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ethereal-night-fairy · 2 days

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To the Edge of Chaos

Chapter 1

Pirate!Gaz x Female Reader (of mixed Arab decent)

Safe to say your initial plan at robbery back fired in more ways than one. The second attempt went much much worse yet somehow by the mercy of God you aren't dead. Just trapped...on a ship...with no way out. Well not until you pay for your indiscretions made against a certain sailing master that is...

Was this a blessing in disguise? Or did you just enter a new kind of hell?

Warnings: MNDI mention of death, trauma and difficult situations, embarrassing moments, fluff and teasing, slight bullying, mention of kissing and other touching but nothing explicit, slight dub con if you squint, talk of death and mourning, crude language, attempted SA and torture (not by Gaz or the 141), Lots of blood and some gore towards the end of the chapter, talk of revenge, talk of heritage, sorry if I missed any.

Pictures are for aesthetic purposes only. They do not indicate the reader.

To the Edge of Chaos

Masterlist

Words: 7.1k

The Sun was sweltering, practically beating down molten rays on your delicate skin. You weren't used to feeling the burn of the afternoon sun. Your fragile composition wasn't adequately prepared for the dehydration that followed. Especially not with the light reflecting off blue waves almost blinding you. White entered your vision, shooting a stinging pain throughout your eyes.

You were overwhelmed, overbearingly so. So much was going on at once. Too much to pay attention to if you wanted to stay sane for a while longer. Burning heat, sweating palms, queasy stomach. Your legs found themselves moving towards the railing in a hurry. Strong winds, crashing waves, people shouting. Your ears buzzed, your brain's way of signaling an oncoming headache. One that was threatening to throw you overboard. Much like your breakfast.

Sweat trickled down your back as your body lurched with the motions of the ship, It caused your stomach to clench with unease. Your hands gripped the railing so tight that you were afraid the wood would come away with your swaying. But you still held on with difficulty. Why did everyone else make it look so easy?

You clearly weren't built to walk on ships it seems…

The hussle and bussle of your new surroundings was a welcomed distraction. Moving bodies, resulted in a busy mind. Busy minds had no time to mourn or to think about past sins. You preferred it like that. You hadn't had the time to fall apart. Not among strangers that is. A change in scenery would probably do you some good. But you'd be lying if you said you were adjusting well to it.

Having never done manual labour, you had a lot to prove to gain any ounce of respect from your new companions. Regardless of the fact that your presence here was forced. By your own doing but still forced. Escaping pirates was a lot more difficult than you anticipated. There was no use dwelling on your unfortunate circumstances that had led you to try to rob him a second time… the first time you chickened out pretty quickly.

Calls could be heard overhead for sails to be adjusted. It was probably the Captain. Captain Price as you were to call him. You haven't spoken to him since Gaz had all but begged for you to be let on board. Nothing out of the ordinary of course he was a busy man.

It was a busy ship. Easily over a 100 men and women, mostly men though. You hadn't had the time to introduce yourself to everyone but a few familiar faces were starting sticking out to you now. Some you definitely preferred to avoid.

Despite not knowing anyone closely you've already accumulated a nickname among the diverse crew. You didn't want to dive into the details of how they had decided on it. You were still lamenting the stupid decision that led to it.

“Watch yer head Fish boy!” The awful nickname rings out as the other crew members brush past you. You don't get the time to feel embarrassed as Farah calls for ropes to be adjusted from the crowsnest. You duck out of their way to the best of your ability. Your legs are still a little unsteady forcing you to grab onto the nearest structure to hold you up. Which unfortunately happened to be a person.

Whoever it was, they laugh as you clutch onto them for support while the rest of the crew go about their duties. It's only when you turn your head that you realise you've made a dire mistake. Dire to your self esteem that is.

His mirthful blue eyes bore into yours while apologies dripped from your chapped lips. Not that it would spare you from what you were about to experience. You flail about, desperately trying to find something else to hold onto. Desperately trying to find an escape from whatever it was he was about to subject you to.

“Come on lad! Find yer sea legs! Farah likes ‘er deck in tip top shape,” you watch the man who you now know as Soap or Johnny as Ghost liked calling him grab you by the back of the collar as you quickly wipe your mouth clean.

He seems a little childish to be stationed as a Master Gunner. But you didn't run this ship so it shouldn't bother you who had what job. But it did…it very much did.

Him having easy access to guns made your blood run cold because he was also the man who wanted you dead not long ago (not that he realises who you truly are). You shiver envisioning a situation where he did know. What would he do to you?

He hauled you over to where you were needed or ‘stationed’ to be more accurate. Not that you knew what you were doing but cleaning shouldn't be too hard. Or ‘swabbing the deck’ as Farah (the Boatswain) had put it. You just needed to stop making a mess first.

“Oh ye fragile thing! Come on scrub like ye mean it!”, he continues his teasing while you grab a brush to scrub the deck. The other men watch snickering to themselves at situations you've found yourself in.

“What? Never worked ah day in yer life? Ah don't think we'll keep ye long if ye don't cop on.” the men around you laugh again at his words, enjoying the torment he was putting you through. A right of passage if you will. Not that you appreciated it one bit. How many days will it go on for? You knew you weren't the strongest or the smartest for that matter but you were sure you could be of some use. You just needed to find out what it was.

“I'm sorry sir…I'll try harder”, you tense your aching muscles trying to put more weight down on the brush to appease the man behind you. The threat of being left behind at the next port wasn't settling well in your stomach. You felt you were about to be sick again. You looked around hoping to spot Gaz to aid you in this teasing but he wasn't around. Your heart sinks in disappointment as you continue scrubbing.

“Come on fish boi! Earn yer keep! You can't keep relying on Gaz to save you.” The crew around you join in on the jeering while shame creeps up your neck right to your ears. With your already heated skin. The situation was making your skin crawl.

You hated people looking at you so closely. It puts you on edge. Especially now that you couldn't wear your veils anymore. You were so used to being hidden that the attention wasn't at all welcomed. You haven't worn them since you escaped the dungeons of the palace. The whole ensemble would draw too much attention especially when you were disguising yourself as a boy.

“Ah pretty face ain't gonna cut it here. Not like it did for Gaz that is,” before Soap could reduce you to a pile of tears you watch Farah climb down from the crows nest pulling up her sleeves as she strides on over. Her mere presence demanded all your attention.

And what a woman she was..so much confidence in her stride alone. It made you feel both safe and inadequate all at once. You wanted to be like that, resilient like her, strong like her, fearless like her.

She delivers a hefty smack just as Soap's about to open his big mouth again. Which again is met with laughter from the crew. You see quite a few women laughing now too.

“Thats rich coming from someone who's warms the bed of our Quartermaster don't you think?”

“Hey that hurt! And besides ah have other uses apart from my pretty face unlike fish boi,” Soap rubs the back of his head to alleviate the sting while he turns to face the shorter woman. Yet it seemed somehow Farah stood taller, leveling him with an unamused look. You were surprised he was so open about his relationship but then again everything goes on pirate ships it seems. But before Farah can defend you another voice rings out across the deck.

“Actually he has plenty of uses, you just won't have the pleasure of experiencing them..”, the warm sultry voice that you hated yourself for liking makes itself known in the form of Gaz climbing onto the main deck from the side of the ship.

Must have been fixing something.

Your eyes roam his body, keying in on the sweat dripping down his open beige shirt. His brass necklace gleams around his neck. The amber stones adorning it as beautiful as they were, didn't come close to the beauty of his eyes.

Once you realise you were ogling you try to look away quickly as you could. But Gaz being the sly man he is, catches you at the last second despite continuing his conversation with Soap. A sinister smirk graces his features. One that you're all too familiar with. Especially when you share a hammock with him at night. He winks at you openly causing the crew to whistle at his gesture.

“I can't believe the captain allowed ye tae bring yer boy toy on board.” Soap jokes wrapping his arms around Gaz. They looked like old friends who enjoyed teasing each other. Soap certainly loves any chance to tease anyone in his vicinity.

“You hardly have the right to complain when you get to share a private room with Ghost.” Soap laughs at his comment and there's no offense in his eyes. You suspected he liked the attention.

“Perks or being pretty and useful it seems. I'm sure Ghost would have loved you too but I think I'm more his type.”

“Didn't know ‘annoying’ was his type. But then again it must be if he’s going to deal with your drunk ass all the time.” The crew join in on the jeering until Soap starts up again unfazed by it. Thick skin unlike you.

“You forgot about the part about me being extremely handsome.” Soap flexes his muscles earning him chuckles from the men and women around him.

“I think the power is getting to your head mate. Might have to put in a formal complaint with the captain.” Gaz smacks Soap's arm when he doesn't stop his ridiculous flexing. You watch as Farah rolls her eyes at their stupid banter before ushering Soap towards the hull.

“Run along, don't you have some actual work to do? Unless you want to go report to your lover as to why you have a handprint on your cheek,” she looks at him sternly

“Aye ah was just on meh way,” But before he leaves Soap pulls you into a headlock. It takes you by surprise as you try to worm out of his thick biceps.

“Work hard fish boi,” he laughs as you continue your struggle to escape. He lets go quickly but ruffles your hair which you assumed was his way of apologising.

He sends you off with a hefty smack to the shoulder. One that almost sends you flying to the floor. Farah shouts at him from behind voicing her annoyance. While you rub your shoulder to alleviate some of the ache.

Were men always this rough? Your experience with them was minimal so you weren't all that used to the touching or the rough treatment for that matter. You're shocked they even bothered to allow you on board after you tried to rob their star treasure hunter and Sailing Master but then again Gaz had insisted on you being here (to pay him back more specifically).

Your weary eyes find his again only to see him supporting an amused expression. He gives you a final wink before following after Soap.

“Ok back to work everyone! Ayah! Alex! On the foremast ropes, make sure they're secure.”

“Aye Didi” “Yes ma’am” You watch as another veiled woman and a blond man make their way to the foremast deck. The foreign words aren't lost on your ears. You recognise the few you learned growing up. Mostly from your wet nurse and your personal maids after your mother's passing. You bet she would have taken great joy in teaching you, were she alive today.

You only have old portraits to reference her appearance to. Well not even that anymore given your circumstances. Many of the crew members either spoke the language fluently or in broken terms. It left something wanting in your heart. Having been denied learning anything to do with your mother's heritage, a bitterness settles on your tongue at the loss of something you never got to experience.

“Don't mind him. He doesn't mean harm. The men here like playing about,” you hear Farah approach you with sympathy. You just nod at her, unable to look her in the eyes due to your mixed feelings.

The next hour is spent with Farah teaching you to keep steady and how to scrub the deck efficiently despite probably having more important work to do. She was patient and kind but still stern enough to get the message across. Like an older sister. She made it clear you'd need to pull your weight or you wouldn't be staying long on this ship. Once she leaves you go back to throwing water on boards and scrubbing them to the best of your ability. At least your nausea wasn't so bad anymore.

-some time later

You try to focus on work, truly you do. But your body was sore from the events of a couple nights ago. Events that have led you to work on this boat. Whether you wanted to or not.

Gaz was near the captain now with a map in hand planning their next destination to god knows where. It wasn't like you had a say in where you were going. Definitely not after what happened at the river.

The skin on your lips tingle with the memory of what he did to you in the early hours of today. Salty winds sting the broken skin where he last touched you. Where he last set your skin alight. Automatically your hand reaches up to the pendant around your neck. The fiery crystal hums under your fingertips.

The magic hiding your identity, tingles across your heated skin, a constant reminder that you weren't safe here. Not completely that is.

You were convinced that he was the devil's incarnate with the way he had you pliant within seconds of having his hands on you. The last couple of nights have followed a similar structure. With him ushering you to his private corner to do unspeakable things to you. Only a filmey curtain hiding you from the sleeping crew.

He must be the devil. It's the only logical explanation as to why your mind is riddled with thoughts of him even now when you should be focusing on earning your keep and staying safe.

But despite the chiding you've given yourself, your eyes still gravitate towards his radiant face. They still seek his mischievous smile for what feels like the hundredth time today. Probably over a hundred.

You've caught yourself looking at him far too often for it to be considered normal by any means. You'd think growing up in a royal household, your lessons in decorum would kick in at some point. But no, your mind has completely betrayed you and your body was following closely behind. You couldn't trust yourself to act with rationality especially not under his smoldering gaze. It's gotten so bad that you've even gotten a couple crew members teasing you for your crush. Despite everyone but Gaz thinking you were a boy.

You needed to get a grip on yourself. You had way more important things to worry about. Like surviving longer than a couple of days on this ship.

You didn't understand why that was proving more difficult than convincing someone pigs could fly. Hell, you'll have an easier time convincing someone pigs could fly than convincing them you didn't have a crush on Gaz.

You try to shut off your brain, try to focus solely on the tasks assigned to you. But flashes of his beautiful face still haunt your mind. They infect your senses forcing you to relive the moments you keep trying to push down. Memories of his hands on your waist, his lips on your skin, his breath fanning your face. Amber eyes striping you of your defenses.

You needed to get a grip. Easier said than done.

Those kisses don't mean anything to him. Not the kisses, not his feverish touches. That's what you keep telling yourself. It couldn't have meant anything to him. He was a pirate for one and two he had plenty of women throwing themselves into his arms.

What were you in that sea of women?

...Just another grain of sand…

That's what you've kept repeating since the incident at the river. Despite this you find yourself licking the sweet remnants of his smile off your sore bitten lips, the lips he forced apart with his tongue. The lips he stole the very breath from.

You're still unable to get the feeling of him holding your jaw ever so delicately out of your mind, or the way his hands found themselves over your throat the second you had touched his coin purse at the moment you had tried to rob him. Or earlier today how his hands slowly found their way to your hips and then to your…

Your eyes burn into the wood of the deck you’re scrubbing as a way to distract yourself from the forbidden events that occurred in the early hours of this morning.

-midnight, four nights ago

You were a fool, an utter fool.

God knows what gave you the confidence to think you could seduce a pirate. And a very handsome pirate at that. One that was surrounded by beautiful women while you were dressed like a servant boy.

The alcohol probably compromised your thinking for a little bit. Glad you came to your senses then.

The red pendant on your neck heated against your skin indicating it was working to conceal your feminine features. It was only a light glamour at best you still had to bind your chest in case anyone tried touching you unexpectedly. It was too dangerous to take everything off just to seduce him. He had a harem of women already hanging over his every word, what need did he have for you?

You could hardly compete with their full bosoms and beautiful curves. Not dressed like this anyway. You weren't competing with anyone dressed like a street rat. Maybe you could just ask for some work to do in exchange for some coins and then you'd be on your merry way to safety. Yeah that option was more diplomatic. You didn't want to steal if you didn't have to.

You mull around for a bit, coming up with the best approach to guarantee your success. The second you work up the confidence to approach him, you stride over with all the poise you can muster.

That was your first mistake. Because not even a second later the eyes of nine ferocious felines descended upon you like hell fire. You freeze in front of them like a lost cub. Playing the part of someone who was clearly out of their depth. Your hands shook as you tried to introduce yourself but you couldn't even find the resolve to utter a single word. Let alone maintain eye contact with anyone. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, much to the amusement of the woman and men watching you. Fuck..say something idiot.

Any poise you had prior to this vanished in the time it takes for a pirate to down his rum. Which you watched the majestic man do as you stood there frozen in place. The umber liquid trickled down his throat as you stared at his adam's apple bob. His sharp eyes studied you like a hawk on the lookout for prey. Licking off the remnants of the sweet nectar of his lips, his kohl covered eyes scrutinize you up and down.

Curiosity was evident all over his face. Heat followed his eyes as if he was appraising your worth, appraising your value. Practically sizing up meat to put on a butcher's block. The other men weren't much different. They eyed you with suspicion but also intrigue. You presume not many people come up to them asking for things.

The longer they stared, the quicker you wanted the ground to swallow you whole, wanted the shadows to consume you, wanted to dissolve in nothingness. The men of his crew began snickering to themselves while a woman put her arms around the handsome man's neck making sure to whisper seductively in his ear. But his eyes never strayed from yours nor did his expression change. Or the expression of the man beside him.

The woman's hard eyes locked with yours before she and her friends burst into laughter. You had no idea what she had said and you definitely didn't want to find out. Mortification painted your face while heat licked at every inch of your skin. With your nails digging into your palms you hastily backtrack still unable to voice a single sentence to save any ounce of respect one would have for themselves.

You escape with your head down low as the crew bellowed in laughter, clearly entertained by the spectacle you made of yourself.

You rush out into the cold night not looking where you were going only to collide with a brick wall. Great, make an even bigger fool out of yourself, why don't you.

You stumble back only for two large hands to steady you before you fall. Strong but gentle hands steady your feet.

“Careful there boi. Watch where you're goin,” a gruff voice rings out. Your body shuts down for a second before jolting back to life. You tint your head up only to realise you've bumped into the very man you told yourself to stay away from. His obsidian eyes pierced into yours, paralysing your tongue with fear akin to venom. The night air tore into your delicate flesh as you trembled in his oddly gentle grasp.

He was a ghastly sight. That alone was enough to have you shivering with fear. With a broken skull that seemed fused to his face it looked as if death had come to deliver you to an early grave. But before you could scream or try to say anything another person joins the conversation.

“Ghost…*hiccup* please..one more.. just..one more glass…promise ah'll be.. ah’ll be good old boi *hiccup*,” you watch the man with odd haircut stumble his way away from the walk to clutch onto the back of the beastly man who was holding your shoulders. The man let's go of you with a defeated sigh only to gently hoist up his friend who clearly had too much to drink.

“Enough of that Johnny I'm taking you back to the ship.” The man called Ghost gives you a final nod before helping his friend onto his back to carry to wherever their ship was. You watch the drunk man mumble his frustration as he rests his head on the bigger man's shoulder.

Maybe you were too harsh to judge him. He seemed decent enough for a pirate if not a bit rough around the edges. He didn't seem malicious though.

You take a second to catch your breath before tightening the cloak around you. The night air was chilling you to the bone and you had nowhere to rest. Best to keep moving. It was safer that way.

-a little while before dawn

The sky took on a lilac hue as the cold air eased up on its bite. You were exhausted, truly exhausted. Your feet were now trudging along with difficulty, but despite this you knew you had to keep going.

There were many streets you shouldn't have ended up on last night. Many times forcing you to make quick detours for your own safety. But somehow you still managed to almost get dragged into an alley, twice in one night alone. Thankfully you had a dagger on you, courtesy of your uncle.

It was an heirloom from your mother's side. Gifted to you on your coming of age ceremony by your father. The ceremony you remember disappearing from the second the important parts were over. The nobles never really liked you.

You laugh remembering that you spend the day hiding in the kitchen rather than greeting guests. That was this time three years ago. You don't think you've attended many events after that, not if you could avoid them that is. You wonder if your uncle was ok. Was the royal council in shambles at your disappearance? What were they going to do once they found out the execution wasn't going to happen?

Your mind wanders as you spot some merchants wheeling their goods to the market. The smell of freshly baked bread caused your stomach to constrict in pain. It's been a while since you've eaten well. The dungeons weren't the most accommodating towards you.

The food reminded you of more simple days when your personal maid would bring you fresh fruits and scones for breakfast. Faiza was her name. The daughter of your mother's personal maid. She was one of your best friends. One who'd often conspire with you on the best plan to avoid your classes for the day. That memory seemed so distant now. You wondered what happened to her after your arrest.

Law studies were never really your forte nor were any of the other boring and tedious classes you were forced to attend. Not that you actually attended them. It was done out of spite really. You hated the royal tutors as much as they hated you.

They denied you the knowledge you wished to attain. It was often snatched from you. Books ripped to shreds when you were caught with them. Your mother's history, her native language, her home, her heritage. You were denied everything. You were denied parts of yourself.

You don't understand why the marriage happened between your parents if all the noble families hated your mother so much. At least your father loved her.

Your father tried to help the best he could but his hands were often tied. Because of the guilt he held he never forced the role of crown princess on you despite you being the only heir to the throne. He valued your happiness above anything else. You suppose he gave you all the freedom he could.

But you're understanding now how selfish that was of you. Especially when you had duties to look after, people to care for. Funny how you only realise how good life was once everything gets taken from you. There was so much guilt in your heart, you felt disgusted with yourself. There was an urge to claw at your skin in rage. But you held yourself back.

You couldn't fall apart right now, not when you were so weak. The men here would eat you alive at the first drop of blood. Like hounds sniffing for prey, any cut on you would lead wolves to your den. You steel yourself the best you can, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

Your heart ached with the memories of your father and a mother you never got to know. Now left alone with no family to turn to. You pulled your cloak around you tighter, mimicking the way your father would often tuck you into bed when you were little.

He was a kind and forgiving king and an even more forgiving father. Far too kind, far too trusting for his own good. But so were you. You had learned it from him. Neither of you saw this situation coming until it was too late.

Now death haunts you while guilt runs through your veins. You needed to prove your innocence. For your father's sake if not your own. But for that you needed money to survive. Which you didn't have much off. The last few pennies chime in your hidden purse. It wouldn't be enough, you know it wouldn't.

This side of the city was very different to the streets you were used to. There was an air of pain here you couldn't really describe or explain. Things were gloomier, more stout, less vibrant. You see children as little as four doing menial labour to survive. A sight you were never accustomed to. You keep your head low as you wander near the stalls.

One bread wouldn't hurt to take, right?

But that wasn't the right thing to do. You were raised better than that. The merchants seemed to be struggling themselves. Maybe you could ask to help in exchange for bread. The only reason you were going to steal from the pirates was because you looked like they had plenty to spare and the majority of it was probably stolen from some nobles anyway. So that knowledge made it somewhat acceptable in your mind.

You make your way towards the baker to ask if you could work in exchange for some food but before you can reach the market centre some naval officers saunter in from the east side. They were clearly drunk as they stumbled down the cobblestone road while mirthfully laughing at their own stupid jokes. You could practically smell the booze off them from where you stood.

“Oi pretty girl! Yeah you! Do ye have permits to sell here!” You watch one of guards stumble his way towards the stall of a pretty young woman. It's not long after that his friends are crowding her too. You watch them puff out their chest, trying to appear bigger than they were. They looked like fools.

“Permit? I w-wasn’t told about any permits”, the poor woman stands there perplexed by the question, unable to come up with an answer to the rapid words the men were spewing at her. She's fresh faced, new to business anyone could see that from a glance. Her stall is small with only a few flowers and medicinal herbs on display. Cowards picking on someone smaller than them.

“Yeah, a permit! You think just anyone is allowed to sell around the market!?”, you watch as a younger guard slur out his words at the poor woman. He was practically spitting his annoyance at her.

“I'm sorry sir I didn't know! Please forgive me! I'll pack up right away!” The woman hastily tries to pack and get away from the vile men but a blond bearded guard snatches her arms as she tries to put away her goods. Something boils in your blood as you watch the mannerisms they were subjugating her to.

You looked around perplexed that no one was willing to help. Everyone either ignores what was going on or looks away hastily to avoid making eye contact with the guards. How often did this happen?

“No can do sweetheart. We'll have to lock you up for the sale of illegal goods. Come with us!”, you watch as they try to haul her feeble figure across the road with them. She struggles and begs but no one does anything.

“Please sir! I have a sick sister to care of! Please spare me! It won't happen again!”, you're trembling with rage as you watch on but still unable to move. Fear grips your limbs cementing you in place.

Coward, do something! You have a dagger! Do something! Do anything!

“If you don't want to go to prison love, we have other ways for you to repay us,” the naval officers laughed as if this whole situation was a joke to them. You watch one of the men squeeze the woman's hips as she cries in pain.

At that point you don't know what came over but you grab the biggest rock laying nearby, hurling it towards the man who had his hands on her.

“Ah fuck! Who threw that!” The rock hits him square in the head, pretty hard at that too. Blood pools on his receding hairline as he clutches his head in agony. But you can't seem to care. Your nerves were vibrating and if no one was going to help, you would!

The whole group turns towards you in anger while hushed whispers circulate through the market. You watch as people duck behind their stall for safety anticipating the brawl they were about to witness.

“Me you stupid Pig!” In for a penny in a for pound as they say. You've already hit them once. What's a few more times going to do?

“Run!”, you shout at the sobbing woman before hurling rocks at the drunk officers. Adrenaline courses through your veins while you continue throwing your projectiles at them, taking great joy in their anger and pain. You watch the rocks soar through the air, landing on with a satisfying thud and a musical scream that follows.

At least your archery lessons paid off in some sense. Your understanding of range was pretty good. It was the most alive you've felt in a long time. Not counting the time you managed to slip truth serum into the punch at a ball. That was an extremely good day. So many snobby nobles got punished for insulting the royal family.

Well insulting you more specifically for your mixed blood. It's the reason you wore veils at events and in public. It would piss them off to no end. Since it was something your mother often used. Even your portraits are all with some sort of veil obstructing your face. You used it so often everyone's forgotten what you look like.

But now you couldn't wear it, it would draw too much attention since it was associated with your identity. And now that technically you were considered a boy. A cloak was the best thing you could find adjacent to what you used to wear.

“You stupid little prick! We'll drag you through the gutters for th- Fuck! Stop!” You continue to land hit after hit as you watch the woman finally put a decent distance between herself and the men. She runs like her life depended on it while you continue your onslaught.

That is until you realise the guards were getting far too close for comfort.

“Just wait till we get our hands on you!” Their faces were flushed red from rage and it gave you some sick satisfaction that you were able to piss them off. Filthy swines, they deserved every ounce of pain!

You send a final rock soaring directly into the loins of the blond man before turning and running away as fast as you could.

“Ugh! I'll fucking skin you alive boy!” You don't get to hear the rest of his cursing as you skid and duck into a nearby alley. The men give chase, hot on your trail despite them being drunk. But you were well aware of how dangerous drunk men could be like. Especially men who had any ounce of power to wield.

You navigate the winding alleys with difficulty but are still able to manage to stay ahead for the time being. Buildings blur past you as you stay vigilant on your path. But running was proving to be difficult on an empty stomach. And your muscles seemed on the brink of collapse not long after weaving through alleys.

Winds whips by your face as you hold your hood in place to protect your identity. The small streets split into many smaller routes causing you to panic in your choice, you run right not familiar with the area.

A very bad choice it turns out to be. A wall blocks your way. The stone abrasive over your panicked hands. You hear their voice gaining up on you but you can't turn back. You'd be caught between them if you did.

Your mind races with a solution and the only thing you can do is try to climb over it before it's too late. Sharp stones dig into your delicate flesh while your arms scream in pain as you pull yourself up with great difficulty.

Your only halfway up when they come into view. Their bodies hunched over as their faces scrunched up in rage. Your legs dangle down as you try pushing yourself over. You're able to hurry over just as they try to drag your legs down. Their inhibitions were clearly lacking as they slurred curses at you as you escaped. You laugh as you hear the men groan in frustration.

Your relief is short lived to your utter shock. What you hadn't taken into account was that one of them had taken a different route and was now blocking your exit when you had climbed down, essentially trapping you between him and the wall.

“Nowhere to run now little mouse. We'll show you what we do to disobedient little boys.” He lears at you. The bleeding man looks ready to rip you to shreds. Your blood runs cold all the bravo you were experiencing had vanished in the matter of seconds. Despite this you prepare yourself to run past him.

But luck isn't on your side anymore. You try to swerve him in a panic, only to be thrown to the ground. Pain shoots up your elbow that slams into the stone. Fuck that hurt.

You hope you didn't break it. The rest of the men had climbed over by this point so there were three to your back and a large man to your front. Hastily you try to scramble to get off the ground despite the shooting pain everywhere, only to be kicked back down.

Your muscles scream in pain as the younger officer steps on your leg to keep you imobile. Your bone bends under the pressure threatening to break into two. Your nerve endings beg you to stay down, they beg you to surrender lest you break something. But you don't listen. You couldn't not when you knew what they were about to do to you.

“Don't touch me you pigs!”, you fight, you kick, you scream, you do anything to get out of their hold. Your body was ignited with rage you've never experienced before but it wasn't enough to escape the hold of four men.

“Shut it you brat!”, the man you had hit on the head tries to cover your mouth with his grimy hands while the rest of the men hold you down. But you bite down hard resulting in him back handing you as he screamed in agony. You spit out whatever filth entered your mouth, afraid it'll give you some disease. The second time he backhands you, you feel your lip slit. The metallic taste felt heavy on your tongue as blood coated your mouth.

“Hold him down idiot!”, the vile man shouted. While you continued to fight with all your might.

“I'm trying!” Greedy hands roam your body trying to unbutton your cloak. But you continued your fight, continued the struggle. Your skin crawls with disgust. This time you land a mean kick to the groin of the person trying to take your clothes off.

“Ugh You stupid bastard!” Their pain gives you enough momentum and shock value to grab the dagger in your boot to slice across the men holding you. They scream and move back enough for you to dig the dagger deeper into the man blocking your exit. The vile bastard you had no remorse for.

A spray of blood splatters across your face as you pull the dagger out of his thigh with a sickening squelch. The warm liquid felt odd on your chilled skin. It pooled around you like a spreading disease.

Blood curdling screams bounce off the walls surrounding you. But your hearing is obstructed by blood rushing to your ears. The noises don't deter you as you continue slicing across the air and their skin as they try approach you.

You're pretty sure you might have sliced someone's finger off since it lay on the floor beside you. But you couldn't stay to make sure it was your doing.

Everything from that point is a blur, you're covered in crimson. Red sticky fluid painting your hands and knees. Your body forces you to block out their curses and screams. The walls are stained red. Bodies lay covered in pools of blood. It was all too much.

You run, you don't look back, eyes always ahead. Dagger heavy in your hand you continue running, passing by unfamiliar streets and houses until only your heartbeat could be heard by you.

Red stained your vision. It haunted your sight. It was everywhere, absolutely everywhere. Blood on the ground, blood on the walls, blood on your hands. Skin marred with deep gashes and cuts. Sticky substance coating everything. Severed body parts. Streams of red chasing your feet. A river of red was carving its path towards you. The trail was leading to you.

You push it down focusing on yourself. Your heart, your breathing, your pain. Nothing else, only you. Only you. You needed to worry about you. Streets blur until they start getting sparser and sparser giving way to familiar green lush. A serene haven at the edge of what felt like a crimson hell.

It's only when you break away completely from the hard stone roads do you collapse onto the grass gasping for air like your life depended on it. The wretched smell of metallic iron finally dissipates if only a little bit. You left like you could breathe again.

You look back making sure the city is out of sight before you try sitting down for a second. Your heart continues to hammer as you look down at your blood stained hands, dagger still held tightly.

What have you done..Did you kill them?

You don't get the time to dwell on it when you hear distant shouts of people screaming. They know…the blood is on your hands..of course they know…

Hide! You needed to hide!

Using a nearby tree to haul yourself up you try to find your footing again. Your muscles scream at you to stop and rest but your mind told you to run. And run you do. Deep into the forest where the trees shrouded your sins. Where they blocked out the screams.

You needed to find water to clean the blood away. Something to wash away the sin….

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smutstationchoochoo · 9 months

Text

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room.

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?” His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment. It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up. Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

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