, sitting on the edge of our bed before my legs give way. ‘I’m upset with you, babe. While your boyfriend’s been working so hard, earning money for you to spend on whatever you want, you’ve been crushing on his teammate,’ he murmurs, confusion filling me. What is he talking about?

‘Don’t act like you don’t know, y/n. I’ve seen how you look at him. How your eyes are glued to him on the pitch while your boyfriend’s in the dugout. You stare at his thighs, his hands running through his hair, his neck when he shouts and his lips when he spits. You want him, don’t you, princesa?’ he asks, and despite the fear still making my heart race, I feel guilty that I know exactly who he’s referring to.

It’s been a tough couple months for me. We’ve only had sex once in all that time, and he barely participated because he was tired (I’ve never been the one to do all the work so I didn’t enjoy it much). I’ve been frustrated. And when Kepa was still on the bench every match, my thirsty mind had to find someone to ogle for the 90 minutes. And that someone ended up being Mason Mount.

He’s an annoying cocky little shit, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him, especially when he’s playing football. His corner kicks, his hair flicks, his spitting, his angry outbursts, his goals, his injuries. All of it is just so… hot. Kepa’s right – I’ve been trying to hide it, but I have a real crush on his teammate.

‘Kepa, I’m-’ ‘Don’t start trying to apologise now that you’ve been caught out, princesa. It’s too late for that now. And anyway, I feel for you a little bit. It must have been hard for you, with your boyfriend giving you no attention. I bet you’ve been trying your best to get yourself off. Do your fingers feel as good as his, baby?’ he asks, my underwear flooded with arousal now. He’s killing me – half of my mind is in panic mode, and the other half is thinking about dick. I don’t know which part I’m more annoyed with.

‘Show me, baby. Take off that pretty dress, lie down on the bed, and show me how you’ve been touching yourself, thinking of your boyfriend and his best friend,’ he taunts, my stomach clenching with nerves. One thing Kepa never does is call my pet names in English, yet the person on the other side of the phone has been calling me ‘baby’ and ‘babe instead of the usual ‘cariño’ or ‘querido’.

Before it can properly dawn on me, there’s a loud banging on the door, a startled scream escaping my lips. ‘I’m getting impatient, babe. Take off your dress before I come in and cut it off you with my knife,’ he threatens through gritted teeth, and I quickly get up off the bed. I put the phone on speaker, leaving it sat atop the sheets before I reach back to the zip on my dress.

My hands shake as I pull down the zip, my skin exposed to the room when I let the dress drop off me, leaving me stood in just my black lacy lingerie, suspenders and all. ‘Wow. Look at you, baby. So pretty. Did you dress up all for me? Or for your footballer boyfriend?’ he taunts, the cold air on my bare skin making me shiver.

‘Now lie down on the bed,’ he says in a gentle tone, and I do as he says, settling myself amongst the sheets, back against the headboard. ‘Spread your legs for me,’ he prompts, my actions following his words, exposing my clothed core to the room.

‘Slip your hand into your pants, princesa,’ he instructs softly, and I let my hand trail down my body before sliding beneath my underwear, a shaky breath falling from my lips when my fingertips brush against my clit. ‘So sensitive. I bet you’re so wet, so desperate for me to fuck you. Am I right, y/n? I’m right, aren’t I, baby? You’re so desperate for my cock, my fingers, my tongue. Anything I give you, you’ll be grateful for, huh?’ he asks, and I just nod, fingers ghosting across my folds, light tingles of pleasure running through me.

‘Are you gonna let me come in and fuck you, babe? I’m so hard for you, baby, so fucking hard. I wanna make you scream with my cock. Will you let me come in, y/n?’ he asks, and I shake my head, no. Despite my mind clouding over with a hazy fog, I’m still scared of the Ghostface on the other side of the door.

‘Well, if you remember correctly, baby, you got one of the questions wrong, which means I get to do whatever I want to you. Maybe I’ll use my knife to make you scream instead of my cock. Is that what you want, princesa?’ he asks, and the fear takes over, making me remove my hand from my pants and grab the phone shakily. ‘No, please. I’m scared,’ I whisper, and he lets out a low chuckle that makes my stomach turn.

‘You should be.’

The door swings open, Ghostface stood in the doorway, the only light in the room streaming in around his big frame from the hallway. His knife is still in one hand, head tilted mockingly, and the mask’s mouth is open in its perpetual scream, as though it’s warning me what I’m about to be doing too. ‘You look so sexy when you’re scared, baby. Your eyes are all big and teary, your teeth biting your lip, your chest heaving with deep breaths. I bet you look like that when you’re getting fucked as well, huh?’ the voice on the other end of the phone asks, cold realisation hitting me.

Ghostface only has a knife in his hand, the other one empty. No phone in sight.

‘Oh, princesa, you’re so cute. For someone who likes scary movies, you clearly don’t pay much attention to them. It was never just Billy Loomis. Stu Macher was with him all along. It was how they managed to do all their killing,’ the voice on the phone says mockingly, and then I hear the handle on the bathroom door turning slowly.

My breathing falters as I wait for the door to open, my heart stopping when another Ghostface is revealed, both of them standing in opposite doorways, staring at me. The new one has a phone and a voice distorter in his gloved hands, held up to his mouth. ‘Two’s better than one, baby,’ he says cockily, voice echoing through my phone.

I cover my mouth, a sob escaping my lips, and my eyes fill with tears that begin to spill over. I’m terrified despite how I’m pretty sure I know who both of these Ghostfaces are, my eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them. The first one walks across the room to me and I shrink away from him in fear, letting out a sob when his hand tightens around my throat and he pulls me closer to him. He lifts the knife to my face, gliding the tip across my skin, the cold metal making me shiver. The proximity means I can hear him breathing through the mask, and a familiar scent fills my senses.

‘What’s the safeword, cariño?’ a muffled voice asks from the other side of the mask, and I breathe a sigh of relief at hearing the Spanish accent, my nerves easing at him using one of his Spanish pet names for me. ‘Arsenal,’ I respond (hearing me shout his rival team is a definite way to get him to stop whatever he’s doing), and he nods, releasing my neck and lifting his hand to my face, wiping away my tears.

‘I like you scared, princesa. Your screams are so pretty,’ he murmurs softly, hand caressing my face with the most gentle touch before he reaches over to flick the lamp on. ‘I bet they sound prettier when she’s being touched than when she’s being chased up the stairs,’ the other Ghostface says, reminding me of his presence, and I suddenly realise what this is leading up to, the thought almost making me moan aloud. I’ve been desperate for cock for weeks, and now I’m gonna get two.

‘Much prettier. Come and find out for yourself,’ Kepa says, Mason stepping across the room to stand beside his teammate. My heart jumps at the two of them stood there in front of me, the two masks looking down at me with mocking screams. ‘Hands and knees, querido. Culo in the air for us,’ Kepa prompts, and I move into position, facing away from them and giving them a full view of my ass, supporting my body weight on weak arms.

‘I didn’t know it was possible to have a wet patch on black fabric,’ Mason teases, a gloved finger hooking through my pants and pulling them aside, both of them letting out appreciative noises at the sight of my soaked core. ‘Such a pretty pussy. So wet, babe. Is this all for us, y/n?’ Mason asks, his compliment making a thrill run through me. I let out a hum in response, a hand suddenly snaking around my neck, pulling my head back in an uncomfortable position.

‘Words, baby,’ Mason murmurs. ‘Yes, it’s for both of you,’ I respond, voice strained, and my neck is released from the hand’s tight hold. ‘Good girl. Do you want us to touch you?’ ‘Yes. Please,’ I whimper, feeling a finger ghosting over my folds a moment later. I bite down on my lip, embarrassed at how close I am to moaning when they’ve barely touched me.

There’s no more movement so I push my ass back, needing more contact, and both of them laugh, humiliation filling me and making me even wetter. ‘Our little princess is so needy for us, huh? Does our pretty girl want more?’ Mason asks, his dirty talk turning me on so much. Kepa drops a pet name or compliment (or insult – degradation gets me going) here and there, but he’s never been one for a running commentary like this.

‘Please,’ I whisper. ‘What do you want, baby? Tell us what you want, and we’ll give it to you.’ ‘Anything. Just something, please,’ I beg, the aching in my core thrumming through my whole body. ‘Shall we touch you with our knives, princesa?’ Kepa asks, and I take it as an innuendo before I feel the sharp tip of cold metal tracing down my spine, a harsh shiver running through me. ‘I did tell you I wanted to see what your insides look like, babe,’ Mason reminds me, smirk audible in his voice.

Even though I know it’s a joke, it sparks fear in me again, which only makes me gush with more arousal. Fear and desire have always gone hand-in-hand for me, which is how I ended up with an intimidating Adonis for a boyfriend. He scares me just as much as he turns me on, and that’s always been the case for everything. Whenever we watch horror films together, we end up fucking afterwards, because he knows how needy I get when I’m scared out of my wits. Halloween’s his favourite time of year.

‘Please don’t kill me, Mr Ghostface. I wanna be in the sequel,’ I say breathily, quoting Tatum’s line in the film, both of them laughing in response. ‘Oh, baby, we’re not gonna kill you. We’ve gotta have some fun with you first,’ Mason murmurs in a low voice, my heart racing at the possibilities of where this is gonna go.

Before I can respond, a finger plunges into me, a moan escaping my lips as I clench around the digit, head falling forward against my chest. I feel a hand wrap around my hair before pulling harshly, keeping my head back, and the knife appears at my neck, the blade like ice against my burning hot skin. The finger inside me is joined by another, the friction from the gloves making me whimper, and I feel my stomach clench when the fingers begin thrusting in and out of me, trying to open me up.

I don’t even know whose fingers are inside of me, or whose hand is pulling on my hair, the ambiguity making everything even hotter, and I can’t help the moans and whimpers slipping through my lips every few seconds. ‘Fuck, you weren’t lying. She sounds so pretty. So pretty and good for us,’ Mason murmurs, the fingers inside me curling against my walls, the feeling taking my breath away.

A third finger pushes into me, the painful stretch making me whine in pain, and I feel a hand rubbing my ass soothingly. I pant as I try to adjust to the stretch, the fingers pumping in and out of me as soon as my breathing calms down, and the hand resting on my ass disappears before landing back down heavily, the slap reverberating around the room.

With the fingers thrusting into me, slaps landing harshly on my ass, my hair being pulled and knife to my throat, I’m losing my mind, all sense disappearing and melting down into nothing but overwhelming pleasure. When a thumb appears at my clit, pressing down roughly, I let out a loud moan, sounding pathetic even to my own ears, and my walls clamp down around the fingers, legs shaking.

‘I’m gonna…’ I trail off, already feeling the tell-tale signs of an orgasm, the knot in my stomach tightening more with each circle being drawn at my clit. ‘You’re gonna what, babe? Are you gonna cum for us?’ Mason asks teasingly, the long fingers inside me curling against the soft spot that makes me cry out. ‘I think she’s gonna cum, bro,’ Mason says conversationally, Kepa chuckling. ‘Not without permission, she’s not,’ Kepa reminds me, and I begin pleading before he’s even finished talking.

‘Please let me cum. I need it so bad, please. I need to cum, please let me cum,’ I moan, not even thinking about what I’m saying before the words come out. ‘What do you think? Shall we let her?’ Kepa asks, as though he’s asking Mason whether he thinks it’s gonna rain, their indifference making me even more desperate for them. I’m a victim of the chase.

‘Hmm, I don’t know, bro. Has she earned it?’ ‘All she’s done is lie here and let us fuck her with our fingers like a dirty little slut,’ Kepa murmurs, sentence punctuated with a rough slap on my ass, his words prompting a moan to fall from my lips. ‘It’s like that? Baby likes being called a slut?’ Mason asks, sounding like he’s stumbled across a goldmine, and I can’t wait for the filth he’s gonna be saying to me tonight.

‘She loves it. Almost as much as she loves being a lazy little bitch in bed. I don’t think she deserves it.’ ‘Me neither,’ Mason agrees, their hands disappearing from me a moment later, my orgasm instantly fading away. I let out a whine at the loss of contact, even missing the feeling of the knife against my throat, and my whine is rewarded with another slap on my ass, the skin burning at this point.

‘Don’t be a brat, y/n. Thank us for what we gave you,’ Mason says, voice laced with malice, pushing me to see if I’ll do it. ‘Thank you for your fingers,’ I say pathetically, a light slap landing on my ass after I speak. ‘That’s better. You wanna be a good girl for us, don’t you, princesa?’ Kepa asks, and I nod, knowing I need to behave if I want to get off tonight.

‘Turn around, baby,’ Mason prompts, and I do as he says, tucking my legs beneath me as I turn to face them, my ass sore. I look up at the two of them, searching for their eyes behind the masks, nothing but empty darkness staring back at me, sending a shiver down my spine. Imagine if it’s not really them, and it’s two psychos imitating them, trying their best to sound like them. What if-

‘Are you still scared, querido?’ Kepa asks in the voice that always gets me going, his tone half-patronising and half-comforting, and I nod in response, looking up at them through my lashes. From this angle, I can’t even tell which of them is which, the two of them stood to close together to tell who each voice is coming from. The one on the left has the knife in his hand and he uses it to tilt my head up, my eyes on the ceiling.

‘Eyes on us, babe,’ Mason says, my gaze flitting down to the two identical masks again, sending a quiver of fear through me. ‘God, you look so hot when you’re scared. Just wanna fuck this pretty face,’ Mason says, a hand coming to tighten around my neck. ‘She’s all yours,’ Kepa says, one of the figures stepping back and taking a seat on the chaise lounge chair in the corner of the room, putting the knife down beside him.

The figure still in front of me – Mason – lets go of my neck and unbuttons his black robe just enough to let his hard cock spring free. He’s not as long as Kepa, but he’s still a mouth-watering size, thick enough that I know my jaw’s gonna ache after this. ‘Mouth open, baby,’ he prompts, and I part my lips enough for him to slide in.

But he only gives me two fingers, his other hand gripping his length and tugging on it a few times, the tip leaking with precum. It’s humiliating – I’m sat here in skimpy transparent lingerie with his fingers in my mouth, and he’s almost completely covered, jacking off right in front of my face. I feel my underwear flooding all over again.

Without any warning, he removes his fingers and pushes his cock into my mouth, letting out a low groan as he slides all the way in, tip hitting the back of my throat and prompting a loud gag. ‘Fuck,’ he moans, drawing the word out as he stills, my throat trying to reject the intrusion. I try to breathe through my nose, tears already collecting on my waterline, and when he finally pulls out, I gasp like I’ve been drowning.

‘Suck him off, princesa. Show him how good you are with your mouth,’ Kepa prompts from the corner of the room, drawing my attention back to him. The sight of him sprawled out on the seat, watching his girlfriend with another man is enough to make my stomach clench with arousal. The bedsheets are gonna be soaked if they go on like this.

I lean forward, looking up at Mason with big, innocent eyes as I press a kiss to his tip, a shaky breath audible through the mask, making me grin to myself. I place my tongue at the base, licking up to his tip against the vein on the underside of his cock before taking the head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him and sucking like he’s a lollipop, cheeks caved in. I look up at him as I take him further in, eyes meeting the hollow black ones on his mask, and another gag forces its way up my throat, a soft groan falling from his lips.

I set a gentle pace, slowly bobbing my head up and down, taking him in as far as possible, hand leisurely tugging at what I can’t reach. ‘Like that, y/n, just like that. Feels so fucking good, baby,’ he groans quietly, head thrown back, hand fisting into my hair as my eyes begin to water, and I hum around at him at the praise, the sensation making him moan softly, the sound going straight to my core.

It’s not long before his hips begin moving, his hand controlling my head movements, and I grab onto his legs as he thrusts slowly. ‘Gonna be a good girl for me, babe? Gonna let me fuck this pretty little mouth?’ he asks, and I hum in response, tears filling my eyes again. He doesn’t wait another moment before his thrusts speed up and I gag repeatedly around him. The sounds only spur him on, and tears run down my face as he looks down at me, watching me try to take him as far in as possible.

‘Fuck, you’re so good. Such a good little slut, letting me fuck your mouth, and taking it so well. Love hearing you gagging,’ he says in a strained voice, thrusting particularly hard to prompt a gag from me, the noise making him moan. ‘You’re so hot,’ he murmurs, the praise making me moan, the vibrations making his hips falter. Tears stream down my face, saliva bubbles around my mouth and drips down my chin and neck – I must look like such a mess right now.

And then I remember that Kepa’s sat in the corner, my gaze flicking over to him, stomach turning when I see that he’s jacking off whilst watching us. The sight makes me moan again, Mason letting out a choked groan, the noise only making me wetter. He pulls out of my mouth a moment later, breathing heavily, chest visibly heaving.

‘You weren’t lying,’ Mason says, Kepa chuckling as he gets to his feet. ‘I told you, hermano. She sucks your soul,’ he murmurs, standing in front of me and wiping my face clean again. ‘Lie down for us, princesa,’ Kepa instructs, and I do as he says with a weak and shaky body, tension flooding out of me as I relax into the sheets, lying horizontally across the bed with my feet dangling off the side.

‘Look at her. So pretty. What shall we do to you, babe?’ Mason asks, the knife in his hand. He rests the tip of it against my thigh before running it down my leg, the sharp point a cold sting against my skin. ‘Anything. Please,’ I whisper, body already so tired but desperate for both of them, for whatever they want to do to me.

‘Gonna let me eat your pretty little pussy, baby?’ he asks silkily, a moan falling from my lips at just the thought of it. ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he says amusedly, dropping to his knees at the side of the bed, disappearing from my view. I’m about to sit up so I can see him take off the mask but Kepa appears behind me, a hand on my shoulder to keep me lying down.

He taps my bottom lip, the message in the action clear, and I open my mouth for him. I watch him, my boyfriend upside-down in my vision as he opens his robe. I’m too distracted watching Kepa wrap his hand around his cock that I forget about Mason until he spreads my legs apart and pulls my pants aside.

He doesn’t waste any time, tongue licking a bold stripe across my core, prompting a breathy moan from me. ‘Mmm. You taste so good, babe. So sweet,’ Mason groans, lips against my inner thigh, pressing soft kisses to my skin. ‘Thank him for being kind to you, cariño,’ Kepa prompts, a mocking tinge to his voice, as Mason dips his tongue between my folds. ‘Thank you,’ I whimper, voice hitching when he presses his thumb to my clit, rubbing slow and hard circles that send shivers through me.

He keeps himself composed for barely ten seconds before he loses control, beginning to eat me out like he’s starving. Obscene wet sounds fill the room as he licks and sucks me, prompting desperate moaning from me. I reach down to thread my hands into his hair, the fluffy locks soft against my fingers, and when I tug on it, he lets out a gentle grunt against me, the vibrations making me squirm.

‘Ready, princesa?’ Kepa murmurs, reminding me of his presence, and I nod, opening my mouth wide for him again. He taps his cock against my tongue, the angle I’m lying at allowing him to push down into my throat and, despite my gagging, he slides all the way in until his balls tap against my nose. He pulls back out with a shaky breath, allowing me to inhale deeply before entering my mouth again.

He thrusts shallowly, not going too far into my mouth, and I’m grateful for it. With Mason eating me out like a man possessed, I’m already struggling to breathe, constantly moaning around Kepa’s cock which only gets him even more worked up. I try my best to engage my brain, sucking on his cock as best as I can whilst pulling Mason’s face even closer to my core. He flicks his tongue inside me, nose nuzzling against my clit in a way that makes me moan his name, but it comes out as gibberish with Kepa keeping my mouth full.

Kepa’s broken breaths and pleasured groans become more and more frequent, his gloved hands resting softly on my face as his hips move slowly back and forth. He’s doing everything in his power to hold back from fucking into my mouth as hard and fast as he wants to, that in itself making me even wetter, the squelching from between my legs getting even louder as Mason laps at me relentlessly.

‘Are you close, querido?’ Kepa asks, voice strained, but I’m too far gone to be able to respond, squirming on the bed with my thighs trying to close around Mason’s head, heels digging into his back. ‘I think she’s close. Shall I let her?’ Mason asks against my clit, my back arching up at the vibrations, a high-pitched whine escaping my mouth. ‘No,’ Kepa responds shortly, and I feel my eyes welling up at the thought of being edged again. The knot in my stomach is so tight, ready to snap, but I feel it loosening the moment Mason moves away from me.

Kepa pulls out of my mouth a moment later, a shiver running through me at feeling suddenly empty, and I can’t help but let out a sob. ‘Turn over,’ Kepa prompts, and I roll onto my front, the man kneeling down in front of me. ‘Don’t cry, cariño. You’ll get what you want,’ he says comfortingly, running a gloved hand down the side of my face soothingly. His hand comes to rest over my eyes and a moment later, his lips meet mine in a soft kiss that tastes like my boyfriend – any doubt in my mind about who he is disappears instantly.

Before I can even deepen the kiss, I feel Mason’s hands wrap around my ankles, pulling me across the bed towards him. He flicks open my bra before flipping me over, his hands instantly grabbing at my boobs, gloved fingers tugging at my nipples, my head falling back against the bed as I let out a helpless whimper.

‘Gonna let me fuck you, baby?’ he asks, and I nod desperately, legs spreading unconsciously for him. His hands slide down my body to my pants and he pulls them down my legs, leaving me in just suspenders and transparent stockings, the rest of me on show for him. ‘Such a beautiful body, so pretty for us,’ he compliments, rubbing softly at my clit, and I let out breathy moans in response, tingles of pleasure running through me.

‘Does our pretty baby wanna be fucked?’ he asks again, clearly wanting me to say it, and push down the humiliation to reply, ‘yes, please fuck me. I need it so bad.’ ‘Good girl,’ he says amusedly, deftly catching the condom Kepa throws to him. ‘No condom, please. I’m on birth control,’ I say, his movements freezing for a moment before he looks at Kepa.

‘Are you sure, cariño?’ Kepa asks, out of my view, and I nod. Kepa and I almost never use a condom, and it’ll drive me crazy feeling Mason raw inside me. ‘Fuck,’ Mason curses under his breath, pulling my legs up to rest on his shoulders, insides of my ankles brushing against the cold plastic of the mask. He runs his tip up and down my folds before plunging in without warning, both of us moaning as he bottoms out inside me.

He’s thick enough for the stretch to burn but he rubs my clit to soothe the pain, hips keeping himself still inside me. ‘Please, I need it. Please fuck me,’ I beg desperately, and he doesn’t waste any time, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, winding me. He starts off gentle, his thrusts deep but leisurely, and it feels like the head of his cock is prodding against my cervix each time he slides back in, making me whimper pathetically.

‘Fucking slut,’ he murmurs, thrusting into me particularly hard, and my mouth drops open in a silent moan at the insult, back lifting up from the bed with his tight grip on my waist. He gradually picks up the pace, and I moan helplessly as his cock drags against my walls. I can’t help but clench around him, and I can tell he’s holding himself back from going harder, his breaths coming out laboured. He must be close to suffocation in that mask.

It seems he wants me to feel the same, his hand coming to my neck and tightening, cutting off my airways so a pleasurable haze clouds over my mind. ‘Fuck, you’re so tight,’ he groans, body tense with the effort of keeping himself together, and I let out a choked moan, eyes full of overwhelmed tears. He reaches to slip two gloved fingers into my mouth, and I can taste my own arousal on the material, the filth of it making me gush around his cock.

‘Fuck, you feel so fucking good. So wet for me. So wet for a man that’s not your boyfriend, dirty little slut,’ he taunts me, my brain barely processing his words, too focused on the tip of his cock scraping against the spot inside me that makes my eyes roll back, intense waves of pleasure rolling over my body.

‘Such a tight little pussy. Guess your boyfriend hasn’t been fucking you properly,’ he murmurs cockily, shooting a look over his shoulder to where Kepa must be stood now. ‘Watch it,’ Kepa warns darkly, Mason laughing at managing to piss him off. I can barely focus on their interaction, the knot in my stomach tightening again. I can’t even form words, babbling unintelligibly around his fingers, and both of them chuckle at the state of me. His pace slows down again, the boy leisurely thrusting into me, and my eyes fill with tears with the desperation for my orgasm, my vision blurred and head numb with pleasure.

‘Are you gonna cum, princess?’ Mason asks, and I don’t even nod in response, not wanting to be edged again. ‘That’s a yes,’ Kepa murmurs, and Mason pulls out of me straight away, a frustrated sob breaking free from my mouth. Mason’s hand comes down onto my pussy in a light slap, making me let out a strangled yelp and I shoot him a reproachful look, hearing a chuckle from beneath the mask.

‘Don’t give him that face. You should be grateful, cariño.’ ‘Grateful for what? Being edged a trillion times?’ I ask bitterly, and I can feel the sternness radiating from Kepa’s mask. ‘Don’t be bratty,’ he says, unbuttoning his robe and removing his gloves before pulling his mask off. His skin is flushed, curls unruly and eyes bright, my heart pounding at the sight of him. I beam, reaching a hand out to him and pulling him close to press a kiss to his lips.

‘Sit on my face?’ he asks against my lips, my pussy drenched at the thought, and I nod, ‘please.’ He comes to lie on the bed, his legs hanging off the bottom of it, and he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, relief filling me that I can finally see his face. I can’t see it for long though, as he pulls me towards him, wrapping his arms around my thighs to bring me close to his head, my body blocking the bottom half of his face.

He doesn’t even give me a moment to prepare before he licks a bold stripe across my slit, making my whole body quiver above him. ‘Joder. Sabes tan dulce. Could eat you all day, princesa,’ he says against my core, the vibrations making me whimper.

He starts relatively slow, tongue circling my clit before lapping up my slick and poking between my folds gently but it’s not long before he loses his self-control, abusing my heat with his tongue, hands holding me in a bruisingly tight grip as I squirm, unable to hold my weight up. My pussy must be suffocating him.

‘Please, please,’ I moan repeatedly, and I can see the amusement in his eyes as he breathes against my folds, his tongue circling my clit again and again. ‘Please, what? Words, cariño,’ he says against my folds, making me jolt forwards, head almost hitting the wall. ‘More, Kepa, more. I need to cum,’ I force out between moans, face contorted in pleasure, and he lets out a gentle chuckle.

‘My dirty slut wants to cum?’ he asks, words dripping with amusement, and I nod, mouth open in a silent moan as the waves of pleasure roll over me. He practically begins to make out with my pussy, lips moving against my folds as his tongue pokes into me every few seconds. And then he decided to torture me further, mouth moving to suck at my clit as he pushes two fingers into me and curls them, prompting a loud moan from me.

‘Let me fuck you then,’ he says against my clit, fingers disappearing from inside me, and I shakily lift myself up from his face, leaning down to kiss him briefly again, a soft smile on his face as he kisses me back. How can this be the man that chased me up the stairs with a knife a little while ago?

I move down his body, hovering over his cock and watching as he pushes his boxers down just enough to guide himself into me. I sink down onto him, the familiarity making me sigh as I take him all the way in, his length filling me up almost painfully. It’s like I can feel him in my stomach. I take a few seconds to adjust, suddenly remembering Mason, and I turn to see him sat on the chair in the corner, mask, gloves and robe gone, hand down his boxers and grin on his face.

I motion for him to come over and he stands beside the bed, turning my hand with a strong hand on my chin and pulling my face to his. Our lips meet in a messy kiss, teeth and tongues clashing, and I feel the thrill of kissing someone who isn’t my boyfriend, someone I’ve been secretly crushing on for a while. He bites down on my lip, making me moan into his mouth before he laves his tongue soothingly over where he just bit, my pussy gushing around Kepa.

I break away, remembering my boyfriend whose cock I’m sat on, but he’s watching us with an amused look on his face, leaning on his elbows for a good view. ‘I think I like seeing you with other guys,’ he admits with a grin, Mason laughing, and I raise an amused eyebrow. ‘Are you a dirty voyeur, papí?’ I tease, his gaze hardening and eyes narrowing, scaring me just as much as when he had the mask on, making me wetter again. ‘I’m gonna fuck you hard for that,’ he says darkly, arousal pooling in my stomach.

His hands tighten on my hips and he lifts me before pushing me back down onto his cock, thrusting up at the same time, making me moan with my head thrown back, almost falling off the bed but bumping into Mason instead. He presses kisses along my neck, biting colours into my skin as Kepa lifts me up and down on him, fucking up into me in a way that makes me whimper his name desperately.

He sits up after a few moments, my body sandwiched between theirs, and I grind down onto him, my clit rubbing against his skin, head going light at the pleasure. He dips his head to suck at my nipples, nipping at the flesh of my breasts as I try my best to ride, relying on him lifting me up and down. ‘Good girl, bouncing on my cock,’ Kepa murmurs as Mason’s hand slides around me to rub at my clit, my head falling back against his strong chest.

Kepa’s tip scrapes against the spot inside me that makes my back arch, and his lips stray up to my shoulder. The feeling of both he and Mason’s kissing and biting at my skin, Mason’s fingers at my clit and Kepa’s cock buried inside me, it’s all too much. I’m so close to my orgasm that I can almost feel the white-hot pleasure washing over me already.

‘Can we try something, cariño?’ Kepa asks with his lips at my jaw, his hands stilling my hips, and when I feel Mason’s hand on my lower back, a nervous shiver runs through me. I’ve only let Kepa in the back a couple times and it was… an experience, to say the least. ‘We don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ Mason says softly, mouth moving against my skin, but I shake my head. ‘No, it’s okay. We can try,’ I say quietly, Mason turning my head to kiss me again, the feeling so foreign and thrilling.

‘You’re so fucking cute. Such a good girl,’ he murmurs against my lips before breaking away. I watch as he spits, the parallel between this and watching him spit on the pitch almost making me laugh, and I feel his saliva land at my back entrance. He pushes his boxers down just enough to free his cock and he uses the head to spread his spit around, lubing me up.

‘Safeword if it hurts,’ Kepa reminds me and I nod, letting him capture my lips with his own as Mason gently pushes into me. He takes it slowly, the stretch of each inch burning more and more, but his and Kepa’s lips kiss the pain away. My breathing is laboured, head dizzy, and when Mason bottoms out, they both shower me in praise that makes me wet, my clenching around them making them both groan in pleasure.

‘Can I move?’ I breathe out after a while, feeling adjusted to them inside me, and they both tell me I can. I use my hands on Kepa’s shoulders and my knees resting on the bed to lift myself slightly before letting myself fall back down, all three of us moaning at the feeling. Mason’s mouth comes to my shoulder and bites gently, my head falling back against him as Kepa watches me intently to make sure I’m not in pain, his hands resting on my waist.

He quickly takes over, lifting me up and down with a gradually increasing pace, both of their cocks scraping against my walls, making me lose my mind.  The sounds of wet squelches, moans, grunts, groans and skin slapping against skin fill the room, Kepa’s hands gripping my waist tightly, Mason’s hands sliding around my body to play with my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers.

‘Faster, please,’ I moan, Kepa obliging, the three of us letting out more moans at the faster pace, my nails digging into Kepa’s back. Mason’s fingers stray down to my clit again, just as Kepa’s tip scrapes against my soft spot. Without an inch of warning, my orgasm washes over me, mouth open with a high-pitched moan, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back against Mason.

Hot pleasure burns through my veins, my head spinning and body convulsing, the two of them working me through my high with their hands, mouths and cocks, the sensations only prolonging the bliss. My legs shake as I come down, walls clenching to reject them, my body curling in on itself to try and give myself reprieve, but no such luck – the two of them are still rock-hard inside me, and I know they won’t be done with me until they’ve filled me up with their cum.

‘You’re gonna regret cumming so fast, baby,’ Mason murmurs lowly against my neck, an evil grin on Kepa’s face, and I let out a tired sob, tears in my eyes. ‘I can’t handle any more,’ I whimper, Kepa raising an eyebrow as he starts fucking up into me, Mason matching his pace, my body twitching with overstimulation, pained whines escaping my lips every few seconds.

‘Yes, you can, cariño. You’re a big girl. You’ll take whatever we give you, and you’ll thank us for it too,’ Kepa says in a soothing tone, kissing along my jaw, and I slide my fingers into his hair, head resting against Mason’s shoulder, heat radiating from both of their bodies. We’re all so hot, skin covered in sweat and desire, and I can’t help the tears running down my face as they continue fucking into me for their own orgasms, my body so overwhelmed.

I let out desperate moans of their names, both of them groaning in response, and I know they’re close. I am too, the sensitivity of overstimulation ebbing away into the build-up of another orgasm. ‘Rub yourself, baby,’ Mason prompts, hands playing with my tits again, and I shake my head. ‘I can’t… it’s too much,’ I whimper, Kepa’s gaze on me hardening as his hand tightens at my neck.

‘You can, and you will. He won’t ask you again, princesa,’ he says, tone laced with sternness, and I let go of one of his shoulders to reach down and rub at my clit again, sparks of pleasure lighting inside me, more tears running down my face. He kisses them away before his lips find mine, the saltiness of my tears finding my tastebuds as well as the faint taste of my own pussy, a whiny moan sounding from low in my throat.

I can feel their paces becoming sloppy, their thrusts erratic and their hands frantic on me, like it feels so good that they don’t know what to do with themselves anymore. ‘Fuck, you’re so fucking tight. Such a good girl. I’m not gonna last,’ Mason says between deep breaths, voice strained. ‘Joder. Me neither,’ Kepa says unevenly, slapping my hand away to rub at my clit himself, his faster and harsher pace making me scream, body thrashing at the overpowering pleasure.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna…’ I trail off, mind too numb to think straight. ‘Go on, querido. Cum for our cocks.’ ‘Does our little slut feel good? Are you gonna cum for us, baby?’ Their dirty talk almost finishes me off, but it’s an in-sync thrust from both of them that pushes me over the edge, mouth open in a silent scream as my high hits me, body tensed and shaking. Mason’s orgasm follows close after, the boy burying his head in my neck as he cums with a low moan of my name, and Kepa’s is last, my boyfriend holding me down on his cock as he cums deep inside me with his head thrown back.

We stay like this for a few moments, breathing heavily as their cocks soften inside me. I shudder when Mason pulls out, feeling cold and empty when Kepa lifts me off him to lay me down on the bed, tension flooding out of my body and replaced with relief.

I spot one of the masks on the pillow and I reach for it, holding it and looking at it, paying no attention to the two of them as they move around, talking lowly. I stare into the dark eyes of the mask, a low thrill settling in my stomach at the sight of it. I always found Ghostface hot, but now? He’s number one on my crush list and I think it’ll take a lot to replace him.

‘¿Estas bien, mi amor?’ Kepa asks softly, and I put the mask down, looking at him with a tired smile on my face. His hair’s all fluffy and he’s put on some pyjama bottoms, the sexy checked ones I love on him. His top half is bare, though – I already know I’ll be tracing my fingers over his muscles before I fall asleep tonight.

‘I’m okay,’ I reply in a hoarse voice, my boyfriend coming to sit on the bed beside me, a wet towel in his hand. He cleans me up with a gentle touch, running the towel up and down my body to soak up all the sweat. Mason comes out of the bathroom a moment later, also wearing a pair of sexy checked pyjamas bottoms with no top, his hair just as fluffy. He comes over to the bed with a handsome grin, pushing my legs apart.

I feel shy as both he and Kepa look between my legs, both groaning at the sight. I can feel their cum dripping out of both holes, the sensation only making me wet again. ‘Fuck, that’s so hot,’ Mason says, scooping up their cum and pushing it back into me with two fingers, making me hum in pleasure, walls clenching around him.

They both get me ready for bed, Kepa cleaning my makeup off with a wipe as Mason takes off the remainder of my lingerie before handing me my Ghostface pyjamas, making me laugh at the irony of it. ‘Are you hungry, mamí?’ Kepa asks, suddenly reminding me of my cooking. ‘I put a pasta bake in the oven. It’s probably burnt to a crisp now,’ I say miserably, both of them laughing. ‘I turned the oven off before I chased you up the stairs,’ Kepa says, his responsible behaviour making me smile amusedly.

‘It still won’t be good to eat now though.’ ‘We’ll order pizza. Still Italian,’ Kepa says, and I roll my eyes but nod anyway – I love takeaway pizza. Kepa taps away at his phone as I settle into the sheets, already feeling myself drifting off to sleep. ‘What toppings do you want, Mase?’ Kepa asks, Mason looking surprised. ‘I was gonna go.’ ‘No, stay the night, please. I want morning sex,’ I say tiredly, the two of them laughing again.

‘How can I refuse you, babe? I’ll have whatever, I’m not fussy,’ Mason says, directing the last part to Kepa who finishes the order as Mason climbs into the bed beside me. ’30 minutes,’ Kepa says, and I let my eyes flutter shut. ‘I’m gonna have a little nap,’ I yawn, Kepa chuckling softly as he runs a hand over my hair, sending tingles through me. I snuggle down into the sheets, resting my head in Kepa’s lap and throwing my legs over Mason’s, my boyfriend playing with my hair as Mason massages my feet. This must be heaven.

‘Sorry for scaring you, babe.’ ‘Don’t be. I loved it. You’re great actors,’ I mumble, getting chuckles in response. ‘Liar. You knew it was us.’ ‘I doubted it a few times though. I really thought you were Kepa on the phone. Your Spanish accent is great,’ I say, Mason looking proud of himself. ‘I’ve got a good teacher,’ he says, the two of them bumping their fists together with big grins at each other, and I roll my eyes at their weird little bromance. Though, I suppose, if it weren’t for their bromance, I wouldn’t be nearly knocked out after the fucking of a lifetime.

‘I do have to say, though. You two have nothing on Billy and Stu,’ I say tiredly, the two of them scoffing. ‘Billy and Stu wish they were us,’ Mason says confidently, and I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Okay. Which one of you is which then?’ I ask, both of them answering, ‘I’m Billy.’ I laugh as they bicker over who’s who, both of them making compelling arguments, but by the time they ask for my opinion, I’m almost fast asleep, a contented smile on my face.

#kepa arrizabalaga #mason mount #chelsea fc #kepa arrizabalaga smut #mason mount smut

[messrmoonyy]

I just read your nsfw Headcannons for Tess and all I have to say is. Give. Me. The. Alley. Thing. Now. And no one gets hurt

The art of jealousy

Tess Servopoulos x Fem!reader

A/N- this request has been sat in my inbox since I first posted those Headcannons. Which was. A long time ago. I’m sorry. So here it is finally. Also the Headcannons being referred too are right here for anyone that wants to read them. Tess POV cause I really am loving giving a look into her head. I only proofread this once cause Tuesdays are becoming ever so slightly stressful for me so I just wasn’t vibing. So. Anyways. Enjoy.

Warnings- Tess lmao. Possessiveness, jealousy, she’s a lil rough at times but reader likes that, smut: fingering ( reader receiving), sex in a public place, choking, degradation

Word count- 3.8K

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

If Tess was one thing, it was being possessive of shit that was hers. Maybe that was just a side affect- as it were- of the post outbreak world. No one had much that they could truly call theirs anymore. Tess had actually always found it quite interesting how attached people could be to their things. She’d never been the material type. Even pre outbreak she’d never been one for expensive jewellery, flashy cars or designer clothes. And she’d never really understood people’s obsession with it.

Material items took on new forms now. People these days valued things like boots. Or ration cards. Family photos they’d managed to hold onto for all this time. At least they were more practical now she guessed. But still, she wasn’t really one to be overly attached to things.

People too fell under that bracket. She straight up refused to let herself get attached to anyone once the outbreak hit. After losing her entire family within the first week of the outbreak she’d vowed to never let herself get close to anyone again.

And then you’d come along.

She hadn’t meant to fall in love with you. Fuck she’d actually ignored you for several months when she realised she might actually be feeling something for you. But you were persistent. And beautiful. And it was unbelievably irritating but you had a knack at kicking down the walls she’d built up over the years. Brick. By brick. And she had learnt that maybe she did have a possessive streak in her after all.

Because there was truly nothing she despised more than watching someone else flirting with you. And it happened a lot which wasn’t at all surprising. The majority of people she surrounded herself with knew not to mess around when it came to you. They knew that you were off limits. But occasionally someone new would poll their way into the underground scene of Boston, some attempt to establish themselves on the black market, and thoroughly piss her off.

Jealousy crept up on her more frequently than not, she couldn’t help it. She just didn’t like it. Seeing you around someone else.

She knew you weren’t about to run off with some random fuck who thought he could win you round with some ration cards. She had you wrapped tightly around her little finger, just as you had her. But still. It pissed her off.

“ are you hoping if you stare at the back of his head long enough he’ll just drop down dead? “ Joel’s southern drawl hit her ears and she flashed him an irritated look, before looking back over at you. You’d been striking up a deal with someone for over 10 minutes, some new fucker clearly bartering you down for the cost of some pills. But he was being too… touchy.

You were no stranger to flirting your way through deals and Tess had always been surprised at just how much you could raise the prices in trades just by simply… existing. Being a woman in the current climate had never been particularly great. And learning to use what you had to for your own advantages was vital.

‘ men think they’re getting something and they’ll be putty in your hands ‘ that’s what you had said once. And she wasn’t exactly against it, hell she was guilty of doing it herself. But it didn’t change how infuriating it was.

“ you know she won’t do shit. You got that girl eating out of the god damn palm of your hand “ Joel said with a laugh, chewing at a chunk of his rationed beef jerky and eyeing the hand of cards he was holding. Though Tess had long since lost interest in the game they were playing “ ask her to beg at your fuckin feet and she’d do it. Then again, you’d probably do it for her too “ A small smirk pulled at her lips with that. She knew it was true, of course. She trusted you whole heartedly, knowing you had zero interest in anyone else. Especially men. And no one on the entire planet could turn her head.

You were just as infatuated with her as she was with you. It was a mutual obsession that was no where close to burning out.

“ I know “

“ then drop the miserable look on your damn face and play your turn “ she rolled her eyes and took her eyes off of you for a few moments, looking back down at the cards in front of her. She played a card without even really looking at it, her eyes soon trailing back over to you again “ you are making this too damn easy for me “

She didn’t grant him with a response, eyes narrowing as she watched you exchange a half bag of pills for a wad of cards. Clearly more than you’d usually have sold them for, but her small proud smile didn’t last long.

The man stepped closer to you, head bowed as he said something in your ear. You gave a clearly over exaggerated laugh, arm on his shoulder. And she was certain she saw your eyes flick in her direction.

She huffed a laugh, sitting back in her chair and shaking her head in mild disbelief

“ the little shit “ Joel’s eyes drifted over to you too, his brow furrowed as they both watched you flirt with the man.

“ Jesus Christ “ Joel muttered, clearly thinking the same thing Tess was. You were doing it on purpose. Pushing her buttons “ don’t rise to it. It’s what she wants “

“ I know what she fuckin wants “ she narrowed her eyes, watching you across the courtyard as she attempted to continue the game with Joel.

“ hey Tess. How you doin? I was wondering if you had an- “ the sound of one of her customers filled her ears as she kept her eyes trained on you.

“ not now “ she said with a wave of her hand, not even looking up to see who was stood there

“ but- “

“ not. Now “

“ okay okay. That’s cool. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow? Cool cool “ Joel sighed as the man shuffled off sheepishly

“ you’re forfeiting sales now? Will you just go talk to her “ she was tapping her fingers against the table impatiently now. Jealousy and anger swimming in her veins in a dangerous cocktail.

You were always the same. A fucking brat. Pissing her off to get your own way. And she knew exactly what you were trying to get out of her. Piss her off, wind her up, drive her insane so that the second you both got home she’d pin you down against the closest surface and remind you exactly who was in charge for as long as it took for the message to sink in.

But she was in no mood to wait until you got home. If you needed a little reminder of just who wore the trousers in your relationship, she’d remind you. And she’d remind you sooner rather than later.

One more gentle touch of your hand to the man’s chest followed by a glance in her direction was the last nail in the coffin. And she was tossing her cards down on the table.

“ Tess- “ she was up and out of her metal chair before he could finish his sentence, crossing the courtyard in purposeful strides, someone hopping out of her path as she went.

“ are you fuckin done? “ she asked in a low voice as she reached you, throwing a glare towards the man seemed confused at her sudden appearance

“ oh hi Tess “ you said innocently “ everything okay? “ the man took a step back, eyes widening as he looked between the two of you

“ you’re?- I didn’t know- “ she quite enjoyed watching people crumble under the weight of her reputation. Especially men.

“ if you have any idea what’s good for you, you’ll take your pills. And fuck off” she turned to you then “ and you. Come with me “ she walked off before waiting for a response from either of you, making a beeline for the back alley leading out of the courtyard. No one would bother her down there, the only entrance that lead from that way was the one from anyone coming from outside the wall. Which wasn’t very often.

She didn’t have to look behind her to know you’d be following. Even when you were in the mood to piss her off you were still desperate to please.

So she waited a few moments and then you appeared, strolling into the alley like you didn’t have a single care in the world. And she was reaching the limits of her patience.

She grabbed you by the wrist and pushed you back against the wall, hiding effectively behind a stack of wooden crates.

“ you okay Tess? You seem a little tense today “ god you were infuriating. She laughed and shook her head, trapping you against the wall with a hand resting beside your head.

“ the fuck was that back there? Huh? “ confusion twisted into your features, but the smirk tugging at your lips gave it away that you weren’t even remotely confused by her question. You knew exactly what you’d done “ you think it’s funny? “

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“ oh you don’t? “

“ I was just making a trade. You’re a little scary you know, the new ones always prefer to come to me. You should smile a little more “ you reached up and poked at her face lightly “ I think you scared my customer away “

“ good. He needs to keep his fuckin hands to himself “

“ shame. He was quite nice “ the little monster that lived in her chest was trying to claw its way out, a pointless feeling of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. It truly was pointless. She knew you were toying with her. You were playing her like a violin, messing with her to get what you wanted.

“ wanna go back out to him? Be my fuckin guest “ she knew you wouldn’t. Knew she had you exactly where you wanted to be. Though a small part of her did wonder if you would. Just to piss her off a little more.

“ you should know by now I’m not into the nice type “ she exhaled shortly through her nose and gave a small nod. She knew. Tess was not one for softness and romance. Yeah, from time to time it would slip out. But that’s not what you wanted from her. It’s why you worked together so well.

Her fingers brushed over the exposed skin of your neck, almost annoyed at the lack of purple and red marks she found. Maybe that was why the fucker back there had been so willing and accepting to your loaded advances. How could she have been so careless. To let her possessive marks vanish. Her clear silent brand that you were spoken for.

“ you don’t think I’m nice? “

“ there’s different meanings to different people “ she couldn’t help herself and dropped her head down to your neck, the blank expanse of your skin frustrating her. You tilted your head to give her access to more of you, attacking the blank canvas of flesh with her teeth “ see. Nice girls don’t behave like this. You taught me that “ she laughed against your skin, biting a little harder than she really needed to. Just to hear the delicious sound it would draw from you.

She knew she wasn’t nice. Not in the conventional sense. But you didn’t want nice. You didn’t want a cosy and warm relationship, soft forehead kisses and vanilla sex, cruising along in life and abiding by the rules.

You wanted her. You wanted the way she was rough, she was all teeth and bruises and hair pulls. She threw you around and left you wrecked for anyone else but her. And she knew that was how you were. She knew that was what you wanted. What you needed. Needing some kind of reminder that you were real, that the fucked up mess of the world around you wasnt a nightmare. You needed her to bring you back to life. And she was more than happy to oblige.

“ so what? You gonna take me home? “ she didn’t quite know when exactly she had decided she wasn’t going to take you home. The idea had arisen quite suddenly and she’d decided to act on it just as fast, quite certain she didn’t actually have it in her to take you all the way home. Not when she was so wound up.

That paired with the smugness still interlacing between the syllables of your words… she had a point to prove.

“ no “ you gave her a confused look and now it was her turn to smirk “ you act like that and think you get to choose if we go home or not? Gotta be fuckin kiddin me baby “ she leant in close to your face, her hand moving up and applying pressure to your throat. She felt your breath stutter, your fingers wrapping around her wrist. Not so cocky anymore.

“ Tess someone might- “

“ what? You were okay with behaving like some common fuckin whore out there in front of everyone, but not here for me? Breaking my fuckin heart “ she liked the way you seemed to lose all of your cockiness in an instant. She practically watched it drain from your features.

“ I wasn’t doing shit I was working “ Tess quirked a brow and smiled, fingers moving to unbutton your jeans. The second her fingers slipped into your underwear and she felt how wet you were, her smile grew. She wondered if you knew how much she truly loved how easy it was to make you wet. How much it turned her on just to have you so willingly at her mercy, how much you so clearly wanted to be used by her even if you attempted to deny it.

“ I’m not stupid. I know what you were doing. You think I didn’t know this is what you wanted? “ a soft moan slipped past your lips as she dragged your arousal up and slowly circled your clit “ you wet for me or that fucker back there? Huh? “

“ what do you fuckin think? “ Tess raised her eyebrows and shook her head, not the biggest fan of your tone of voice. Your breath hitched as she set herself into a steady rhythm, losing your cool and cocky demeanour as she worked you into a mess. It never took her long. She could read you like a book and knew how and where to touch you to have you melting in minutes.

“ the attitude on you sweetheart “ she increased the speed of her fingers, applied more pressure to your neck. She watched the way your eyes fluttered closed, loving the way the light headed bliss washed over you “ that’s it baby, can’t talk back now can you “

Your eyes fell onto hers as she slipped two fingers into you, not bothering to ease you into it with one. You were wet enough for it, she knew.

“ fuck- “

“ you think you’re so powerful don’t you? Thinking you can fuck around like that? Look at you now “ she kept her voice low, in that tone that she knew you loved. That made your velvety walls flutter against the fingers she was thrusting in and out of you roughly “ do you think they all know back there? That you’re back here with me getting fucked like a little slut? Do you? “

You whimpered out an answer your nails digging painfully into the skin of her wrist

“ I’m sorry “ your whimpers and whines were cute but she found it mildly funny that you thought they would make her go easy on you. She was only getting started.

“ not good enough “ her thumb applied pressure to your clit and you moaned loudly at the feeling “ acting like you’re so big. So bad. But who’s the one getting fucked in an alley? What do you think they’d say if they saw you now? Saw you a pathetic mess having your cunt stretched out by my fingers? Hmm? “

“ I- I said I’m sorry. I’m- fuck “

“ you should be. I look after you, I take care of you. And yet you behave like that? Such a spoiled little brat. You want more? I bet you want more don’t you “ your moans were increasing in pitch and she was a little cautious of being caught, but she was far too preoccupied by you to care completely. By the own arousal pooling in her belly, she didn’t need to be touched to get off. Watching you fall apart at her hands was enough

“ yes. Yes. More “ you begged. She loved hearing you beg.

“ greedy girl “ she glanced down at her hand that was hidden in your jeans and smiled, adjusting the slightly awkward angle and carefully adding a third finger to the mix. You winced at the new stretch and she gave you a moment before continuing her movements.

“ fuck Tess “ the sounds falling from your mouth mixed with the sopping sound of your cunt stretching around her fingers was almost too distracting, fighting the urge to stop and take you home so she could fuck you properly.

You were getting louder, even when she stifled your sounds for a moment with a more firm grip on your throat. When she could feel your pulse hammering beneath her finger tips.

“ nice and quiet. Or do you want them all to hear you? Is that what you want? “ it’s what she wanted. Deep down. A part of her desperately wanted people to hear, to remind everyone and anyone that thought they had a chance with you to back off. But a louder part of her was yelling at her, that she didn’t want anyone finding you both there. So you’d have to quiet down “ quiet “ she warned.

She sighed in mild annoyance when you didn’t listen.

“ sorry I- I can’t- “ so she clamped her hand down over your mouth and shook her head in disappointment. Though internally she was unbelievably fucking smug, very much getting off on the fact that you couldn’t control yourself. Because of her. You were a whimpering, shuddering wreck because of her.

She wondered if she should have planned this a little more thoroughly before executing it. If she could’ve roped Joel into dragging the man you had been flirting with down that alley too. Forced him to watch. Get a couple of hits in to really cement the fact. That you were hers. No one else’s. You weren’t to be touched. Or looked at. Or even thought about but anyone but her.

In an ideal world where she didn’t act on impulse and actually planned that exact moment, that’s what would have happened. Maybe she’d have even taken you some place more secluded. Where she didn’t have to force you to be quiet, where she could let you be loud. Let that bastards ears be filled with you moaning her name. The wet sounds of your cunt soaking her fingers.

He’d never get to have you like that. He’d never get to feel the way you clenched on her fingers, the way your inner walls were so soft. No one would. Only her.

But maybe that was for another time. In that moment she was quite pleased with herself, pleased with the way she had you whimpering into her one hand and dripping all over the other.

She wished you could see how pathetic you looked there for her, squirming in her hold, eyes rolling to the back of your head as she pushed you closer the edge. Her hand across your mouth, neck covered in fresh hickeys, your arms grazing against the brick wall.

“ I don’t want you acting like that anymore. You understand me? “ she curled her fingers as she said it, pressing at the spot she knew sent you spiralling. That she knew would render you unable to respond, that gave you that wonderful blank look in your eyes when all you could think about was her. Exactly as she wanted you. You nodded your head, eyes falling closed “ I can’t have you showing me up like that again“

She couldn’t. She didn’t need people seeing you treat her like a pushover, so easily able to walk all over her. She was in charge. She had the control. You were hers

“ who do you belong to? “ she asked you, moving her hand down from your mouth and gripping at your chin “ who? “

“ you “ you said breathlessly, your chest heaving and grip on her wrist tightening. She knew you well enough to know when you were almost there, recognised the sounds. The look in your eyes. The way you tightened around her fingers.

“ say it again”

“ fuck- “ she was a little cautious of how loud you were being again but she wanted to hear you say it, needed you to say her name and feed the jealous creature sitting in her chest.

“ say it or I swear I will leave you here like this “ she threatened “ say my name baby “

“ Tess “ you gasped, voice high and breathy “ Tess. You I belong to you please- “ she smiled and gave a small nod.

“ that’s my girl “ she moved her hand back over your mouth as you came, whining loudly even muffled by her fingers “ you fuckin remember that yeah? You’re mine “ she said against your ear as she worked you through it, coming over her fingers “ all mine “ she kept going, only withdrawing her fingers when you slumped against her. Legs shaking and chest heaving as you caught your breath.

She dropped her hand from your mouth, eyes scanning your face and an overwhelming smugness settling over her at your fucked out appearance.

“ did I make myself clear? “ she asked quietly, thumb brushing over your lips.

“ crystal “ she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before letting you go and taking a step back, running a hand through her hair as she looked at her handiwork. It was clear as day what had just happened and she took great pride in the fact that you would walk back into that courtyard, and everyone would know. Bruises were blooming on your throat, your cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from your teeth sinking into them, hair dishevelled.

“ I’ll let you get back to work then shall I? “ she said with a smile as if it were the most normal thing.

“ you fuckin kidding me? “ she shrugged and leant forward to press a kiss to your cheek “ just keep your hands to yourself this time “ then she stepped back and made her way back to Joel, almost sauntering her way back to the table where he was still sat.

The cat who had gotten the cream.

“ you are fuckin unbelievable “ he muttered with a shake of his head as she sat back in her chair, arms folded over her chest and eyes locked on the entrance to the alleyway waiting for you to appear.

“ deal me some new cards Texas “ he shook his head with a sigh but gathered up the cards again as you re appeared. You had tried to make yourself look more presentable by the looks of things, but even if people could excuse the flushed look of your cheeks or the glazed look in your eyes. There was no escaping the freshly bloomed artwork she’d left on your neck.

She’d like to see anyone try it on with you now.

#tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x reader #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #smut #x you #x reader #other characters for exposure: #Joel miller #Ellie Williams #tlou hbo #Anna torv

[suniloli]

BOILING POINT p2

23 Jan 2024

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.34K

Warnings: Swearing, sexual innuendo, descriptions of blood/gore

Setting: Prison (between s3 and 4)

Summary: Daryl reflects on you and how you make him feel. After a lot of introspection and a very close encounter, Daryl realises that it may be more self imposed than he thinks. 

Author Note: 85 years later…..I was re-reading part one and realised I don’t like it… that's probs why I put this off for ages (why do I do this to myself?) Anyways, I'm way happier with this piece of writing. Part 3 will DEFINITELY be out in a more timely fashion…. -Sól

Part 1

Daryl felt a flurry of emotions spur through him in the matter of probably five minutes. He didn’t even know that was possible. That it was possible for himself to feel such an amalgamation of feeling in such a short amount of time. Every single time in fact. Every time you were around.  

You. 

Lately, he hated you. He loathed you. Somehow, you just always managed to do something to piss him off. You were infuriating. God, you were infuriating. You made his blood boil so much that he had to try and fight it off every time you were near. 

So, every time that you were, it was just best for him to push you away. And what better than to go on this run by himself and create even more distance from you and your complications. 

Cursing at whoever was at the gate, Daryl sped off hastily on his bike. He’d definitely leave for at least a couple of hours. You guys didn’t even have to retrieve that much anyways. Just some medical stuff and ammunition if you were lucky enough to come across it. Maybe some materials to make some bolts. Maybe actual bolts if the universe allowed it. 

Wait. That’s right. His fucking crossbow. He can’t even use it because of you. Fuck. 

Daryl guessed he should add some heavy duty string to that list then too. 

The list that you had. 

Daryl scowled. You were just always in his way. Always messing something up. It was never easy with you. 

Well, it never was, was it? 

Daryl hadn’t even realised that he’d made it to the small medical centre in town until his bike skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust, seemingly of its own accord. 

The area had been scoured before, so Daryl assumed there shouldn’t be any problems. It was specifically the both of you who took a look here a couple months ago. 

Daryl remembered the tender, heated embrace he shared with you in the middle of the main street. Contrary to today's chill in the air and its cloudy sky, the last time he was here it was bathed in blue and sunshine, warm enough to kiss his skin, but cool enough to appreciate its beauty. 

That’s what gave him the courage to say anything at all; gazing at your glowing complexion, soft radiance and your loose hair moving in the slow breeze, Daryl said that you were somehow even more beautiful than he’d ever seen you. It was just so innocently the truth at that exact moment. He’d murmured it to you, although Daryl thought he sounded so incredibly stupid and corny and regretted it immediately afterwards. 

Well, he almost did. 

Because just as he said it, he realised that you mustn’t have thought that at all. Daryl had witnessed the most emotion he’d ever been privileged to observe swirl in your eyes when he spoke those words. Your gorgeous, expressive eyes took him aback when suddenly, you’d pulled him into you — arms around his neck, the side of your face touching his. He nearly pulled back at the abruptness of it. Daryl hadn’t meant to be that vulnerable with you, but he could only describe the feeling of your body, your scent, your overwhelming appreciation of him, as bliss. 

Any sort of embarrassment or insecurity was completely drowned in the little world that formed between you two at that exact moment. 

He hasn’t been that close with you since. 

Daryl shook his head as if that would make him forget. Get it together, he scolded himself. 

Hiding his bike under some roughage on the side of the road, he armed himself with his knives, aware of the pistol wedged in the back of his pants. 

He banged on the front entrance once. Twice. No walkers. 

Opening up the centre’s doors, he was met with the faint scent of cleanliness, and an eerie quietness permeating throughout the building. Trying to focus, Daryl moved with purpose from room to room, his senses on high alert. It was possible for anything to jump out at him. 

Alrigh’. Bandages, ointments, gauze, anythin’... Daryl couldn’t at all remember what Hershel suggested the two of you bring back. He assumed stuff like paracetamol would be pretty acceptable, so that’s what he went in search of. 

Approaching the storage rooms, Daryl went towards the shelves and traced his fingers over boxes of medical supplies. Grasping what was suitable and shoving it in his pack, he zipped it up and carefully made his way around the back of the building to discreetly move up the main street. 

Daryl was surprised to actually find a couple of weapons in the hardware store. A hatchet and a hammer to be exact, as well as some of that godforsaken string he needed. And it was godforsaken alright, because it was something else Daryl had to waste his time on. 

Slowly weaving through the aisles to reach the front, Daryl coiled the thick material around his fingers, reminded again of how he left the prison. Everything about you managed to weave its way into his mind, but the more he pushed you away, the more you lingered. Looking down at the string in his hand as he walked, a bit of the pure anger bubbling inside seemed to dissipate as he reflected. 

Daryl became aware of his harshness. At the end of the day, it was just an accident. It’s not like you wanted to inconvenience him like that. Did you? Did he have to call you a good fer nothin bitch? 

Daryl found that he was guilty of being like his father — quick to anger and attack. He hated himself for it. He tried so hard to be anything BUT like his upbringing, and it was slowly creeping back into his life like the loser he was. 

I’m the one who’s good fer nothin’… he brooded. With the way he’s been acting, he’d never deserve someone as strikingly beautiful as you. Someone as intelligent and witty and sensitive as you. As if you’d ever think his redneck ass was worthy of your affections. Especially when he’d been holding you at length and treating you like shit.  

Daryl was slowly losing you, all of his own volition. The self loathing and insecurity hounded into him ever since he can remember was causing his own relationship with you to diminish. Although Daryl knew he had evolved since the end of the world, Merle’s crude loud mouthedness was still faintly echoing in his subconscious. The closest thing he had to his own blood was one of the things to bring him down. 

Daryl was angry at the fact that even though Merle had started to come around, ever since he left, his past words and toxicity still managed to affect him. 

“Ya aint’ gud enough fer anyone boy”

“I told ya ya were useless”

“She’s never gon’ wanna be with any hillbilly trash like us”

“Sweet ol’ Y/N’s only gon’ use ya. Us Dixon’s need ta’ stick together”

That didn’t seem to work out, did it? 

As Daryl distractedly opened the door to the outside, within a split second, grotesque, bloodied hands were on him, and he was thrown to the ground. 

“Shit!” Daryl exclaimed. Landing in a small puddle of stagnant water, his string was flung to the side. He struggled to reach for any sort of weapon. The only sounds which flooded his ears were strangled moans and the gnashing of teeth. The walker managed to plunge the right side of Daryl’s face in the puddle, causing him to inhale some of the stinky water. 

Spluttering and gasping for breath, Daryl tried to fend it off. With his left arm extended on top of him, he attempted to push the walker off to no avail. It was relentless. 

Reaching his right hand towards the knife sheath at his hip, Daryl’s fingertips found the hilt, and after a couple seconds of struggle, he gripped it fully. 

Daryl ripped it free from the sheath, and without thinking, grasped the tattered shirt of the walker, heaving his own body to the side to get on top of it. “Uunngghh!” In one swift motion, Daryl slammed it into the ground, and violently pierced the blade through the walker’s head. 

Face dripping with sweat and stale grossness, Daryl heaved and heaved until he felt lightheaded. Still straddling the corpse, he stared at it. He was reminded of when he had to put down his brother... 

Averting his gaze and observing his reflection in the puddle of murkiness, Daryl watched as deep, dirty crimson slowly dispersed into the liquid from the walker's head. It oozed and spread until it covered his own reflection entirely, until all he could see were two adrenaline filled eyes shrouded in red. 

He didn’t like what he saw. 

A bit shaken, Daryl noticed that the sun was starting to set, and he picked up his things and hurried to his bike. 

Daryl entered the prison with a heavy heart. Acknowledging anyone looking at him with a nod, he dropped off the supplies, and made it to his cell. 

Pulling the crossbow string out of his pocket, he laid on his bunk, and began to fix his crossbow. 

“Daryl?”

"Ya?"

Carol moved from around the corner. “Hey…” she exhaled. “Are you alright?”

His steely eyes met her inquisitive ones. He stayed silent.

“Where’d you go off to?” She asked. 

“Into tha’ nearby town Y/N and I looked at…still needed ta’ go on tha’ run.”

Carol made her way into his cell. She slowly sat on the edge of the bed, next to his feet. Daryl fixed his gaze on the crossbow in his hands. 

“I see you found something to fix that thing” She said, pointing to the weapon. Daryl grunted in the affirmative. “You know, I don’t think she meant to do it on purpose —”

“I know” Daryl interrupted. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled. “I know…”

Carol observed his expression. He seemed more thoughtful, his brows slightly drawn. Before she could say anything, Daryl spoke. 

“I’ve been such a goddamn prick ta’ her. I — I don’ know how ta’ fix it…”

Carol felt for her best friend. “Well, the fact that you’re even feeling guilt about it tells me that you will eventually. All she wants is to talk to you.”

“Yeh’ right. I don’ deserve her goddamn attention. I’ve ruined it…” Daryl muttered sorrowfully. 

“No, it’s not that you don’t deserve it. You just need to earn it back...You’ve been an asshole.”

Daryl sighed, his gaze still fixed on the crossbow. "I just... It's like I can't control it…I feel like I’m gonna mess her up. All this thinkin’, that…”

“That what?”

“That I’ll never be good enough...” he admitted. Carol placed a hand on his knee but for the most part remained silent. He appreciated that she wasn’t making a big deal. 

“You’re a good man Daryl. Whatever is haunting you, you need to let it go. Nothing justifies treating her how you have, but if you just talk to her about how you feel, I think you’ll be surprised.” She gave his leg a pat. Assuming he’d already done enough self-reflection on his little trip, she changed the subject. “If you really wanted to make amends, I’m finishing up dinner. You could head to her cell and give it to her?”

Daryl looked at her and nodded his head upwards. Chewing his bottom lip, he placed his now fixed crossbow on the bed, gave Carol’s shoulder a squeeze, and followed her out. 

“Y/N?” 

Daryl knocked softly again. “Y/N, can we talk?”

Not hearing any movement, he slowly pulled the curtain from the doorway. Your slightly disheveled, sleeping form was what greeted him. 

Walking in quietly, Daryl placed the steaming bowl on your makeshift bedside table. He stood there for a moment, just watching you sleep. His face softened as he saw your puffy eyes and slightly dampened cheeks. You must’ve really been upset. 

Daryl took one small step towards your frame. He leaned down quietly, and moved some hair from out of your face. Tucking it gently behind your ear, his fingers continued to trace along your jaw and he held them against your cheek. After a minute or so, Daryl chewed his bottom lip again. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. Daryl reluctantly stepped out of your cell, and occupied himself until you woke.

It took him about half an hour to gather up the courage once more to follow you outside when he’d seen you leave. Walking through the prison, he felt a warm hand grasp his shoulder. 

“Thanks for the supplies, son” Hershel smiled warmly. Daryl acknowledged him with a pat to his hand, and kept walking. He saw Carol from across the way give him a knowing look. He ignored her and kept on. 

He hadn’t realised it’d become so dark outside. Lighting up a cigarette, he inhaled the thick smoke and took a drag. Allowing the nicotine to enter his system, he spotted you on the grass. But you were talking to…Rick? Damnit. 

About to make his way over, he stopped in his tracks. All he could do was watch as Rick moved closer and placed his arm around your shoulders. And you leaned into it. 

Daryl was now extra aware of his heart beating in his chest. But as he saw Rick kiss your head, he felt an overwhelming heat take over his body. Seeing you both cuddle up to each other was making him feel sick. 

He again felt anger. Embarrassment. Betrayal. 

Maybe Merle was right. 

Daryl could hear him in his head — “Ya aint’ good enough fer her Darylina.”

Feeling too overwhelmed, he threw his still burning cigarette onto the ground and stormed back into the prison, taking out his emotion on the door, slamming it shut. 

The image of you and Rick was what cursed his mind until he faded away into slumber. 

Part 3

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