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mandoinevarro · 4 years

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An Overdue Debt Part II

Part I here

Words: 3.6k

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut but make it soft, oral f receiving, face sitting/riding, body worshipping?maybe

a/n: took me two months to get around to this, but here it is, friends! Remember to wash your hands before getting frisky

I haven’t tasted you

The last embers of the Mandalorian’s words shine weakly, long extinguished by the cool current in the Razor Crest, but alive and playing back again and again and again in your head as they snake into your ears and climb lazily up to your tired psyche. Eyes closed, you unwrap their meaning slowly, word by word, until their underlying implications suddenly drop like rocks on your chest and snap you awake more effectively than Mando’s gentle slap against your leg. The dark is less forgiving when you open your eyes and sit up on the cloak. It only allows you to make out a humanoid outline. The heavy fog of your climax and burning arousal dissipate little by little, letting your senses to crawl back to you, but you’re still dazed and struggle to steady the relentless punching in your chest.

Maker, what did he do to you? Admittedly, you had never really grown accustomed to the Mandalorian’s ardor. Every night he’d come to you in hushed desperation, hard as sin, and in pursuit of physical solace that you were more than happy to provide; and every night he’d break you to pieces with sudden outbursts of pleasure and passion that you didn’t previously know possible. But tonight. Tonight was better. Maybe it was how softly he spoke to you, the reverence with which he explored you, or the airy confessions that you’re only half sure you heard. Regardless of the cause, vitality pumps through your veins and drowns your heart in the certainty that the Mandalorian sees more in you than a simple stress reliever. Although what exactly you are to him, then, you can’t be sure.

It’s the only thing I’ve wanted.

A shudder runs down your spine when you hear metal clank against the floor. Stars, you wish you could see what he’s doing; what he’s planning for you next. The stain on the front of his pants was hard to miss, so it’s not like he was left unsatisfied. You fumble with the ends of the overused cloth, as you listen carefully to the rustling of fabric.

All he said was that you two weren’t done yet and left you sunken in darkness, shoveling into his words for nuggets of clarification in anticipation and some anxiousness, suddenly feeling a little too naked and squirming at the uncomfortable stickiness of the leftover arousal between your thighs. Suddenly remembering that your employer has now opened you as far as you’ll go, touched you in your most intimate places, heard you moan, pant, and growl his nickname. Only thing missing is…

I haven´t tasted you.

Somewhere in the gloom a shape straightens and grows bigger and taller and wider as it approaches you, ghost quiet. Towering, it loses some stature as it kneels in front of you. A few quiet seconds pass by, before you feel the feathery touch of naked fingers brushing your eyebrows, tracing the skin like it’s porcelain, and hesitantly resting more of their weight on your face when you don’t pull away. Their rough pads trail down over your eyelids, down your cheeks, rub gentle circles there that make the hair on your arms stand up, and finally settle below the curve of your jaw. Lukewarm, shaky breath blows on your nose as you feel the promise of warmth approach you, and a mouth brushes over your lips. They part slowly for him and Mando’s follow, taking only the edge of your flesh between his lips. And then…and then he only holds there, tense and seemingly afraid to go any further.

It’s…it’s a little awkward. A bit anticlimactic. Mando is not moving and he seems so nervous you fear that if you do he’ll retreat. You can’t even feel the warm puffs on your face anymore. Maker, is he holding his breath? Are you? Should you touch him? Should you give him space? You should lean into him. Or maybe you—

He pulls back. In one swift movement, what small semblance of a kiss you shared is gone. Your heart hides in your chest.

“I’m…I’m sorry it’s just…I don’t…” a disembodied voice whispers, as you try to focus on the words and not on the fact that this is the first time you’ve listened to his natural speaking voice. The first time you’re allowed to hear the rough, beautiful baritone. And he’s using it to apologize.

“Hey,” you coo, reaching out with your arms but finding more space between you than you expected, “hey, what is it?” You shift to your knees, dragging the cloak with you as you blindly shuffle forward, until your knee finds foreign flesh that shivers and jerks back before you can feel it properly. “You can tell me.”

A low sigh swims in the dark. “I want…you’re—I just…I just want it to be…to be—good.” The low voice in front of you vibrates closer now, but it’s so quiet it might as well be light years away. “You…you always, um, help me and I want…” A pinch in the cloak makes you look down, where you can hear Mando settling his knees. “…want to make you feel as good as you always make me feel.” The contour of his head hangs low.

Maker, how can you tell him? How can you let him know that you’d take him any way he wanted, in any place and time he wished? That you long for whatever closeness his physical and emotional barriers will grant you. That “good” doesn’t even come close to what he offers every time he allows you to feel him, to care for him, even if it’s only in a context of seeking a distraction from his daily perils. Basic lacks the vocabulary to express just how much you yearn for any piece of him he’d be willing to reveal you, that much you know.

Your hands rub the fronts of your thighs, noticing how the skin reacts and prickles at the long silence and the cold. He reminds you of the stray animals that sometimes roam backwater planets; those creatures that flinch and bear teeth at the sweetest of words, too familiar with cruel voices to hear anything but danger in human speech.

Maybe you don’t need to say a word. Maybe you can show him, instead.

You set your hands forth slowly, aiming for where you think his face is and sucking in a yelp when you feel him grab your wrists abruptly. It’s on instinct, you suppose, but he still holds you there for a quiet moment, not letting you go but not pushing you away either. So you wait, cradling your heart in your hands, holding your breath and wishing he’ll trust you enough to let you talk to him this way. Not a word is uttered, but you hope he can hear you silently echoing the question he asked you earlier. Can I touch you?

Little by little, he guides you forward, loosening his grip on your wrists. You extend your fingers, blindingly searching for contact in the artificial midnight of the hull, until they finally meet soft skin. It’s the tiniest brush, but the man inside the Mandalorian gasps and leans his forehead into you, dropping your wrists. Yes.

His permission pulls your heart out of its hiding place, grants it courage, and sends both of your hands down his face. They meet at the space between his eyebrows, where they feel a light frown, and two fingers skim lower to bend along the arch of a hooked nose. As your other hand falls over closed eyelids, your two fingers reach his cupid’s bow, where warm, rapid exhalations sweep over them. The digits find the plush lips you met earlier, apparently much more relaxed now, because they give as soon as they feel you. The lightheadedness that comes with pushing your fingers into his mouth and having his wet tongue caress them is apparently mutual, because Mando groans deep in his throat and grips your sides to pull you closer. While he eagerly tastes your fingers, your other hand falls to his shoulder, and it’s only then that you realize he’s naked.

“Maker,” you think you gasp—maybe. It’s hard to tell when the skin underneath your palm grows progressively warmer the closer it gets to the center of his chest. His fingers dig into your hips and yours climb the steps of his sternum, until the apple of his throat bumps into them in a downward bob. Your palm explores higher, tracing the protruding veins and ligaments as it wraps around a thick neck. Before you can stop yourself, you give it a tiny squeeze that makes Mando growl and suck harder.

Stars, you can’t wait. You pull your fingers out and take his head between your hands, forcing him closer to you until your lips meet.

The kiss is anything but awkward this time. Mando opens his mouth fully for you now, unafraid and too hungry and worked up to be careful with you. He frames your whole face with large palms, holding you steady as he licks the walls of your mouth, demanding and thirsty for every drop of your spit, as you try to keep up with his restless pace. The tip of his tongue trails the edge of your teeth and your head spins, lost in the dark but so, so, at home in the haven of his oven of a mouth. He groans into your throat and drops his hands to the small of your back, pulling you flush against his chest. The skin-to-skin contact of your breasts against his abdomen pulls a moan out of your mouth, makes you rub against him without realizing it, as your nipples catch on the ridges of his skin. His erection presses and pulses against your stomach, as hard and thick as you remember from all those nights of simple, rough fucking. Only now you’re pretty certain it would go inside you with way more ease. You try to stimulate him with stunted up and down movements of your belly, but the very first brush has him groaning and shoving you back to lay down on his cloak.

“Teach me,” he croaks above you, sucking on your lower lip. “Show me how to lo—how to…touch you.” You writhe underneath, feeling how new slickness leaks down your thighs. Stars, a part of you just wants to get up on all fours like always and beg him fuck you or use you or take whatever he wants from you. But you know that is not what he means. And it’s not what the two of you need right now.

Instead, you grab one of the arms framing your head and guide its hand to your chest, where it goes limp and waits for instructions. You guide it down to your breast, where your hand frames the back of his and beckons him to squeeze. He obeys and gasps, pulling the fat a little roughly. Maybe it’s your mewl that encourages him and gives him some initiative, because his fingers drag lower, following the heat. It’s all you can do not to buck your hips when he halts at your mound.

“Lower?” he whispers.

You nod your head frantically, until your remember that you’re both plunged in complete darkness. “Yeah,” you breathe, “yeah, lower. Mando, please.”

Maker, Mando has a good memory. A marvelous one. It only took him touching you once earlier to learn what gets you going. He pleasures you better than you would, thick fingers drawing rings around your bundle of nerves while pushing in and adding more and more pressure with each circle.

“Like this?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious, “This gets you wet?”

“Mhmm.” It makes you more than wet—it gets you soaked. You arch into the touch, wondering if it’s the considerable bigger size of his fingers compared to yours, or the pressure or just the fact that it’s Mando himself who’s so invested in your enjoyment that has you close, sososo close.

“Fuck. Fuck, get on top of me.” The words only register when he pulls his fingers away and chilly air sweeps over your slit. Your attempt to catch your breath and senses is interrupted by the hands on your waist that flip you. And with that quick movement, his waist lays between your wobbly knees, which shift in confusion before Mando is gripping your ass and using it as leverage to move your forward. You’re unsure of where exactly he’s taking you, until he brings you to a stop and repeats, “I want to taste you.”

Trembling thighs framing either side of his face, you reach out blindly and brace yourself against what feels like a storage box. His breath floats up against your wet folds, cooling and heating them at the same time. You squirm at the sensation; whether it’s more arousal or nervousness you can’t be sure. Stars, you’re both so vulnerable like this. You opening and offering yourself to him in a position that you know won’t let you see what he does to you, while he places an invisible, loaded blaster on your hands and pushes it to his temple, trusting you to hover over him, press against his mouth as much or as little as you want, or walk away if you wish. Leave him to the black loneliness of the hull.

Not to mention the blatant obscenity of the position. Maker, where did he learn this?

Calloused hands grope around your thighs, up your ass, with caresses that feel starved, as Mando adjusts the height of his head until he’s directly under your slit. His face shifts beneath you and you jump slightly when the end of his nose accidentally brushes your clit. At least you think it was an accident, until you hear a looong inhale.

Mando moans as he smells you, grabbing your hips and pulling you down until his nose nuzzles your inner lips. “S-stars,” he gasps, “stars you smell…fuck, it—it’s…” He shoves you down on top of him—his nose practically inside you at this point—and starts rubbing the bridge against your folds, up to your clit, and then back down again, breathing in lungfuls of you all the while. Somehow, his moans are louder than your pathetic little whimpers, even though it’s his nose making you see stars.

You rock your hips into the sensation and—Maker, it’s almost embarrassing—you’re pretty sure you’re close to climaxing. A balloon swells in your belly and you don’t want to cum so fast, but you still chase it. You still bear down on him trying to pop that balloon and it feels so good and he keeps groaning and you’re breathing hard—

Suddenly, he pulls away, sucking on the inside of your thigh and sinking his teeth into the flesh before you can complain. “Tell me how,” he reminds you lowly against the space between your thigh and your lips. You whimper at the lack of contact, searching frantically for a clue of what to say, because all you genuinely want is him. To please him is to please you, but how are you supposed to—

A light flickers on and illuminates the haze in your brain, reminding you his words; reminding you that he was the one who put you in this position.

“Put your mouth on me,” you pant, white-knuckling the edge of the storage box to try and not plummet on top of Mando at the image of what you just asked.

“Good,” he hums into your cunt, his hands pulling handfuls of your hips like he’s never felt bare skin before. “Fuck, I can tell you’ll taste as good as you smell—better.” The way your chest swells with the most minimal of praises should be a little worrying, you suppose, but it doesn’t matter. Not right now at least, when facial hair scratches your inner thigh and your Mandalorian sucks on one outer lip of your cunt. You both moan in unison: You at the dizzying sensation of his mouth working your swollen heat. He, who knows. Maker, who knows what he’s moaning about, but you’re glad he does, because it sends strong vibrations into your clit that make your eyes roll back.

Without warning, Mando’s hot tongue darts out and presses flat against your folds, licking one wet wide line from the very back of your pussy to your clit, groaning against you the whole time. The muscles in your legs immediately turn to jelly and fall lower against him. Fuck, if you thought his fingers were good, this feels glorious. Thick arousal seeps out of you in concerning amounts, soaking his mouth and chin, and you’re about to apologize when he slurps—hard.

Stars, stars, stars, it’s like he’s drinking from you, sliding his tongue against the flow of wetness that he both drains and stimulates out of you as you hold on to the edge of the storage box and frantically search for something to anchor you to sanity. Naturally, you fail, especially when he engulfs your whole clit into his mouth and sucks on it as if his life depended on it.

He sucks away your self-control, your body rebelling against you and deciding it’s as good a time as any to cum on Mando’s face without giving him the courtesy of a heads up first. You stammer through apologies cut off by mewls, cut off by more apologies, but they all eventually distort into sobs when he keeps sucking, licking, tasting. Either he can’t hear you or he’s choosing to ignore you, because his tongue doesn’t relent; if anything, it grows bolder. It takes you a second to catch up and figure out why you again feel on the verge of a climax. When you do, though, the sensitive muscles of your pussy try to jerk away from his mouth, try being the keyword here, because his vicious grip on your hips locks you in place.

“Do it again,” he grunts into the side of your thigh, where he cleans the cum that dripped down with his tongue. You’re on the verge of tears.

“W-what—I c-can’t…”

“You can. J-just—stars—just cum all over my face again, you pretty thing. Let me feel it again.” The torturous stimulation sets a delay on your thoughts, but you’re not too far gone to perceive something desperate in the words. Something wanton and ardent, but secretly heartbreaking that reminds you why you’re here. It’s a plea.

Taking a few long breaths, you settle back down shaking to grant him access to the crease of your cunt once more. Mando doesn’t waste a second, opening his jaw wide and submerging into you eagerly. Knuckles rigid on the box, you can already sense a scary gravity drawing you lower and deeper into the dreamlike fever of the Mandalorian’s mouth. He uses all of it too, licking long stripes or placing open-mouthed kisses on the swollen flesh. You’re so overworked at this point, that it takes as little as the tip of a finger up your hole to have you cumming again. Tears fall down your face, contorted in a silent frown.

Big hands work as your crutches, running up your back and down to your thighs in an elongated caress that—probably because of your endorphin-induced wishful thinking—you read as pure devotion, far too much for two people who’ve only known each other for a few turbulent months. Those hands holding you dearly paint a stark contrast to Mando’s mouth, which waits patiently for your legs to stop spasming, only to return even more passionately to the shelter of your heat.

–

Things come back to you slowly after it’s over—after he’s done.

Hands on your lower back. A sweet kiss to your thigh. A shift in gravity. Fabric brushing your skin. A sturdy chest beneath yours. Strong arms that wrap around your middle. The robust smell of sex and sweat, but also soap and trees once you nuzzle your face against a flushed neck.

Mando hugs your exhausted body against his in the dimness, running a hand on your hair before grabbing a fistful and gently bringing it to his face, taking in its scent. Your heart leaps at the gesture. This battle-hardened warrior, this injured soul that’s seen too much and suffered more finds it in himself to hold you carefully with no aim or concern.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs into your hair.

An insolent I love you immediately pops into your head as a reflex, as natural and involuntary as kicking your leg when the right nerve of your knee is hit. I love you, I love you, I love you. But, even though the gloom offers a sheltered enough setting for confessions that couldn’t be made under judging light, you still bite your tongue. Instead, your fingers languidly draw a tactile map of your Mandalorian’s face, tracing every dip and small scar, trying to store all the details for when a sun comes up somewhere and the helmet goes back on. Mando hums when you smooth your palm against his cheek and raise your head to press a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, hoping the message will translate and he’ll understand it in this physical language of yours. I love you.

He responds with a kiss to your temple.

Fighting a futile battle against sleep, you wonder what he’s trying to tell you.

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Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandolarian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x ofc #mando x reader #mando x you #mando smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #din djarin x oc #star wars smut #an overdue debt #and overdue debt part ii #an overdue debt: tokyo drift #mandoinevarro

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philograce · 3 years

Text

Just right

Paring: modern! Eren x reader

Warnings: angsty, resolution in the end, shouldn’t cry:,)

Summary: You and Eren were simply friends but new emotions cause him to build walls around his heart until you finally break them down.

Notes:: I don’t really like this one but I never post anything angsty so:3 anyway if any of you 23 babes wanna submit something go ahead!! I don’t think I really have to set smthn up but lemme know if I do.

Words: 1.8k

Proofread: NOOO well KINDA

It was frustrating. Stupidly annoying and dumb how much Eren could make you feel guilty without every saying it out loud. How your dumb attractive roommate could leave you flustered yet so utterly angry. The past six months it had been this way, simple glares and small actions he would do leaving you confused, yet Eren had his subtle ways to remind you of the strong bond between you two.

When you first met him around 5 years ago, both freshmen meeting each other through your mutual friend Sasha and the two of you instantly connecting, and both of you finding out that you were both looking for a place to live. So, naturally it made sense after a couple months of getting to know each other, that you would move in with one another.

Easily melding together, situating both of your schedules finding out that they were perfectly aligned, Eren was even a good cooker and you great cleaner. It was the perfect solution for the both of you. The other positive was growing closer to him and he growing closer to you.

That's why it confused you with this sudden silent treatment you were receiving from Eren. For the past couple months he seemed off, always too busy to be hanging out with you, never really talking to you unless other friends were around. If it wasn't for the strong emotions you felt with him you would've let it slide, but there were those unspoken new emotions and underlying feelings.

They seemed to start randomly and suddenly, little moments with him leaving your cheeks flustered and your heart beating, the tension seemingly thick between you two leaving the room feeling stuffed and overcrowded. You felt yourself caring for Eren more than a friend would, growing to like his presence with you at all times, and missing him when he left.

It was all simple signs of a growing crush, a innocent yet powerful crush that seemed to prevail. That's why it obviously hurt when Eren seemed to take a sudden dislike towards you. But you were scared and your insecurities got the best of you whenever you tried to confront him about it. You just left it, left the flame between you two to slowly fizzle out. Before all this you used to think Eren might like you back, everything he did showed signs he might, but now your brain kept telling you that was just how he was as a friend.

Now sitting in the kitchen, eyes strained from how long you were staring at the screen, trying to write an essay but your mind was constantly filled with him. Then the door jiggled and he walked in, keys hitting the ceramic bowl as he threw them in, his feet shuffling fully inside, arms moving to take his jacket off. You kept your eyes trained on your screen, not daring to look at him afraid of the glare he might be giving you.

"You're still up? You should head to bed." His voice deepening as it resonated throughout the small kitchen, flickering a single gaze up to his figure you noticed how disheveled he looked. His long dark hair lazily slicked back, eyes drooped and blown out, knuckles drawn with purple bruises and dried blood. It pissed you off, the state he was in and the sudden "caring" words he sent your way left your blood boiling.

Eyebrows furrowing together, you quickly shut your laptop moving out of the kitchen and away from him, at least that's what you tried to do before a hand grabbed your wrist yanking you back. "Don't walk away from me." His commanded, a sort of desperation laced behind the seemingly angry words.

You turned back, staring him right into his eyes noticing the confusion laced within, it seemed that every pint up rage and light night cries flowed out of you. "Do you hate me?" You didn't want it to go this way or ask him that question even, part of you wishes you just kept your mouth shut, but the look of complete anger covering his face only fueled your desire to know the answer.

In reality it seems like a simple question between two close friends, one that would usually be answered with an equally simple statement. But, this was different the sudden collapsing of a bond had been destroyed by the both you, leaving you both alone and bitter. It was also different because Eren was frightened and so angry and all kinds of confused. But most of all, he felt so alone even with you a couple feet away from him.

Eren knew this familiar feeling settling in his bones, the kind where he knew no one really cared that he was always going to be some wicked monster, always hurting the ones he loved the most. But he never wanted to include you in that pile, the pain stricken look on you face sent waves of emotions crashing down into his heart. He hated how you made him feel so much, so used to the numbness that would often consume him.

When he first met you, the first thing he noticed about you was how expressive your eyes were. How they seemed to tell your whole story, but he wasn't expecting you to be able to read him so well either. Used to putting on a pretend face and laid back attitude for the strangers around him, but growing closer to you that wall he built up was broken slowly and slowly down by your gentle loving words and touches. He loved it as much as he hated it, something new and exciting was building up in him but as soon as he noticed his feelings growing more and more attached to you, he brought them down and tried to bury them deep inside. He couldn't hurt the one he grew to love so dearly.

So when the tears filled your lash line, Eren felt his whole crashing down around him, he never wanted to cause you pain. He was just scared and felt alone before, you were this breath of fresh air for him letting him see above the high walls he surrounded himself with.

"I don't hate you." There is no need to hold his words back, but a part of him hesitated not because he was denying his hate for you but it was the complete opposite of that. There was a part of him that was scared of what you did to him, he wanted to protect and the only way he knew how was by blocking you out of his life.

He catches the flicker of sparks behind you eyes, he tries to figure out exactly what they were trying to say. Did you believe him? Do you hate him? He pleaded with you in his head to forgive him, forgive him for causing you pain and ignoring you for so so so long.

"Then why are you acting like it?" You sneer, trying to get some sort of reaction out of him, you used to be able to so easily read his face and emotions but right now all his eyes seemed tried and dull. You were so confused, why had he been acting like he hated your very presence but now refused to now tell you the real truth. You were angry, and just wanted to break down right then the tears already threating to spill. Pleading inside your head for him to truly not hate you, but how could he not?

"I'm sorry." His voice was nothing lower than a whisper, barely falling faint to your ears but it still sent aches to your heart. For the first time in months you saw a shimmer behind his beautiful green eyes, the same look he would get when he felt extremely guilty and would continuously apologize to you. The small flicker of emotion was what sent you finally over the edge.

Salty warm tears fell down your face, you tried to stop them embarrassed that you were this emotional, but a single gentle thumb came to brush them off your cheek. His warm fingers caressing your face gracefully as he stared down at you, his warm touch leaving goosebumps to spread across your body. His eyes laced with concern but most importantly a lingering fear, a fear that he hurt you but an even greater fear you hated him.

"I'm sorry.....m'sorry..... m'sorry.... I'm-", his tall figure slumped forward forehead crashing against your shoulder as he rambled out a repeated apology. You stood there, arms slumped to your side as your brain raked around trying to understand the situation.

But, when Eren's hands leave your face and carefully made there way down wrapping themselves around your waist pulling you in, you suddenly feel the wet patch growing on the shoulder Eren's face was nuzzled into.

He felt your gentle fingers cautiously wrap around his neck, pulling him closer into you, the both of you realizing how much you missed each other's touch. You wanted to comfort Eren, but with your own tears continuing to swell up, words wouldn't dare to come out of your throat.

Now that Eren had you in his arms again, he felt foolish and so embarrassed with how he acted the past six months, more tears falling out of his eyes while he desperately tried to keep you close to him like you might run off. You had broken through the barriers he set up thinking it was for his own protection, it scared him that you would see his true self, the true self that he hated and was afraid you might hate. You were just happy to finally have Eren back into your arms, the love you felt for him never fading only building as you two sobbed into each others arms.

So, standing in the dimly lit kitchen with arms wrapped around each other, both desperate to feel the other skin again, it seemed that Eren could finally stop pushing you away and let you in. It would take a long time. It would take a lot of work and tears, but the payoff would be so worth seeing the genuine happy smile you'd seen so few times on him before.

A long hard conversation awaited the two of you, but for right then all that mattered was that both of your silly fears were crushed, the hate you two thought the other felt was gone and replaced with the warm flow of physical touch. Even if it was never spoken, you both knew that you loved each other and that's all that mattered.

#attack on titan #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager #snk eren #snk x reader #eren yaeger x reader #fluff #modern aot #eren yaeger x y/n #eren angst

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duskholland · 4 years

Note

Can I get a mob!Tom where he uses a vibrator on the reader and makes her cum again and again, till the reader is screaming stop and her whole body is shaking.

okay so I followed this mostly but omitted the bit about the word stop. they’ve still got a safeword but the lines get blurry when it comes to one party verbally asking to stop, and I wanna avoid any confusion there! hope that’s alright.

18+ !!!! contains nsfw material incl. smut and mob themes. extended warnings beneath the cut.

-- it’s mob monday !! --

extended warnings: dom/sub dynamic, dom!tom, a punishment, blindfold, hand + ankle restraints, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, vibrator (I'm envisioning a hitachi but you do you), dirty talk, and unprotected MxF sex (please practise safe sex!! condoms act as barriers against STIs as well as unplanned pregnancy).

--------

You’re so used to the sound of the vibrator that the buzzing doesn’t bother you anymore.

You stopped caring somewhere after the second orgasm. As you came down from the high and the round curve of the vibrator continued to pulse into you, all coherent thoughts flew from your mind. All you can think about is the vibrator, strapped down against your inner thigh, nuzzling into the flushed bud of your clit, buzzing relentlessly.

“Please, Tom,” you whimper. You’ve got a blindfold wrapped around your eyes and long silky ties securing your wrists and ankles to the bed frame, but you know he’s sitting in the armchair by the door. You can hear him flicking through a pile of documents, and the occasional sigh as he scribbles something down over the pages. “Stop ignoring me.”

You can hear him groan, and it’s full of such a heated irritation that it makes you regret ever opening your mouth.

“If I was ignoring you, I wouldn’t be here listening to your pretty little screams, would I, darling?”

You shift about restlessly, your body shaking as you feel the heat between your legs continuing to build. You’re exhausted - drawn out, and fragile, and shaky, but the vibrations against your clit show no sign of stopping. It doesn’t matter how many times you’re pushed to climax: they keep going, and going, and all you can do is hope Tom eases off before you go over the edge. It burns, but it’s delicious and enticing, and you have a safe-word just in case it goes too far, but you both know you live for this. Being utterly at his mercy, reduced to a writhing, desperate mess as he sits off to the side, fully-clothed, unbothered. It’s a level of control that makes your cunt clench and your eyes roll, and you love every torturous second.

“Touch me,” you ask. You sound wrecked. Your throat burns and your lower lip hurts from all the gnawing you’ve been doing.

“How many orgasms have you had?”

It takes you a moment to respond, your brain sluggish and clouded. “Three,” you reply. You pull at the ties looped around your wrists and moan loudly as you try to shy away from the bulbous head. “Please- pl-please, Tom, touch me.”

“Make it four, and then I’ll come over.” He says it so flippantly - so easily - that it’s like he’s asking for something casual. His words make you whimper, but you grit your teeth.

“Okay,” you mutter.

Your fourth orgasm sweeps over you in a grand wave of pleasure, and as soon as you’re coming down from it, you find your hips jerking off the bed. You curse, nuzzling your face against your forearm as you try to lessen up the vibrations that persist against your clit. The small bud is so hypersensitive that it’s almost painful.

“Good girl,” Tom coos. You hear him stand up and toss the papers aside, and tears of relief pool along your lash line as you feel him play with the straps of the vibrator. There’s a small click, and it turns off. Your entire body sags as you sigh out desperately.

“Thank you,” you mumble, over and over. Tom’s hands run along your inner thighs, teasing your tender skin, but it feels so much warmer and personal than the cool plastic of the wand that you find yourself grinding into his touch.

“How are you feeling?” He asks you, his voice deceivingly gentle. He pushes the vibrator away from you completely and settles between your legs, the mattress shifting as he pushes your thighs further apart.

“Tender,” you whimper. Your hips jump up and you cry out as you feel his finger trace through your puffy outer lips. “S-So sensitive, Tom.”

“You’re absolutely soaked, darling,” he coos. You feel two of his slender fingers slip into your pussy easily, meeting no resistance, and he teases you with a few shallow thrusts. “Do you remember what I told you earlier?”

“Mmm, you said you’d fuck me if I was good?”

You moan when you feel his lips press a soft kiss to your quivering bud. “Exactly. I think you’ve earned it.”

You nod your head, dizzy with want. Cumming on a vibrator is nothing compared to Tom’s cock buried deep inside your cunt, and for the entire time you were brought over the edge, you couldn’t help but fantasise about the sweet burn of his length stretching you out.

“Please.”

You hear his belt release and the sounds of his other clothes falling to the floor.

“Can you take off my blindfold?” You dare to ask, as Tom positions himself over you. He takes his time slotting into place because your arms and legs are spread out by the ties, but eventually, he finds a comfortable position.

“No, darling.” There’s a cool kiss pressed just beneath your jaw. “This is still a punishment.” Tom enters you quickly, and he bottoms out with a grunt. “You’re not cumming on my cock, either, m’love.”

His words make you cry out, and you strain desperately against the ties as Tom begins to fuck you roughly. He doesn’t hold back as he grabs your hip with one hand and presses his other bicep into the bed, and bucks into you furiously.

“W-Why not?” You spit out, squirming. It feels so good to have him rocking into you, his thick cock pressing into your sensitive walls, but you can tell he’s not focused on your pleasure. He disregards your clit completely, his hair falling into the crook of your neck as he curses and ruts his hips, chasing after his own release.

“Because you were bad,” he reminds you. His teeth dig into your shoulder and the bite brings you another level of pleasure. “Hm? You’ve been a needy brat all day, angel. Not listening to me, riling me up.” Tom breaks off to release a low moan, and his fingers tighten around your waist. “You don’t deserve to cum around my cock, do you?”

“I do,” you try, but you know your pleads fall on empty ears. He’s slowing down now, holding you tighter, and as your walls clench around his length, you know Tom’s nearing the verge. “Please?”

“No.” He kisses at the base of your neck, his breathing laboured. “You’ll take my cum, like a good girl, and then maybe I’ll let you cum again. But it’ll be on the vibrator.”

It’s so cruel that it brings a wobble to your chin, and a tightening in the back of your throat. But you can barely focus on that as Tom finally peaks, and he empties his load into you as your walls squeeze him out, his beautiful moans filling the bedroom. You almost cry when he pulls out and his cum starts to drip from your hole, only to feel him grab the vibrator and push it back into your heat.

It remains motionless as Tom reaches up and tugs off your blindfold. His brown eyes meet with yours, and you see them glint mischievously before he leans in to kiss over your forehead.

“Come now, love, don’t cry,” he coos, thumb brushing over your cheek. Tears glisten in your eyes. “I thought you wanted to cum?” He kisses you softly and chuckles into your mouth when his hand flicks on the vibrator and you whimper against his lips,

“You can keep cumming all night.”

#who gave me the right to write this fhdhf im so sorry #the next blurb is aftercare w tom and I NEED IT after writing this #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #mm #mobmonday #myblurbs #tomblurbs #mob!tomfic #Anonymous #mob!tomblurbs #tom.filth #smut

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blu-joons · 3 years

Text

He Spots A Fan Having A Panic Attack In The Crowd ~ Jung Hoseok

His eyes stopped the moment he spotted the fan stood in the front row, leaning up against the barrier. He quickly looked around for a member of staff who was around to help, but the whole of the bottom stage was clear of any assistance.

He knew his line was coming, but his eyes couldn’t focus as he watched the young fan try to catch their breath. He looked back momentarily at the boys who continued to perform, making the snap decision to jump down from the stage.

The screams instantly grew louder as he came close to the fans, only building the anxiety more around the fan he had his eyes on. His sudden decision finally brought staff around him, but he refused to listen to their calls.

He stopped directly in front of the fan, kneeling down so they could see him, and hopefully calm down a little bit. You failed to realise anything that was going on, until you realised the reason the fans had gone wild, was you.

Tears streamed down your face as you met Hobi’s concerned eyes, desperately trying to stop yourself from panicking further. “It’s alright, just breathe with me,” he smiled, inhaling a deep breath.

You used the sleeves of your merchandise shirt to wipe away a few of your tears, as Hobi stayed in front of you. You were fully aware of everyone watching you at this point, but Hobi paid no attention to any of it, aside from you.

“You’re alright, just a little panicked. Take some deep breaths, and you’ll be alright.”

He was careful and cautious around you, he knew it could have made things a whole lot worse if he approached you, but he couldn’t leave you panicking, once he’d spotted you, he just couldn’t walk away and leave you there.

“Don’t worry about anything else and just focus on me for a moment,” he assured you, passing you one of the towels from the very front of the stage. “Are you alright? Something serious must have got to you there to get in that state.”

“I’m fine, I’m sorry,” you muttered, looking down to the ground as Hobi stood back up. “I didn’t mean to mess up your performance,” you continued, unaware of the pout on Hobi’s face, as he heard you speak, feeling his heart break.

His hand rested gently against your side, giving you a comforting hug, pushing you aside lightly from a group of fans who were particularly loud beside you.

“You don’t need to apologise; I just want to know that you’re alright. The concert is the least of my concerns whenever I spot an army upset. Do you want to tell me a little more about what brought all of this on? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just loud, and a little overwhelming seeing you on the stage,” you whispered, still unable to bring yourself to look at him properly.

“Concerts are overwhelming for me too, that’s something we have in common.”

“You probably think I’m crazy,” you frowned, “and now you’re being nice because you feel bad for me,” you noted, glancing up as his head shook.

Anytime he saw a fan upset, it bothered him too. He was supposed to be the bright sunshine that made all of his fans happy, so when he failed in doing that, he was hard on himself too. It didn’t matter who the fan was, or where they came from, he always promised he’d make it his mission to make sure that every army was happy.

He knew the whole arena was waiting on him, the boys were all confused as they stood up on the stage, and the fans who were around you were beginning to spread rumours that passed back row after row.

You felt his arm unwrap around you, looking up to watch him walk away, only for him to come back a few moments later with his water bottle, handing it over to you. You took a few shaky breaths before unscrewing the lid and taking a couple of sips before trying to hand it back to him.

“Keep it, I’ve got plenty more backstage,” he assured you, pushing it back in your direction, “do you need anymore to drink? I’m sure I can go and grab a couple of the water bottles if you need me too?” He asked you.

“No, you’ve already done enough for me,” you softly smiled back at him.

“I haven’t if you’re still worried, I can’t perform unless I see you smile properly,” he responded, pulling a face at you. “I want everyone to be smiling at my concerts.”

Once you’d given him a wider smile, you watched as he stepped back on stage and the concert continued. You were still shaky and nervous as the rest of the concert played out, but Hobi’s words of comfort stuck with you throughout.

As the concert came to an end and the boys began to take their final bow, you watched on as Hobi jumped back down off of the stage again and walked across to you. “I’ve got a little something that might help you feel less anxious in the future.”

He placed his microphone down before taking off the wristband that he wore, taking your arm and holding it out so he could slide it onto your wrist. It was far too big for you, hanging down, but still, you were so thankful for the gesture.

“When you start to panic, or feel the world closing in on you, you just have to take a look at this and know that I’m with you. It doesn’t matter where I am in the world, I’ll be thinking of you, and I’ll want you to be smiling,” he told you.

You nodded, listening closely to his every word, before securely bringing your arm down to your side so that no one else could see it. “Thank you for coming to check on me, I might have been a bit of a mess for most of it, but this was the best concert I’ve ever been to. You’re all so talented, and your fans are lucky to have you guys too.”

He smiled appreciatively, pulling you into another light hug. This time you felt a lot less tense than before, allowing him to feel relaxed knowing that you weren’t quite as nervous as you were a few songs ago.

He leant over the barrier, whispering into your ear, “make sure that you get home safely, and always keep that wristband close to you when you need it.”

“I will, I promise I’ll never let go of it. I’ll have it on me always.”

After smiling at you one last time, Hobi made his way back onto the stage, waving to the crowd of fans before running off the stage with the rest of the boys. As the fans started to file out, you took a few moments, leaning against the barrier where Hobi had stood.

The empty water bottle he gave you was placed between your feet, you bent down carefully to pick it up, noticing the small H that was engraved on top of the lid.

“I think I’ll bring you with me too as a little memento,” you whispered, bringing the bottle close into your chest.

You glanced up one final time, taking a deep breath in, before letting go of it, spinning on your heels to head home, with two items that would allow you to remember the show forever.

---

Masterlist

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rareficsnstuff · 3 years

Text

Not-so-hot Chocolate [Bokuto, Akaashi]

This was a ride. My high school laptop is finally kaput so I had to resort to mobile to post this (*whispers* I'veneverpostedonmobilehowthehelldoesthisshitworksomeoneplzhelp). Anyways! Merry super belated Christmas and happy new year, @danibby, I hope this is what you wanted!! And thanks @ticklygiggles for hosting and allowing my disaster self to be a part of this for the first time ever! Despite all the road blocks, it was really fun!

Summary: Bokuto and Akaashi are out trying to buy some gifts for their teammates, but in true Bokuto fashion, he forgot something of minor importance and now he has to deal with the consequences… or Akaashi does???

Words: 2039

“Akaashiiiii ~!” Bokuto whined for the umpteenth time since they had met up that night.

“Not my fault, Bokuto. You knew we’d be outside; you should have thought ahead,” said Akaashi flatly, who was trying hard to contain his building irritation with his Captain.

“But I didn’t think it would be this cold ~”

Akaashi stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly to face Bokuto. “Bokuto,… it’s snowing…” His tone was threaded with bored incredulity and his eyes had widened a bit in borderline disgust.

“W-well yeah, but-… I-I just… Akaaaaashiiii ~! My hands are so coooold!”

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem…” Bokuto groaned miserably at this less-than-friendly reply, head rolling back and shoulders sagging to allow his arms to dangle; like a child. “C’mon, we’ve still got half the team to buy gifts for. We can get some hot chocolate or something after the next couple of stores in this section,” Akaashi bargained.

“Lemme borrow your gloves!”

“No.”

“We can trade off!”

“No.”

“Akaaaashiiii ~!” Dammit.

“Fine! We can get hot chocolate now, just calm down!” Bokuto’s face had twisted into a juvenile pout but at the promise of a hot beverage to warm his hands, his eyebrows lifted hopefully and his golden eyes were practically sparkling. There was a definite bounce to his step now as the two headed towards the welcoming glow of cozy little café on the shopping strip.

Some time later, they were back on their way, looking through shop windows and discussing options of what to get their teammates as they nursed their steaming cocoa.

“Akaashi, let’s take a break and go over there to finish our hot chocolate!” Bokuto exclaimed, pointing excitedly to an empty park across the street with his cocoa-free hand. Akaashi nodded agreement and the two head over, perching themselves in a half-sitting-half-standing position against the back of one of the benches. “Watch this, Akaashi!” said Bokuto suddenly. Akaashi looked up at him, lazily expectant, as Bokuto drew an arm back and launched his now empty cup at a garbage bin four feet away. The cup bounced off the outer rim, sending it directly into the basket with a soft clatter. “WOOOH!” Bokuto cheered.

“Nice shot.”

“I know, right!” Although, Bokuto had ordered the largest size of hot chocolate, he had finished long before Akaashi who had gone with two sizes smaller. The younger still had the last half to drink but Bokuto didn’t seem to mind waiting for his setter. Until…

“Akaashiii ~” Oh god…

Knowing what was coming, Akaashi only hummed in response.

“My hands are cold again ~”

“Move around. It’ll help keep your body temp up.” And Bokuto began humorously trotting around his setter, rolling his shoulders and desperately rubbing his hands to keep warm. “With you size and build, I would have expected you to be the type to always be hot…” Akaashi drawled, ignoring Bokuto’s prancing and staring straight ahead. Secretly, he was trying not to smile. Why was Bokuto always such a goof?

“Common misconception… “ Bokuto had paused and mumbled to himself, “Was that the right term?” One corner of Akaashi’s mouth twitched. “I get real hot in the summer n’ stuff, but it’s the reverse in winter. It’s like my body just absorbs whatever temperature it is outside at the time… It sucks.” Bokuto pouted, still keeping up with his prancing as he moved to circle Akaashi for some diversity in his pattern.

Wow. Akaashi sure was taking his sweet time with that hot chocolate. Hadn’t he finished yet? Bokuto eyed him somewhat impatiently from the corner of his eye as he jogged circle after circle around him. When he was directly behind him after his twelfth circle, he stopped, jogging in place as his eyes practically burned holes into Akaashi’s back.

“GMMHmm!” Akaashi choked. He had been in the middle of another sip of his rapidly cooling chocolate when he felt Bokuto cram his wide hands in the slots between his arms and ribs. With a struggle, he had managed not to spew it onto the snow at his feet and swallowed it a bit painfully down his throat, stone-faced composure quickly back in place. Slowly, he turned his head to meet his captain’s wide, golden eyes. Bokuto’s expression was innocently expectant; he looked at Akaashi with raised eyebrows, glittering eyes and a pleasant – albeit dopey – smile. “What are you doing…” Akaashi said, barely even as a question; almost daring him to answer.

“I thought it might help, but your coat’s so thick your body heat doesn’t seep through like I’d hoped.” Bokuto’s brows furrowed in thought and Akaashi rolled his eyes before he took another sip of cocoa. He decided it had been too long a day to care and simply allowed his Senpai to stand there with his hands on his ribcage as he nonchalantly polished off his not-so-hot-chocolate. “OOooo- wait a minute, I’ve got a better idea!” Bokuto exclaimed making Akaashi jump, half turning his head to the elder.

“W-whoa, whoa- hey! No!” he spluttered, quickly stepping out of Bokuto’s reach and spinning around to face him, slightly crouched in a defensive stance and brandishing his nearly empty cup like some kind of hilariously pathetic makeshift shield.

“But, Akaaaashiii ~ my hands are so coooold ~!” Aaaand the whining was back.

“Stick your hands up your own shirt, then?”

“Akaashi. My hands are cold,” said Bokuto concisely, looking at Akaashi with a maddeningly incredulous expression. “If I put them under my shirt, I might as well take off my coat and lay in the snow…”

“Bokuto- “

“Oh c’mon, Akaashi, just for a second! You can warm back up really quick!”

“No, Bokuto.” Despite Akaashi’s insistence, Bokuto was advancing on him. “Bokuto, No! This is your own fault for not bringing gloves! Leave me alone!” And they were off. Using the bench as a protective barrier between them, they moved in sync from one end to the other, Akaashi tying to escape and Bokuto tying to head him off. In a flash, all in one movement, Bokuto had snatched the cup from Akaashi’s hand, set it on the bench and grabbed his Kohai’s now empty hand to pull him into his chest. There was a short-lived squabble in which Akaashi was trying to keep Bokuto’s hands out of his coat and nearly caught the larger man’s wrists but he slipped out at the last second.

“AAAAaaa!!” Oh wow, Bokuto was right… His hands were cold.

“See? Cold, right?” Bokuto’s grip on Akaashi’s sides tightened when the setter gripped his arms for dear life and began tugging and squirming to get away. “This is a lot warmer, though.” And when – god knows why – Bokuto trailed his hands up to his ribs and began rubbing them lightly up and down (for the warmth of the friction, he supposed), he panicked.

“Bokuto! Bokuto- no- please! L-let me go! Pleahese!” Shit.

Bokuto’s hands stopped and Akaashi froze.

“Are you laughing?”

“No.” Damn! That reply was way too quick.

“No, no you were- … Oh wait, I get it! Akaashi, you’re ticklish!” There was no room for refute in that statement; Bokuto had made that conclusion and the only way to change his mind was to physically prove him wrong. No chance of that happening, though. If he didn’t escape now, right now, Bokuto was going to tickle him and he was going to react like any ticklish person would. There was no helping that; he was ticklish after all. Very ticklish.

“Let me go!” he said rather than denying it. He struggled harder than ever when Bokuto rapped his arms around his waist and he was really starting to feel the threat now.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Oh god, Akaashi could hear the excited grin in his voice and there was no way he was getting out of his gorilla arms. Still with his hands under his coat, Bokuto began softly kneading into his ribs. A choked giggle slipped through before he could stop it and his only defense now was to press his elbows into his sides, hoping to squish Bokuto’s wiggling fingers.

“No, please dohon’t!” Dammit, don’t laugh; this was so embarrassing.

“Oh c’mon, Akaashi, just laugh, will ya? How come I didn’t know about this, huh?” Akaashi was about to loose it. If this kept up much longer- oh…

“Haaaaha! W-wait- aaAAAhahahaaaa!” Bokuto had only been scribbling at the sides of his ribs as he held him like a human straight jacket, but now he had started rubbing deep circles into his ribs, adding the last straw to break the camel’s back and there was absolutely no chance at stopping the laughter now.

“Yeah, there ya go! And- and my hands are finally warming up! Wow you’re really ticklish, Akaashi! What about here?” Akaashi couldn’t tell if Bokuto was teasing him or just making conversation, but it was pretty hard to read the guy right now anyways; he was a bit preoccupied with something else.

“AH- NAHo! B-bokutohohohahahaa! Bohokuto- pleahese- NAHA!” No amount of squishing his elbows into his sides was going to stop the upward journey of Bokuto’s fingers. And now they were under his arms, wriggling tirelessly and driving Akaashi mad. He lunged forward like his life depended on it, twisting any way he could. Oh good, now he was crying, too… Holy hell it tickled so bad, thank god there was no one around!

“You’re so wiggly, Akaashi!” Bokuto was laughing too now. He had never seen Akaashi like this; lively and desperate. Sure he could get into it during a volleyball game, and if it wasn’t going well, he would get pretty high strung and snap occasionally, but this was different. Red-cheeked and teary-eyed while he laughed his heart out; laughing harder than Bokuto had ever heard him laugh before. He couldn’t help but laugh with him.

When he moved one hand down goose at his hip, Akaashi wheezed and lurched forward, slipping out of Bokuto’s grip a little and making the ace loose his balance.

“AhahaHAHAA! NAho NAHAT Thahahat! Bokuto, PLEAHEEEEhese!” Bokuto barked a laugh at Akaashi’s whiney plea. He added his other hand to his other hip and Akaashi squealed – a sound Bokuto never thought he would hear from his Kohai – before he wheezed himself into silent laughter, finally toppling out of Bokuto’s grip and falling onto the powdery snow on his hands and knees with Bokuto following. He was rolling in the snow, pawing weakly at Bokuto’s hands and completely unable to speak now when the torture suddenly stopped.

Akaashi opened bleary eyes to see Bokuto sitting crisscross in the snow, hands in his lap and grinning goofily down at him. Akaashi chuckled again, rolling onto his back and looking up into the sky with a goofy smile of his own.

“You suck.” Akaashi said, tipping Bokuto into a roaring laugh. “Are your hands still cold?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice as he looked at Bokuto from the corner of his eye. There was a pause…

“Maybe…” he finally said with a grin Akaashi did not like.

“Wait- No!” Faster than he believed he could, Akaashi had jumped to his feet and took several steps back from his Captain who was now also climbing to his feet, still with that expression that Akaashi decided he definitely hated. “We- we still have shopping to do! This can- this can wait until later, Bokuto!” he shouted desperately when Bokuto started advancing on him. Bokuto laughed again.

“Later, huh? You’re right, we should finish getting the team gifts… but I’m gonna hold you to that ‘later’ thing.” He reached back to grab Akaashi’s not-so-hot chocolate and handed it to him with a clap on the back and a rather threatening wink before he lead the way back across the street to the shopping strip.

Feeling stunned, Akaashi stood there slack-jawed holding the nearly empty cup in his hand as he watched Bokuto’s retreating figure. He tipped the last of his cocoa down his throat, tossed it into the garbage bin and forced a steadying breath which he released in a terrified huff.

Shit. Maybe if he dragged the shopping out long enough, Bokuto would forget about this…

Shit.

#Squealingsanta2k20 #Squealing Santa 2k20 #SS2K20 #haikyuu!!#tickle fic #bokuto kotarou #akaashi keiji

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 3 years

Note

LOVE #23 and NSFW #11

Prompts 💕 23. “Your past is your past. I love you for the present and future.”

💦 11. “I guess I’ll take care of it all by myself.”

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Soft and kinda light/kinda filthy Smut, Fluff, Angst, Hint towards PTSD, Language

A/N: I haven’t written enough Frankie yet and this will be my first smut for him 👀

Future, Steady

***

He’s been acting weird lately. Your Frankie.

For the past two weeks something’s been bothering him; he’s eating less, picking at his food with a distant look in his eyes, getting up in the middle of the night after hours of tossing and turning, only to return hours later—you know, because the rusting of the covers and the dip of the bed wakes you—and when your failed attempts at joke after joke just to see that goofy grin that brightens his whole face, you’re met with a half-attempt of a smile, barely reaching his eyes.

But every time you try to talk to him about it he shuts it down with a shrug of, “I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry about it, he says. As much as you know it’s a cover, you don’t want to push him, so you give him his space, hoping that one of these nights will be enough to bring him out of the black water he’s seemingly found himself in.

Tonight is no different.

It’s the same routine—words that die quickly in short conversations, the scrapes of his fork against the plate as he pushes his food around, infamous cap hung low over his forehead... it’s the same after, when you clean up, and by then it’s difficult to ignore the stinging in your heart.

“I’m uh,” you sniff, keeping your face turned away; you don’t want to cry right now. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Okay,” it comes out a whisper. “G’night.”

“Good night,” you mumble and walk quietly to your bedroom without a look back.

The bed feels too cold. After changing and getting ready, you slide under the covers and sink deep into the pillows; Frankie’s cologne hits your nose, and you swallow thickly.

It’s not easy falling asleep. Even with the TV on low volume, a rerun of your favorite show, is not enough to dull your loud thoughts. You don’t know how long you lay like this—curled up in a ball, small arrays of tear stains down your cheeks, and blanket pulled all the way up to your chin.

Your eyes stay shut and just as you start to feel your mind succumb to exhaustion, heavy steps sound toward the door; you don’t open your eyes. The door creaks open and he steps in, the shuffling of clothes clear and lasting; every second of it feels like hours and all you want is for him to crawl into bed and hold you like there’s nothing wrong in the first place.

Fuck this sucks.

You hear him get ready for bed and turn the tv off. He slides in on his side and the heat radiating off him is nearly impossible to ignore; your body twitches to turn around, but you stay still.

A heavy arm wraps around your middle, startling you. Frankie pulls your back to his chest and loosens his grip on you, giving you space in case...

“You remember that last trip I took?” His gruff voice echoes in the room, his breath tickling your neck.

Your heart skips a beat. You remember every moment of it. “Yeah.”

He scoots closer to you, holding you tightly again. “Something... the other day I saw something and it reminded me of, fuck all the shit I did and I—” He gulps, clearly struggling to tell the rest of what’s been plaguing him, but you don’t say a word nor turn around still; this is his moment now, and you know how important it is for him to be this open to you.

“—I don’t know, it just put me in a bad place.” He gets up on his elbow and leans over you, resting his hand on your covered hip.

You finally turn to lay on your back. God he looks tired. It was hard to tell before hidden so well under the combination of your dim lighting and his hat, but without any barriers you can truly see the dark circles under his eyes, making his perfect face look shrunk and drained.

Your heart breaks all over again.

You brush your fingers against his stubble and Frankie automatically keens to your touch, sighing in relief when you rub your thumb delicately across his cheekbone.

“Frankie, my love,” you lick your chapped lips. “I can’t imagine what any of that feels like, but I need you to hear this.” You wait until he opens his eyes and nods before you continue. “You are so fucking strong, baby. You’ve come so far from the man you used to be and I can’t be anymore proud of you.”

His dark chocolate eyes glisten with tears and it pulls at your heart so easily that it’s almost scary. You can’t take this any longer and you reach up to brush your lips against his, teasing him of a kiss.

“Your past is your past.” You tell him in a steady tone. “I love you for the present and future.”

A whimper tears from him before he closes the final space between you; the kiss is hurried yet careful, memorizing the contours of your mouth, his hands working on your body, pawing at your pajama’s.

You break the kiss with a giggle, grabbing his wrists to halt his movements. His eyebrows furrow in confusion but when you pull your shirt over your head realization and lust replaces it; he growls softly at your breasts and your pussy flutters when he quickly rips his own shirt over his head and pushes you back down, spreading your legs with his weight.

Frankie swallows your moan when he ruts his half-hard bulge against your covered pussy, groaning himself at the heat between your legs. He takes his hungry mouth down to your neck, nibbling at the tender flesh; his hand slithers up and gropes your breast, then tweaks your perk nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hmm,” you arch your back, curling your fingers in his hair. “Frankie.”

Frankie doesn’t respond, instead trails his tongue and spit down to the space between your chest. He looks at you and flicks his tongue on your nipple. Your skin ripples in pleasure—it quickly turns into shudders when he bites down and you tug harshly on his hair, eliciting a deep moan that vibrates through your chest.

After he’s satisfied he switches to the neglected side and gives it the same treatment until you’re dripping for him.

“Frankie,” you whimper, thrusting your hips for more friction.

He kisses down your stomach and to the waistband of your shorts, slipping his fingers underneath, adding fire to the scorched flesh. You lift your hips off the bed enough for him to pull them down, the first chill of the air hitting your glistening pussy.

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” Frankie snarls. He inhales deeply, licking his lips and getting ready to plunge his face into your cunt but you stop him.

He looks at you like you have two heads, and maybe you do when you think about it—he’s amazing with that tongue of his, and he’s a giver more than a taker, always making sure you cum at least three times in his mouth before fucking you, this time however you just can’t wait.

“Next time,” you explain. “Right now I need you.”

“But I wanna taste you, babygirl,” he whines.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically. “I guess I’ll take care of it all by myself.”

“Watch yourself,” he warns.

Frankie stands up, his shadow towering over you—the way the veins in his hands pulse as pulls his pants and boxers down at the same time should be a crime. His cock springs free and slaps his stomach; thick and red, tip leaking with precum, your mouth waters and your pussy flutters, begging. Your arms open up for him when he crawls on the bed, opening your legs as wide as they can go.

He holds himself by his forearms, looking down at you like you just hung up the stars for him; not like you don’t see him in the same light, like you don’t love him with every molecule in your body, ready to forgive and love him until the end of your days, and then more.

The vulnerability opens your chest to your bleeding heart, aching from the content you feel, the peace and happiness Frankie breathes into you. You have to pull him down for a kiss that speaks the words you cannot say—you will, but not now. No now, you reach in between you and grab his length, lining him up at your entrance and wrapping your legs around his waist, encouraging him with a subtle push.

“I love you,” he declares unwaveringly and slides into you; he does so slowly, taking his time in stretching your velvet walls until he rests completely inside your tight heat.

“I-I love you,” you gasp into his mouth as he gives you time to adjust.

The stretch burns lightly this time. He kisses you once, twice, three, four times until you tilt your hips up; move.

Frankie keeps his body as close to yours as possible and pulls his hips back, plunging back into you. He does this again and again at the slow but steady pace, grinding into you most of the thrusts—it doesn’t matter, he’s still fucking you so deep, hitting your soft, spongy spot.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he starts to babble in grunts, pressing kisses all over your face and lips. “Christ I don’t deserve you. So good to me, always—”

He shudders and gasps, picking up the pace now and growling. “And this pussy is always so fucking wet for me. Dripping for my big cock, right princess?”

Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, whimpering helplessly as he fucks you. “Yes,” you moan, throwing your head back. “Oh fuck yes Frankie. Fuck just keep fucking me, please fuck.”

The bed creaks as Frankie drives deeper in your quivering pussy, fueling the tight coil boiling in your lower stomach. It doesn’t take that much thrusts after for it to burn into molten lava, making every muscle twitch and spasm.

Oh it’s coming. Right around the corner and if he’d—

A calloused thumb touches your clit and applies just the right amount of pressure.

“Oh fuck I’m cumming!” You cry out, feeling your pussy clench around his throbbing cock.

“Cum,” he pants, hips stuttering in a chorus of desperate thrusts. “Let go, drench my cock baby—y-yeah like that, s-shit.”

Your moans become strangled in your throat as your cunt clenches harder and harder, trapping him in a constructive vice as you explode around him; your thighs shake and toes curl, locking his lower half to yours.

“Oh fuckshit I’m gonna cum, right in that tight pussy.”

With that growl comes a pitched moan and a few final slams of his cock before it rests as far as it can go; his cum fills your cunt in hot spurts.

You let out the last moan pushed out of your lungs and relax your tense muscles. Frankie gasps above you, looking down. Your eyes follow and catch a glimpse of his wet cock, slathered in your combined fluids, push back in.

“Shit,” he chuckles breathlessly, collapsing next to you; you wince when he pulls out of you, a hollowness taking over your swollen walls.

“Shit.”

The two of you catch your breaths, holding each other and sharing kisses in between.

“Hey,” Frankie eventually breaks, cupping your chin to lift it up. With his swollen lips, disheveled hair and a light sheen of sweat shining on his chest, he looks like a piece of magnificent art—more important than that, he’s using that smile, that goofy, dimpled smile.

“What?” He chuckles, slanting his head curiously.

You kiss him instead.

#frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #anon #request #pedro pascal #mcfreakin-bxtch #inbox #triple frontier #triple frontier movie

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 3 years

Text

✨ Seven days of:

Day #3.

✨ REQUEST: Request for El Presidente 😁 I've been thinking of this idea: Maybe Bishop is trying to flirt with the reader but we all know he's flirty with most women so the reader doesn't think much of it until they are at a party and “...How long has he been flirting with me?” another mayan: “Only the entire time.” [ I hope you haven't written something like this. I love you 💖]

✨ MADE BY: @ocetevasgirl

WORDS: about 1.9k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ OBISPO ‘BISHOP’ LOSA MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

“C'mon, dance with me”.

The whisper into your ear takes you by surprise, producing you some shivers down your spin. Turning around, you frown to El Presidente. Being insistent as fuck is a personality and it's his.

“Ay, ya, Obispo. I can't believe Vicki is running out of girls to flirt with”. Rolling your eyes, you have a drink from your beer.

“Have I told you how good my name sounds in your lips?” He replies not caring a shit about what you have said. “Vamos... You never dance with me”.

“Yeah, and today is not gonna be the day it changes”. Palming his chest with your free hand, you raise both eyebrows.

“Why?”

“Because I ain't a number on your list. It's called self-love”.

“Who said I want you to be a number?”

Rolling your eyes, you can't believe that he's denying the fact that he flirts with you the whole time. You like him, and you have been about to fall into his claws a lot of times, but then you see him with another girl sitting on his lap, or clinged to his arm. The deception is bigger every time.

“Why don't you give up at damn once?”

Not giving him the opportunity to respond, you pass him away with a loud snort. Getting out of the clubhouse, you're able to have a deep breath of fresh air closing your eyes, guiding after that your steps to the sofa on the porch. Resting your feet over the wooden fence and lying back against your seat, trying to keep blank your mind. The silence outside helps you more than you could think, only being broken by the crickets around you and the bonfire in the middle of the yard.

You aren't sure when he started to act like that. At the beginning of meeting you he was kind, respectful and sweet. But bit by bit, you started to see his intentions. Being aware that the only thing he wants from you is a one night-stand. It's painful, even if you don't want to recognize it, because you were feeling something. Something good. Until he changed. Then it turned into sarcasm and rage. Every time that you turn him down, he finds his way to one of those bitches who are always in the club, cheering the view. And of course it's not their fault, but maybe if they weren't there, things would be different.

“Can I sit?”

Taza claims your attention with a soft tone of voice, pointing with a hand to the empty seat by your side. Showing him a fleeting smile, you nod in silence. As soon as he sits down, the man places his free arm over your shoulders to urge you to rest your head on his.

“What's happening inside that beautiful mind, ah?”

“You already know it”.

He draws an oh in his lips, before chuckling shaking his head.

“He's really in love with you”.

“No, he's not. And, god, please! Don't take his side”.

“I would never lie to you, chamaquita. The problem resides in that he doesn't know how to show it properly. You're the whole time kicking his ass and he's desperate for opening your eyes”. That sounds like a possibility. Like a valid one. “Why don't you give him a chance? We have closed a deal that has given us a lot of privileges. He's happy and he only wants to celebrate it with y—”.

The main door opening interrupts your conversation, seeing the crew abandoning the club.

“We're going to Vicki's, you comen'?” Coco asks, having a smoke.

Taza looks at you, arching a brow, but you shake your head getting up.

“Do you want me to ride you home?”

“Nah, don't worry. I will walk, so I can… clear my mind”.

Placing a kiss on your forehead, the older joins his brothers as you come inside the club. The silence is installed all around, once the buzz of the engines disappear through the scrapping. You were wanting to stay a little more, because you don’t have any other plans for tonight than this. And you’re not in the mood to come back home, so you are thinking about finding a bar to drink, even if it means to be alone.

When you’re about to grab your jacket from a chair, the crash between two pool balls calls your attention. Turning around with the piece of clothing covering your forearms, you find Bishop standing up from the table with a cig in his lips. You can see him pretending normality with his eyes focused on his own game. Not understanding why he hasn’t gone to Vicki’s place, you’re starting to think that maybe he did on purpose. Pressing the inside of your cheek with the tip of your tongue, you can’t help but contain a laugh by showing up a smile.

“Need a partner?”

Having a smoke and swallowing it before spitting it, the mexican turns to a side to grab another stick and offer it to you in silence. So, that’s a yes. Putting your jacket back on the chair and leaving on the poker table your phone, you two start a new game after placing all the balls forming a triangle. Bishop gives you some space, resting his back against the wall, to see how you break the formation with an accurate hit sneaking a striped red ball into a hole, in the middle of the pool. It’s the first time he plays against you, and he isn’t sure that he has seen you playing before. But he knows that it’s going to be an interesting game. Holding his stick between both of his legs under your attentive gaze, El Presidente takes off the clock in his right wrist and the ring from the same hand.

“Since when are we competing?” Tossing a loud laughter, you place both hands over the tip of your stick, resting your chin there.

“If I win, you will give me a kiss”. Bishop sounds very convinced of beating you, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt under the kutte. And you know he’s going to play hard, when he also takes off the leather garment to put it away.

Licking your bottom lip, squinting at him you offer him a hand to accept the deal.

“If you lose, you will stop with this… flirt, or whatever it is”.

At first, he doubts. You’re not stupid, you know that he will never stop flirting with you, but for a moment, you doubt too. Until he finally shakes your hand firmly, secure of himself.

Ball against ball, striped and smooth, they all end up falling through the different holes of the pool table. When the only one left is the number eight, you notice the tension installed between both. It’s your turn and Bishop is expectant, making you feel nervous with that grin contained under his black moustache. Leaning over the table with your gaze focused on the tip about to hit the ball, you calculate the exact way it has to take. Pulling it back, you move it forth with a fast move to beat the eight. Straight to the hole, bouncing against the wooden wall and coming back to the table.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Bishop breaks into laughs, not being able what just happened. It was inside the hole and that motherfucking ball didn’t fall through it.

“YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME! I WON! IT WAS INSIDE IT!”

Screaming like a madwoman and pointing at the pool with a hand, you turn at him. The man is running out of air, choking in laughs and almost arching back his body.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, estúpido”. Palming his shoulder with more strength than you wanted to use, he complains this time. “I’m not playing anymore, I won”.

“You didn’t”. The man leans over the table, doing exactly your same moves, but having more lucky than you.

“I’m not gonna fucking kiss you”.

“Sweetheart, how many times you can say fucking in a sentence?”

“Every two fucking words”.

Chuckling and taking off from your hands the stick, he places it in the holder close to his.

“I’m going to be a good man, and let you kiss my face wherever you want”.

Taking your right hand, Bishop pushes you into his arms, wrapping with them your waist. And even if for a moment you want to put up some resistance, deep inside you being hugged by him is everything you want. There’s still a couple inches of distance between both when you toss your hands on his shoulders respectively, rolling your eyes as if you were feeling uncomfortable. Leaning forward, you press your lips on his cheek. The fucking longer two seconds of your life. But if you were thinking that this would be enough for him, it isn’t.

Bishop embraces you tightly against himself, making you feel warm and loved for the first time in your life. It’s not only the gesture, but what he is transmitting you with it. Now you’re believing what Taza has told you almost an hour again. And you don’t reply with a single word, when he starts to kiss your face with such dearly touches, as he speaks.

“I want you —one on your neck— to be mine —another going up to the line of your jaw— and only mine —the last one close to the corner of your lips—, why don't you believe me?”

His facial hair makes you some tickles, provoking you a long shiver that bristles your skin. There’s no distance between you two, guiding your steps backwards until your body meets the pool table. His mouth is coming closer to yours, tasting the waters just in case that you really want to push him away. But you don’t. You don’t do it, closing your eyes as soon as he presses his lips against yours.

You can taste the flavor of beer and smoke in his saliva, not being disgusting for you, with your fingers getting placed at both sides of his neck; caressing with the tips of them his short beard. The heat is starting to burn down your heart barriers, transforming your doubts and insecurities into ashes.

Pulling away your faces from each other, when you are running out of air, Bishop urges you to sit on the edge of the pool table as he makes his way to between your legs. And there’s a detail that catches your whole attention. He’s not hard. You’re sure that if he does the same moves with one of Vicki’s girl, or any man with any woman he just wants to fuck with, he would be already hard. Quite the opposite, El Presidente is only focused on showing you that you’re more than a night-stand for him.

“Will you give me an opportunity?”

“Just one”. You highlight, bringing your eyes to the darkest ones.

“As if I needed more than one, querida”.

#lemme know what you think in a comment! ✨#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc #bishop losa #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa x reader #obispo losa x reader #obispo losa

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feeling-weirdy · 3 years

Note

Maybe a post Endgame AU where wanda and Vision are both alive but dealing with trauma from IW? Especially vision who's not used to the feeling or nightmares? Just angst and fluff I'm a sucker for

Disclaimer; Thank you for giving me an excuse to start this AU I’ve been thinking on! I realized after I finished writing this that you said post Endgame. I hope it’s okay that I changed that bit.

Posted on Ao3 if people want to be notified of updates!

TW: for a little bit of choking

Peace. Silence. Sadness.

Waves of emotions and thoughts flooded through his mind until he felt himself dissipate into nothingness. Just as he had hoped, Wanda had been the last person he saw before the inevitable happened. It shouldn’t have been her, but it was. She had stood before him, her energy aimed straight for the stone until there was nothing left. 'I just feel you' he had told her and he meant it. Her warmth filled his body until he could feel nothing else. He could die a peaceful death, a gift he had never expected to receive.

His thoughts were put to rest, feeling his mind completely shut down as he found peace. At least until he could feel a small tug.

Suddenly, he felt himself being pieced back together. That couldn’t be right. His programs slowly came back online, his system completely rebooting. Vision remained kneeling in the dirt, but this time the being standing in front of him was not the love of his life. The monster they had been avoiding for so long stood before him, having used the time stone to bring him back to life. He had undone everything Wanda had just accomplished.

“No!” Wanda screamed, Vision felt his attention be pulled in her direction st the sound of her voice.

“Wa-” A large, meaty hand gripped at his throat, raising him from the ground like he was nothing. The circuits and wires in his throat collapsed and his mind began to glitch. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. The mind stone should have been destroyed. It had been destroyed and now...

The lights of his eyes flickered as his programs began to shut down one by one. Vision gasped for air, hoping words would spring forth, but the grip on his neck only tightened. Thanos used his free hand to reach for the stone, a disgusting smile sliding across his face. He could feel his large fingers dig into his metal skull, synapses keeping the stone in place breaking as Thanos ripped it from his forehead. Vision’s eyes had rested on the auburn-haired girl still frozen in fear on the ground.

This couldn’t be it. It couldn’t...

The last of his programs shut down, causing his vision to blackout yet again.

“Wanda!” Vision screamed, his systems came back online in a snap. Had he been asleep the whole time? Raising a hand to his forehead, he could feel the space where the stone had been just moments ago. The intention had been covered by a new plate, but the stone was gone.

His eyes scanned the room, searching for answers to where he was and what had happened to him. The room wasn’t his bedroom, nor was it Wanda’s, but it was familiar. The group had been in this room what seemed like hours ago. Large windows spanning in front of him allowed him to see the vast vegetation that spread across the land, hidden safely behind the barrier that still protected the city of Wakanda. Swirling vectors on the machine next to him caught his eye, proudly displaying the message he had been desperately longing for since earlier this morning.

-SEPARATION COMPLETE-

He recognized the mind stone diagram as well as the detailed breakdown of his internal workings. His consciousness had been fully detached from the mind stone.

Relief washed over him, his head falling in what he could only describe as utter bliss. Shuri had done it. He no longer needed the mind stone to function.

“Ah, so you’re awake.” The girl’s familiar voice sang behind him, his attention falling to her as she made her way around the table. “And how are you feeling?” Shuri immediately set to work, scanning him quickly as he tried to fully process what he just read.

“Remarkable.” Vision reached up again to where the stone had rested previously, the lack thereof having been extremely obvious. It was going to take some getting used to not having it there. “It’s almost like...a weight has been lifted from my mind. There is certainly a difference, yet I feel the same.”

��I wouldn’t worry. It will take some time to get used to, but you are fully disconnected. No mind stone required.” Shuri smiled at him, pride swelling in her chest. Not at all hiding the emotions that she certainly felt at her accomplishment. Despite whatever happened here, she had no doubt been hard at work focused on her job.

Scanning the area once again, he noticed how entirely empty the room was. The shock of reawakening having completely distracted him from those he wished to be reunited with. His eyes widened, the thought of Wanda’s screams filling his memory. “Where are Wanda and the others?”

“Wanda is on her way now. She should be here any minute.” Pressing a few buttons on the display she summoned from her wrist band, her confidence bringing him a good deal of comfort despite what he had seen.

“And Thanos?”

She was quiet for a moment, uncertainty clouding her face making it difficult to discern the meaning behind her silence. Even from the small distance, they held between the two of them, Vision could see how desperately she was trying to not make eye contact with him. Forcing herself instead to focus on the display in front of her. Vision climbed off the table, pushing himself up into a standing position with a grunt. He didn’t like how quiet she had suddenly become.

“Well? Where is he?” Her face contorted, looking away from him for several moments. With a deep breath, Shuri walked toward him, placing a hand on the center of his chest. Putting a gentle pressure to his chest, she nudged him back towards the work table.

“You should really get some rest. And I really should run some more tests before you get up and about.” Shuri shook her head. “There will be time for answers later.”

“My functions are working perfectly, but I must insist that you answer the question.” Vision stepped forward, his voice becoming more firm as he felt irritation bubbling up inside of him. Shuri took a step back as he came forward. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself.

“Vis?” A familiar soft voice spoke up from behind him causing his body to turn in one swift motion. Wanda stood across the room, her eyes filling with tears. Her hands lifted to her mouth in disbelief, her legs wobbling slightly, taken aback by the very idea that he was alive.

“Wanda...” Her name dripped from his mouth, a smile forming on his lips as he watched her.

“Vis!” Wanda ran across the room, quickly closing the distance between them as she jumped into his arms with a laugh. “You’re okay...”

“I’m more than alright now,” Vision said softly, nuzzling his nose into the nape of her neck. Her warmth overtook him, allowing him to fully relax. He trailed kisses up her neck, across her cheeks before reaching her lips, crashing their mouths together in one euphoric kiss. The stress and the collection of emotions they had felt over the past few hours preparing for this moment all came out at once. Wrapping his arms around her small waist, he pulled her against him deepening their kiss. Wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, Wanda moaned quietly into his mouth desperate for more.

Shuri cleared her throat from behind them, forcing him to pull away.

“I do really need to have you checked out first,” Shuri said awkwardly, completely aware they had completely forgotten she was standing there.

Vision ignored her, focusing his attention back on Wanda. While he had been caught up in their reunion, he hadn’t forgotten the small limp she carried as she ran to him. Something had happened to her and he was going to find out what.

“Are you alright, my love?” Concern filled his voice, allowing his hand to fall down her arm and grab her wrist.

“I’m fine, Vis. I really am.” She was relieved, happy beyond measure, but even he could see that behind all that there was something more they were pushing down.

“And the others? What happened?”

Wanda and Shuri shared a look. “He removed the stone. Thankfully...” Wanda sighed happily, gripping onto his hand. “Shuri had already completed disconnecting you from the mind stone. You don’t need it anymore.”

“So what you’re telling me is that he has possession of the mind stone.”

“He does...as well as the other five.” She paused again, squeezing his hand. “A lot of people are gone, Vis. Steve, Tony, Bruce...a lot...b-but you’re safe. I’m safe. We’re here together. Everything’s going to be fine now.”

It was a lot of information to process in just a few short sentences, but even he couldn’t stop the strange wave of emotions that followed them, crashing over his systems again and again. Stark was as close to a father figure as he had and had been a dear friend even longer; the fact that he was gone was definitely something worth noting.

“Perhaps...” Vision started, his words trailing off as he reached for the exam table. “Perhaps...I will sit down.” He had seen the way Wanda had grieved the loss of her brother, studied humans coming to grips with their loved ones no longer being there. This feeling that overwhelmed him was almost too much to bear.

“If you’ll lie down here, I’ll check your vitals. Make sure everything is in tip-top order.” Shuri insisted, helping Vision lie back on the table to continue her scans. “Once I am finished, you two can take one of the back rooms for the night.”

“Thank you, Shuri. For everything.” Wanda continued speaking with her, but their voices faded in his mind as he processed what he had learned. Thanos had made half of all life disappear from the universe, including many of their closest friends. The weight of the mind stone had been lifted, but a far heavier one had been thrust on top of him. Vision was going to have to find a way to get them all back.

Shuri spent the next hour running every test she needed before giving him a clean bill of health. No abnormalities had been found and it seemed like everything was working beyond how she had expected.

The couple retired to one of the many bedrooms that Shuri had pointed out to them. Having no real preference, they accepted one of the middle rooms before saying good night. Wanda walked into the room, taking a deep breath.

“Wanda...are you sure you’re alright?” Vision asked once more. He couldn’t quite place it, but he could tell something was eating at her mind despite her attempts to make herself appear happy.

“I’m more than fine,” she assured him. “Really. You’re alive. It worked.” A bright smile covered her features as she walked back toward him. “Everything is fine.”

“But everyone else...” His voice trailed off, flashes of memories of those they had lost spilling into his mind.

“Is not our problem.” Her voice was stern, unexpectedly so. “Vision...we can’t keep sacrificing our lives for the team. It seems like all we’ve done for two years is give and sacrifice for them. At some point...we have to look at what’s best for us.” Gripping onto his hand, Wanda looked up at him pleadingly. “I almost lost you three times in the past twenty-four hours. I had to kill you myself...” Her voice broke, sequentially breaking something deep inside him. “I cannot lose you again.”

Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, Vision nodded. “...Very well.”

“Let’s get a little sleep, okay? We can figure out what to do in the morning.”

Wanda hopped in the bed, the smile returning to her face as she turned to look at him. She pulled the sheets open for him, waiting patiently for him to occupy the space.

After everything that had happened, sleep was the last thing on Vision's mind, but denying her was out of the question. Vision shifted into some comfortable clothes and slipped in the bed beside her. Wrapping his arm around her back, he pulled her tight against his chest. Yet again he had been granted some semblance of happiness and he was not about to let it go again.

Wanda had been right about one thing: they deserved a moment to themselves. However, he could still feel a push inside him; a force deep down begging him to go out and do something. Vision kept the voice at bay, deciding instead to focus on this moment right now. The moment where both of them were alive and could finally be happy.

#scarletvision #wandavision #the vision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #rini drabbles #post IW AU #I'm ASSUMING people have probably written something similar to this but I haven't done a good job of checking AO3 and actually READING fanf #This may not have a concurrent story but I will probably write a few parts to this if people are interested #otherwise it will just float off into a one off drabble watching Wanda once again break down while Vision stands and watches #I have a bad track record with writing long form fics so I'm not promising nothing but hey request more if you want it #I'll do what I can

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slytherinbarnes · 3 years

Text

there are ghosts in the sky, iii

iii. but can you save a dying sun?

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 15.0k

Warnings: angst, fighting, violence, death, anxiety, mentions of nausea/puking, language.

Summary: a battle for your body and a battle for Sanctum results in shocking causalities, both battles ending in a way you could have never guessed.

a/n: here it is!!! part 3 is here, this au is finished!!! this marks the end of the sub rosa universe (for now), and I have a lot of feelings about that. mostly I am just grateful to all of you, and I hope you’ll stick around to read my next series/other new works! if you would like your sub rosa tag to be converted to a general bellamy blake x reader tag, please let me know!

p.s. sorry for the late in the day upload today, life has been crazy and the day got away from me!!!

au series masterlist // sub rosa masterlist // full masterlist

You only catch bits and pieces of what’s happening outside of your body, but as the barrier between your mind and Josephine’s continues to break down further, you’re able to hear more and more of the outside world. In between catching information from outside of your body, you keep yourself inside Josephine’s side of the mindspace. You know that it’s only going to break down your minds faster, but you’re desperate for information you can use against her later, so you use your downtime to scour through her memories in search of something useful. By the end of your research, the only thing you know for sure is that Josephine is awful, and she doesn’t deserve your body, let alone to resurrect again.

You can tell a few hours have passed since your initial Morse Code attempt, and you weren't sure at first if it worked.

That is, until you heard Josephine begging someone to kick you out of your own head. There’s not much you can do other than wait around and hope that someone is trying to save your life, and you finally get that confirmation later on when you catch onto the tailend of a conversation between Josephine, Clarke, and Bellamy. You’ve gathered enough bits and pieces to know that all four of you are currently being held captive by the Children of Gabriel, and the other three are using the time to ‘bond’, if you can actually call it that. Josephine is moaning about the tragedy of her relationship with Gabriel, and you push the stack of memory books out of your lap and to the side, running from the memory space and into the hidden diner.

You ignore the patrons and head straight for the Christmas lights again, tugging them down and calling out, “Monty!”

He runs into the diner, looking at you in alarm. “What is it?”

“Morse Code, I need your help. How do you say boohoo?”

His nose scrunches as he looks at you in confusion, “Boohoo?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It doesn't matter why, just please tell me what it is!”

He shrugs and grabs the paper and pen you’re holding out to him, thinking for a second before he quickly writes out the message. When he passes it to you, you give him a smile of thanks, listening as Josephine mutters, “I've been in love with Gabriel for 236 years, the last 70 of which he's been trying to kill me. You know, relationships.”

You start working on your light, signaling out the code Monty gave you.

—●●● B

— — — O

●●●● H

— — — O

You can hear Josephine translating the letters for Clarke and Bellamy, before she ends the quip with, “That's harsh.”

You can catch glimpses of your twin’s broken voice questioning the woman who stole your body, hope entwined with her words. “She can hear us?”

“It would seem so. Which means the wall separating our minds is almost gone.” You look around you, at the diner in Josephine’s mind, realizing that parts of it are already starting to fade. Panicked, you run out of the room and back to your side, slamming the red door behind you as you go. “When that happens, she'll stroke out, I'll download, and you can say goodbye to your genocidal fiance and sister.”

You can hear Bellamy’s voice next, thick with emotion. “Let me talk to her.”

“I'd have to give over control for that, so no.”

“But she can hear me?”

“Yes, she can hear you. For God's sake, just say what you want to say.” Josephine sighs, seeming to sense that Bellamy has something he wants to say to you. You stand waiting and listening, eager to hear his message to you.

His message hits you harder than anything he’s ever said to you before this, his voice so broken and mixed with hope when he answers, “I won't let you die.”

Tears instantly spring to your eyes, and you collapse to the floor of the Ark, letting the tears fall down your face as you process Bellamy’s message to you. I won't let you die. You know he means it, and you know that your odds of survival are good with both him and Clarke on your side, both of them desperate to save your life. The moment fills you with hope, and you sit crying alone in the Ark, waiting for your family to save you.

Everything seems fine until it’s not.

You can tell that something has changed, sensing the stress within your own body, accompanied by the overlapping din of voices above you. You can't make out any of the words, but you don't have to wonder for long, because as you sit in the hall of the Ark, Josephine suddenly bursts through her red door and heads straight to you. She looks panicked, her eyes wide, and you pull yourself to your feet quickly as you sense the incoming danger. “What? What is it?”

“They’re about to chop our head off! I need you to take control so we can live.”

You don't have time to answer her, because she turns to her right and types in a code for a locked door, before grabbing your arm and shoving you through. As usual, you are blinded by a flash of white light and then your eyes open and clear, locked on a gray stone wall. Your heart rate picks up when you realize that you’re back in control of your own body, but you’re also dangerously close to losing your life. Your head is being pressed into a stone, and your hands are being held behind your back, and as everything comes into focus, you hear someone say, “The answer is death to Primes.”

You sense movement to your right, and you call out, “Wait!”

You can tell that the person to your right, the one who intends to cut off your head, freezes, and you work on buying yourself some time. “Gabriel loves her, is this what he would want?”

Your words seem to be the wrong ones, because the man yells out, “Don't you use his name!”

And then you sense his movement again. This time, though, you’re ready for it. As he lifts the sword and swings it around to cut off your head, you kick out at the man holding you in place. Your foot connects with the space by his knee, and you can tell that his leg is broken by the sound alone. He releases you, giving you just enough space to avoid the sword that is coming towards you, which clangs against the rock instead. The man looks down in shock, and you use that to your advantage, grabbing his arm and his other shoulder and pulling him down, smashing his head into the rock.

You grab his fallen sword and turn and swing at the man with the broken leg, cutting his throat, and as you look up you see a final person coming towards you. The woman moves towards you and you stalk over to her, swinging the sword out and cutting her neck before she can even comprehend your movements. She hits the ground and you stand in place for a second, panting, trying to catch your breath, brought back to reality by your fiance calling your name.

You look up and meet his eyes, his expression so hopeful, and Clarke watches on, equally as full of hope. You drop the sword and run across the room, grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him into a kiss. You pull away, both of you with tears in your eyes, before you step over to your twin and pull her into a hug, the two of you laugh crying with relief. You only pull away when you hear the sound of approaching voices, and you spin back towards the man who was going to kill you, grabbing the set of keys off of his belt before running back to your fiance and twin.

You quickly try to uncuff them both, but your hands are shaking and anxiety is pulsing through you as the voices grow closer. Bellamy and Clarke are both watching you closely, and Bellamy puts his hand over yours to still your movements. “We don't have time, you have to run!”

You look up at him in alarm, shaking your head sharply. “No! I’m not leaving either of you.”

Clarke reaches out for you, her hand grabbing your wrist, encouraging you to look at her. “Bellamy’s right, there’s no time. Go find Gabriel.”

You look between then both, panicked, but the approaching voices only grow closer, signalling your ticking clock. And you hate that you know they’re right, and you hate the idea of leaving them both, but you know all of your odds are better if you do. Which is why you give them both one last look, the voices just around the corner now, before Bellamy panics and pushes you away, “Go!”

You leave the keys in his hand and you take off running, pushing hard to outrun the voices that seem right at your back. You tear through the woods, leaves and branches smacking you as you go, but you ignore them, trying to put as much distance between you and the Children of Gabriel as you can. You can hear them closing in on you, led by the man that nearly killed you, and you pause and duck behind a tree, trying to catch your breath. You start to run numbers in your head, wondering how many you can reasonably take out before they take you out, and just when you deduce that there are too many of them and not enough of you, you hear the roar of a motorcycle, signaling Sanctum’s arrival.

You look up, watching as the bikes weave between the trees, and you take off running again, choosing the lesser of two evils, heading straight for the riders. As you move, you scream at the top of your lungs, “Here! I’m here!”

The Sanctum riders fly towards you, pulling up to a stop and grabbing their guns, aiming at the group of people right behind you. As you grow closer to the Sanctum riders, the Children of Gabriel grow closer to you, this game of cat and mouse getting a little too close for your liking. When you’re within a few feet of the riders, Jade, Josephine’s guard, yells out, “Down! Get down!”

You drop to the ground without hesitation, covering your head with your hands, hearing bullets whiz by over head. Someone drops to the ground behind you, landing on your legs, but you don't dare to move until you hear the shooting stop. Finally it does, and you hear Jade shout orders to the others, “I’ve got her, you get the rest!”

You hear three motorcycles drive off, leaving you alone with Jade, and you almost shake your head at how perfect this is starting to play out for you. Because when Jade grabs you and helps you to your feet, you lift a large rock and bring it with you, turning and knocking her out before you’ve even stood to your full height. As you drop the rock, you nearly jump out of your skin when a voice behind you mutters, “Really? She just saved your life.”

You spin around quickly, locking eyes with Josephine, who is standing feet from you, a look of disappointment on her face. But you ignore that and focus on the fact that she is standing right in front of you, outside of the mindspace. “Why can I see you?”

“Because it's getting worse, like I said it would. Look, what you did back there was awesome, but don't let it be for nothing. Give me back control.”

You ignore her, knowing damn well that you have no intention of giving your body back to her. Because it is your body. And despite the panic that courses through you as you realize that you are likely nearing the last few hours of your life, you turn away from Josephine and grab the radio off of Jade’s side. Josephine mutters under her breath, “I'll just get it anyway when you fall asleep.”

But when she sees the radio in your hand, she looks at you in confusion. “What are you doing now?”

You continue to ignore her and lift the radio in your hand, remembering one of Josephine’s memories that you discovered earlier in the evening. Josephine sits in front of her father, anxiously twirling her hair. Russell cuts her a look, but lets the habit slide as he delivers the news. “Spies from Sanctum discovered a camp, just on the verge of the anomaly. There’s a sculpture of radios, which they suspect is how the COGs get messages to Gabriel.” You press the button of the radio and keep your eyes locked on Josephine as you say your name and add, “Gabriel, you don't know me, but I need your help. Josephine Lightbourne is in my head. If you can hear this, we're coming to you.”

You stalk past her and head back to the bike, and she follows you the entire time, pleading to your back. “This is insane. He didn't respond to their call, he's probably dead. Please, let's just go back to Sanctum.”

You grab Jade’s discarded helmet and lift the motorcycle, as Josephine crosses her arms and glares at you. “I'll drive. But for that, you do have to give me back control.”

You swing your leg over the bike as she protests, “You don't know how to-”

You cut her off by starting the bike and revving the engine, another useful memory you have stolen from Josephine’s head. Her glare gets angrier as she watches you, “What else of mine have you stolen?”

You smirk and answer her in Mandarin, “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

And then you pull the helmet onto your head, and drive off, leaving her behind in a cloud of dust.

You drive for a while before crashing, thanks to Josephine, destroying your radio in the process. Lucky for you, Josephine knows a place for you to hide, leading you to a bunch of old research outposts nearby. Unlucky for you, you have a seizure almost as soon as you climb down into the outpost, your brain struggling to keep up with the data from two minds.

You have never been more disappointed to wake up in your mindspace, though you’re not sure if that's because of the small taste of control that you got to experience, or the fact that your mind is clearly in disarray. You wake up in your room, surrounded by memories stashed inside of books, but none of them are yours. And as you wander into the hallway, you see that it’s much worse than that. Books are stacked on nearly every available inch of flooring that you can see, and projections from Josephine’s memories wander the halls in various emotional states. Some are angry, some are sad, some are distressed, but all of them are a problem.

You find Josephine not long after wandering from your room, catching as she walks past you absentmindedly. With the two of you reunited, you briefly consider killing her and ending all of this once and for all, but her response makes you pause. She glares at you, just as annoyed at this entire situation as you are, before she bites back your earlier words to her, “Go float yourself.”

The words give you an idea, a way to save the two of you from your approaching destruction, and you and Josephine run around frantically, trying to float her memories to hold off the impending demise of your brain. You only do a few at first, allowing her to pick the memories that she wants to lose, but soon that has to be abandoned in favor of an all out destruction of property. You rig up the outer doors to vent everything in ten seconds, Josephine’s memories now heavily integrated into your own at this point, both of you well past the point of no return.

You and Josephine head back to your room, into the place you shared with Bellamy, the only room safe from the venting into space that is occurring outside your door. You know it works when Josephine disappears, leaving you alone in your mindspace again. You start to panic, wondering if this is it for you, if Josephine really will make it out of here with control of your body, leaving you to truly die. Just as you really start to spiral into a panic, you catch a pair of voices outside, one familiar, one not.

Josephine refers to the unfamiliar voice as Gabriel, and you almost cry in relief when you realize that somehow he found you after all. He's not dead, and he’s here to get his ex lover out of your head. Josephine confirms the familiar voice seconds later when she greets Blodreina, and you smile at the fact that somehow Octavia is alive and she’s here to help you.

Of course, chaos reigns supreme on this damn moon that you hate so much, because as soon as the four of you exit the research outpost, Josephine calls out for the Sanctum guards nearby, begging to be taken back to Sanctum. Gabriel argues and says that Josephine's body, your body, is on the brink of death, and he has to save you now, because neither of you will make it back there. But of course, the guards don't care, and just when Gabriel and Octavia are on the brink of death, they are saved by Bellamy and Clarke, a turn of events that leaves you incredibly thankful to have them in your life.

Unfortunately, Gabriel’s prediction about your impending death is correct, because Josephine collapses, your legs going numb and giving out beneath her, and Gabriel catches her and whisks her away back to his camp. Clarke, Octavia, and Bellamy follow, and before you know it, you can hear the steady beeping of a heart rate monitor, along with the increasingly clear voices outside of your head. Josephine makes a last ditch plea to save herself and wipe you instead, but thankfully Gabriel ignores her and stops your heart.

They quickly work to remove the mind drive in your head and then restart your heart again, which should put you back in control. You see the door to Josephine’s side crack and explode, the wall now turning into just another wall of the Ark. You wait patiently, knowing that means that the mind drive is gone, but instead of waking back up in the real world, you remain trapped in your own head. You look around in confusion, wondering why your heart is still stopped, and why you’re still staring at the walls of the Ark. “Wait. Why am I still here?”

“Because I'm still here.” You turn around in confusion, now facing Josephine, and you have a split second to register the axe in her hand before she swings it towards you, cutting your neck. You reach up and grab your wound, light shining between your fingers, as you shake and gasp and watch the enemy in your head. She drops the axe and it tumbles and lands near your side as she mutters, “Sanctum is mine.”

She looks down at your struggling form with a smirk. “I used the surgical mesh. I'm sorry about the whole working together thing, but I know you, Wanlida. If you came back, you'd kill everyone inside Sanctum. It's what you do.”

You struggle to focus on her words as you realize that your version of bleeding out in your mindspace is visually a lot different than bleeding out in the real world. But the pain and the struggle and the suffering, those are all just as real as the world outside of your head. Josephine kneels down across from you, still smirking, watching as you quickly die. She only turns away when another voice outside of your body, Gabriel’s, tells the others, “I'm sorry, but her brain can no longer support two minds.”

You can hear a counter protest, though your mind struggles to decipher the words, only able to unilaterally focus on the pain radiating out from your neck. And as you sit there dying, you can't help but think about how cruel this is. You survived your initial attempted murder, only for this to be the way you go out? In your own head, and watched on by your body snatcher, no less. But as the seconds pass by and you wait for your death, you realize that at least one person is unwilling to let you go. Clarke’s voice reaches you from outside of your mindspace, calling your name, her voice broken and hurting and desperate. “I can't lose you again, la lune! I need you. Bellamy needs you. Madi needs you. Mom needs you. Now wake up!”

You listen to your twin’s broken cries, quickly replaced by the broken cries from the love of your life as he begs you to fight for your life. “I should have fought harder for you. I should have burned Sanctum to the ground and killed everyone that got in my way, but I’m fighting for you now, god damn it! You're a fighter. Now wake up and fight!”

And as soon as he says it, you know he’s right. You told Josephine yourself that you don't go down without a fight, and you meant it. You’re not dead yet and you’re not going to let her win. Josephine seems to listen on with mild amusement, surely plotting the dramatic return she wants to make as soon as you officially die, but unfortunately for her, it's not a return she gets to make. Because you eye the abandoned axe, discarded and sitting right next to you, and you pull one of your hands away from your light bleeding neck and reach for it. The blade scrapes against the floor as you lift it, drawing Josephine’s attention towards you, and this time she’s the one who has a split second to process the current events before you throw the axe right at her center mass, shattering her projection into a million pieces.

And as soon as you do, it’s like a switch flips, because you take in a large, wheezing breath, pulling your eyes open in alarm, feeling nothing but panic. But there are two sets of hands caressing your face, two voices soothing you as you struggle to catch your breath, two familiar faces watching you closely as they look between you. Clarke is the closest to you, and she tentatively whispers your name, searching for any sign that you are really you. And you respond in the only way you think you can by sitting up and pulling her into your arms, holding her tighter than you’ve ever held her before. She’s crying, you’re crying, the Blake’s are crying, and even Gabriel is crying, though for different reasons.

Clarke releases you so Bellamy can grab you, tugging your face towards him and pressing the most loving kiss to your lips, his mouth telling you everything he wants to say to you in the moment. You kiss him back just as hard, incredibly thankful that you won over Josephine, gaining back control of your body once and for all. And though your heart goes out to Gabriel, you can’t help but be thankful that Josephine is forever gone.

In true ‘chaos of Sanctum’ fashion, it turns out that everyone else that you know and love has been left behind in Sanctum and are now likely in danger. And it turns out that Bellamy’s plan to save everyone was to use Josephine’s mind drive to bargain with Russell, using the life of Josephine for the lives of your people. And it turns out that the very same mind drive that was meant to save your people is now empty, because you vented all of Josephine’s memories, and she jumped ship in order to kill you and take your body instead. Too bad for her that you came out on top.

You make the suggestion of going back to Sanctum as Josephine and freeing your people yourself, but you are swiftly shot down by both Clarke and Bellamy. Which sends all of you back to the drawing board, brainstorming ways to save everyone and inflict minimal casualties. That drawing board, however, is taken over by Gabriel’s Children, who all seem a little too eager to kill all of you, with you and Gabriel at the top of their lists. Thanks to some split second decision making on Bellamy’s part, he figures out a plan that gets everyone what they want: you save your people, the Children of Gabriel get to kill Primes, Gabriel gets to save the rest of his people inside Sanctum. Bellamy’s plan, however, gets him and Octavia sent on a supply gathering mission, leaving you, Gabriel, and Clarke behind.

During which time, you propose to change the plan, a little uneager to release a bomb that will get innocent people killed, this new genocide reminding you a little too much of Mount Weather. And Clarke disagrees at first, uneager to see you march right back to the devil’s side without any back up. But it’s easy for you to convince her, because she's your twin, your other half, and she gets it. She may hate every second of it, but she understands completely the fears you posses about having to carry the weight of another genocide within you. More than that, she trusts you. She knows that you can get the job done and come out of the other side unharmed, which is why ultimately, she agrees.

Once the Blake siblings return, Gabriel breaks the news to them about the change of plans. Octavia doesn't seem to understand why this is a big deal at first, but Bellamy catches on right away. He turns to you with a glare, shaking his head sharply. “No. No way.”

You look at him with pleading eyes, trying to get him to understand why this plan has to happen. “Bellamy, it's the only way.”

“It's not the only way, because we’ll use the bomb as planned. Risking your life when we don't have to is just-”

You cut him off, finishing his sentence, “Is how we do better. Bellamy, I know you’re worried about losing me again, and trust me, I’m terrified to go back there and do this, but I have to. This is how we save lives, and prevent innocent ones from being taken. I know you, and I know you care about that too. If I go in as Josephine and shut down the shield, then Gabriel only needs to use enough red sun toxin to trigger the alarms and kill a few bugs. All of those people, innocent people, will be safe.”

He sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration, before turning away from you to look at your twin. “You’re okay with this?”

“Not really. But it’s how we do better.”

You can tell he’s starting to reluctantly come around, and he turns back to you, his expression serious. “If you fail, if Russell figures out that his daughter is dead, then all of our people are dead too.”

“I won't fail.”

He gives you a look, but he takes note of your conviction, and you know that he believes in you. And just like Clarke, he gives you his blessing, though you can tell that he hates doing it. You all turn to look at Octavia, who’s been quiet during the entire exchange. She looks at you for a long second and then nods, “If we can spare innocent lives, we should.”

You smile at her, nodding in thanks as she agrees with you instantly, and with everyone on the same page again, Gabriel goes back to building the smaller bomb. This time though, he is interrupted by the whine of motorcycle engines nearby. You all look up and at each other in shock, knowing what that means.

Sanctum riders.

Layla and a few other Children of Gabriel storm into the tent, tying all of you up and then gagging you. They spread you out across the room, with you and Bellamy beside each other, Clarke across from you, Octavia to your left and Gabriel to your right. You’re only in there for a few minutes, listening to the fighting outside when you hear a strange scratching sound from the back of the tent. You turn that way, eyes watching as a blade sticks through the material of the tent, dragging down to the bottom, creating a slit in the fabric. You all tense up, unsure who’s about to come inside, surprised when it’s Murphy’s head that pokes through. He steps inside, followed by Jade, a gun in her hand. At the sight of them, you recognize this for what it is: a rescue mission. You know they’re here for you, well at least they're here for your body, and you tense up as you watch Murphy and Jade slip inside.

Murphy steps into the middle of the tent, while Jade sneaks around the back, ducked behind the debris and mess, and once she’s in position, Murphy calls out to Layla, “Hey there.”

Layla spins around quickly, instantly lifting her gun and aiming it at Murphy, but Jade sneaks up behind her a second later and hits her with her rifle, knocking Layla out. Jade grabs Layla’s dropped weapon as she walks past, moving carefully before dropping down in front of you. “Josephine?”

You shift your eyes to Clarke, who gives you a subtle nod of her head, and you know you can't risk looking at Bellamy given his close proximity to you. But you can sense him tensing up, and though you know that he doesn't want you to leave, he’d agree to it too. Which is why you meet Jade’s eyes and nod your head. Jade puts the guns down and pulls the gag out of your mouth, and you make sure to raise the octave of your voice slightly, trying to perfectly capture Josephine’s tone of voice. “Well done, Jade.”

Jade pulls out a knife to cut through the restraints wrapped around your wrists and ankles, and you shift your gaze to Murphy, smirking, “You just can't pick a side, can you, John?”

“The only reason I'm doing this is because Emori dies if I don't.” Murphy turns to look at Bellamy, voice dropping a little. “The others are in trouble too. I promise I'll do what I can for them.”

Jade stands and helps you to your feet, looking between you and Murphy. “Give us two seconds to make sure it's clear, then follow.”

Just then, Layla starts to shift, and Jade grabs and lifts her gun, prepared to kill her. You feel a rush of alarm, and despite the threats she's hurled at you since showing up a few hours ago, you don't want to watch her die. You reach out and put your hand on the barrel, pushing the gun down to lower it, your tone commanding and angry. “No, this one's mine.”

You grab the discarded pistol from the table and aim it at Layla, glancing over your shoulder to look at Jade, who seems content to let you handle this. “Go, make sure it's clear.”

She nods and immediately turns to slip out of the tent, but Murphy stays put, his eyes locked on you suspiciously. “Is she really gone this time?”

“Yes. Boohoo.” You smirk at him, taunting him, using your earlier quip to Josephine and throwing it at Murphy this time. You can see a flash of anger cross his features, but you speak up before he can channel it, reminding him of the danger you’re in, waving the gun slightly. “Now, as soon as I pull this trigger, your little decoy trick will fail. You better run.”

He gives you one last look before he jogs to the cut in the tent and heads outside, and you wait for a full minute before turning back to Layla. She looks up at you with fear, clearly expecting you to kill her, but you surprise her by turning the gun away and then firing a single shot into the floor, keeping her safe. And then you set the gun down and run over to Bellamy, pulling the gag out of his mouth and giving him an earnest look. “I can do this, Bellamy.”

“I know you can. Go get that shield down, and we’ll bring the cavalry.”

You nod and smile, “I love you.”

“I love you more than the stars.” And with that you pull his face to yours and kiss him hard, reminding him of just how much he means to you. You turn and head to the door, stopping in front of Clarke along the way. You pull the gag from her mouth and she whispers, “I believe in you, la lune. Be safe.”

“You too, shining star.”

You give her a quick hug before you stand and look over at everyone one last time before you slip out of the tent and into the cool night air. You look around, eyes searching the woods nearby for any sign of Jade or Murphy, when someone flashes a light at you, signaling their location. You head that way, finding Jade and Murphy waiting for you, and they quickly lead you through the woods and to a pair of bikes hidden underneath a pile of leaves. Jade passes you a helmet before getting the bike upright, and then she waits for you to hop on, expecting you to drive yourself back. You move to straddle the bike, hoping you remember enough to get by as Jade readies the other bike for her and Murphy. And then on her signal, you both fire them up and drive away, heading back towards Sanctum.

You do pretty well on the ride back, and you arrive at the shield of Sanctum proud of yourself, though you can’t show it. As soon as you hop off the bike, it and your helmet are taken by a nearby guard, and the shield is quickly brought down so all of you can enter inside. You are accompanied by no less than 10 guards, all of whom seem wound tight and on edge. And though you feel the exact same with each step that brings you closer to Sanctum, you keep it hidden beneath a casual air of confident arrogance.

As soon as you crest the hill that leads to your first view of the palace, you are met with another group of guards, all standing around Russell. When you catch sight of him, you’re sure you're going to throw up, but you suppress the sensation and look away, pretending to take in the sights of Sanctum. And as a last ditch effort, you reach up and casually twirl your hair between your fingers in the way you've seen Josephine do in the hundreds of memories that you watched. With a small deep breath to steady yourself, you turn and meet Russell’s eyes, which are watching you closely. You smile and quip, “What? No hug?”

“Josephine.” His face breaks into the widest grin when he hears that his daughter is alive, and you’d almost feel bad for him if not for the fact that he's an evil body snatching asshole. Still, he takes you up on your offer and steps towards you, pulling you in for one of the tightest hugs you’ve ever experienced. You’re a little caught off guard by his fervor, but even more caught off by the question he mutters near your ear. “How is this possible?”

He pulls away and you smirk, “It's a long story. Suffice to say, I'm awesome.”

But then you think of the lack of the mind drive in your head and you know that the second he realizes you’re not Josephine you're dead, so you lie and say, “What I'm not, however, is immortal. Gabriel took out my drive.”

Russell’s face falls, but he nods and turns to a pair of guards behind him, motioning to Murphy. “Take him to Emori, and clear the doctor and the rest of their people from the lab.”

Your brows pull together at the mention of your mom and the others in the lab, and the mention of your own mother makes you realize there is another mother missing. You glance around for her and then shift your gaze to Russell. “Where's Mom?”

He lifts his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a mind drive, still stained with Nightblood. You do your best to look worried, though you could honestly care less that Simone got what she deserved. “There was an incident, but it's okay. I was just on my way to resurrect her, but that can wait.”

You shake your head, not understanding. “Resurrect her in who?”

He gives you a look, and you remember the bits and pieces you gathered from Josephine before Bellamy and Clarke dragged you out of Sanctum. Your mom, your real mother, was back in space making the Primes Nightblood. “Abby did it. We can make hosts.”

“Yes, but not how you think.” Your stomach drops as he says that, not sure you want to know what that means. But he doesn't notice, and he reaches out and wraps his arm around you, leading you towards the lab. “Come on, let's get you checked out.”

As soon as he starts to lead you away, he asks for a quick rundown of the events prior to this moment. You keep most of the story the same, aware that bits of the truth will make the lies easier to remember. The only thing you change, however, is the fact that you survived the second mind wipe and Josephine didn't. “Anyway, I killed her in the mindspace. Now here we are.”

As you step into the lab, your eyes fall on a small body strapped to the chair in the center of the room, black blood leading from tubes in their arms and into a small bottle. Your stomach drops even further and you pause a little, before reminding yourself who you are and where you are, leading you to quip, “How about next time, we choose a less crowded host, what do you say?”

As you come around the chair and you finally get a look at who is strapped to it, you have to work hard to keep your expression neutral and impassive, because it’s Madi. Your niece, your little sun, is currently being drained for her Nightblood bone marrow, just like the Mountain Men did in Mount Weather. You try to keep your tone light as you ask, “And what is this?”

You turn to look at Russell with a smirk, channeling Josephine’s unhinged ways, and he answers, “This is how we make hosts.”

You don't get to answer, because Madi starts to stir at the sound of your voice, muttering your name before she asks, “Ani, is that you?”

She sounds so small and hurt and broken and it makes you want to save her and break this whole moon in half. But the rest of your people are out there, and they’re still in trouble, and they're relying on you to get the shield down. So you continue the facade and answer, “No. It's not. She put up a good fight, though, kid. Can't win them all.”

Madi doesn't react well to that, and she starts screaming, “We're gonna kill you! We're gonna kill all of you and everything you love!”

You try to hide the emotion you're feeling as you turn and grab one of the tranq sticks behind you before walking back over to Madi and sticking it in her arm, knocking her out. And then you turn to Russell, curious about how much life your niece has left. “How many doses can we get out of her before she dies?”

His expression changes, and you’re worried you've said the wrong thing, that you sounded too worried when asking. So you backtrack and smile, shaking your head and turning away from her. “You know what? Nevermind. It's time for my new drive, being mortal sucks.”

Russell smiles at you and sets up a chair, motioning for you to sit in it, face hidden from view, giving him access to your neck. As he works on giving you another drive, he tells you about the chaos in Sanctum that occurred while you were gone, including the chain of events that led to the death of Simone, your fake mom. You hum and respond when appropriate, though you spend the entire time anxiously worrying about Madi and Bellamy and Clarke and the rest of your people. As Russell finishes up the stitches on your neck, Madi wakes up again, the tranq stick not working long enough. And as soon as she catches sight of you, she starts yelling again, tugging against her restraints as she rages, “We should've killed you first. Once we're free, you will burn. You will all burn! You will not get rid of us! We are eternal!”

We? Us? You keep your mouth shut during Madi's tirade, terrified that your emotions will make your voice quiver and you’ll give yourself away, but you try to use your silence to process her words, trying to figure out why she's talking about herself in a plural sense. Russell finally has enough of Madi’s yelling and he yells for the guards to retrieve the doctors, which only further fuels your anxiety. Because if your mother breaks down when she finds out that you're not you, you’re worried that you’ll break character to comfort her, getting all of you killed.

You don't have to worry about what you’ll do for long, because the moment quickly comes and the door swings open, your eyes catching sight of three sets of legs. Madi continues to yell and fight until Jackson sedates her, a moment which can't come soon enough. You're able to hide your falling tears as your face is hidden, but you know that the moment will soon be up and you’ll have to face everyone in this room and play your part well. Russell dabs at your neck with a rag and then mutters, “There.”

He squeezes your shoulder, letting you know you're good to get up, and you sit up slowly, your eyes landing on your mother immediately as she stands in front of you, watching you closely. You keep your expression neutral, trying to pretend that you have no emotion or feelings towards her, and she must see that, because she starts to cry. It breaks your heart and you have to look away, distressed at the idea that your mother thinks she’s looking at someone else in your body. Russell distracts you a little by asking, “How do you feel?”

“Peachy keen Josephine.” Your gaze falls back to your mother, who is now crying harder, her face scrunched up and tears rapidly falling down her face. You can't take the sight of it anymore, so you channel Josephine and snap, “Oh, stop it. I'm not her.”

Her sadness morphs into anger, and she walks towards Russell, stopping when she’s close enough to get in his face. “I will kill you for this.”

“I once believed that I would never stray from the moral path, and then I killed my family in the first eclipse. I'd have done anything to bring them back, so I believe you.”

And then he turns and holds out a hand for you, which you reach out and take. He leads you from the room, past your mother and your niece and your friends, and you manage to call out, “Toodle-loo.” before practically running from the room. Russell leads you past the creepy army of skeletons that watched over you as you were nearly murdered, before taking you out of the reliquary and up the stairs to the palace. You walk into a large dining hall together, Murphy and Emori already sitting at a table inside, as Russell turns to you, his voice low. “You must be starving, let's get you something to eat. After that, I need you to handle the Naming Day preparations.”

You shake your head, well aware that if you get sucked into party planning, you’ll never be able to get away and get the shield down. But you know you can't say that, so instead you say, “I'm not hungry and I just got back. Get Priya to do it.”

He looks into your pleading eyes, and you know he’s picturing the first Josephine, the one he killed, the one he raised from birth. And his sentiment is enough for him to swing over to your side. “Fine, I'll get Priya to do it.”

“Good. Now, if I spend one more minute like this,” you motion down to your clothes, the ones that you wear daily, but the ones that Josephine seems to despise. “I will spontaneously combust from the shame.”

Russell smiles and nods, “Go get cleaned up, I'll resurrect your mother.”

From the table nearby, Emori calls out, “Wait, does that mean Echo's still alive?”

Echo. She's the next host for Simone. You rack your brain quickly, wondering how you can buy her time before she gets wiped out for good. You decide to continue playing off of Russell’s sentiment, hoping it’s enough to delay Echo’s murder. “Hey, I want to be there when Mom comes back. Wait for me?”

Lucky for you and for Echo, Russell smiles and nods his head again. “Of course, sweetheart. Be quick.”

You nod and turn and walk out, Jade following you as you go. You almost roll your eyes but you refrain, already working on how to get rid of her. As you reach the doors of your room, she takes up her post outside, and you stop and look at her before you step inside. “I’m gonna get cleaned up and take a shower. Don't wake me for a few hours, I had a long night.”

She nods once, letting you know she understands, and then you turn and head into Josephine's room, closing the door shut behind you. You head straight for the bathroom and turn on the water in the shower before stepping over to the mirror and looking at your reflection. You don't have time to actually shower but you look like hell, and there's no way Josephine would be walking around like this. So you quickly clean your face off and fix your hair, before raiding Josephine’s closet for an outfit that is nicer than your own, but practical enough that you can kick ass in it if you need to. Once you look presentable, you turn off the shower and throw your clothes in the trash, thinking it’s something that dramatic ass Josephine would do.

You ruffle the sheets to make them look slept in, just in case someone walks into this room, and then you head to the window and swing it open to look outside. There’s nothing beneath your window, but there is a series of balconies that zig zag along the wall, starting to your left. And if you stand on the edge of your window and say enough prayers to the Universe, you think you can reach it if you jump out towards it. Thankfully, Sanctum is on lockdown because of the spreading revolution, so no one sees you leaping and jumping your way from the top of the palace down to the bottom. The whole experience reminds you of escaping the throne room in Polis after Clarke destroyed the City of Light, and the reminder of Bellamy and Clarke is enough to fuel your descent down to the ground.

The night is fading when you finally reach the ground, the suns starting to rise in the sky, urging you to get a move on as everyone is likely just outside of the shield by now, waiting for you to take it down. You sneak around the palace and to the front, heading straight for the lab again, the guards opening the door to you without a second thought. You keep your expression neutral and your head high, exuding all the power that you can possibly manage as you step into the lab. Your mom, Jackson, and Raven all jump and scramble apart, clearly up to something based on their nervous expressions.

But you ignore them and jog towards your mom, reaching out and pulling her into your arms, hugging her tight and letting her know you're okay. She freezes and whispers your name, still skeptical, and you feel tears start to fall down your face as you nod, letting her know that it’s actually you. She wraps her arms around you and hugs you back just as tightly, both of you crying as you hold each other. She cries into your hair, “What happened? I thought I...how?”

You both pull apart and you reach up to swipe away your fallen tears. “It's a long story, but I'm okay.”

She accepts that's all you can say for now, before you turn your gaze to Madi, who is still sedated, looking even worse than before. You feel worry etch itself into your features and Raven catches sight of it before she informs you, “It's the Flame.”

You look up at her in horror. “The Flame that I put in her head?”

“It’s Sheidheda. I'm working the problem, but I need Becca's book.”

You look down at Madi, and as much as you hate to say it, you know that getting the shield down is the first priority. Because without any Primes in need of Nightblood, she’ll be safe again. You turn to look at Raven again and you mutter, “That can wait because I need you to come with me. We don't have much time, we have to lower the shield. Bellamy, Clarke, and Octavia are waiting with the Children of Gabriel.”

“I can't go with you.” Raven shakes her head, her eyes dropping down to Madi. “If she wakes up again, Sheidheda will kill her.”

You nod, thinking before you counter, “Okay, I'll use Ryker. The reactor's beneath the machine shop anyway.”

“No.” You look up at her in surprise, her objection coming out stronger than you were expecting. You must look confused because she clarifies, “Ryker turned Echo in, he won't help you.”

“He won’t help me, but he’ll help Josephine. She can be very persuasive.” You turn your focus back to your mom, your voice almost pleading. “Until then, promise me you won't take any more bone marrow.”

Jackson pipes up, “That's not a problem now. There's another Nightblood in the family.”

You look at your mom in shock, about to object, but she shakes her head, reaching out to put her hand on your cheek. “I won't let them take her.”

Jackson recalls the time all of you spent in Becca’s lab, back before Praimfaya, back before body snatching Primes, and he muses, “Like mother, like daughter.”

You ignore him, focusing on your mother still. “I love you.”

She smiles at you, bright and genuine and happy, and you marvel at it, as it’s a smile she gives you so rarely. You tuck it into your memory, wanting to keep it forever as she whispers back, “I love you too, la lune. Now go save us all.”

You nod and head straight to Ryker’s shop to persuade him to take the shield down for you. Unfortunately, instead of Ryker, you find Ryker’s dead body, his skin cool to the touch, meaning he’s been out for a while. You make a split second decision to take his mind drive so you can use it as leverage against Priya, and no sooner do you get the drive out does Russell open the door to the shop and head your way. He seems oblivious to the drive you have stolen, or the fact that you snuck out hours ago, and you frame Echo as the thief of the drive, vowing to get it back for him. Russell agrees and tells you he’s going to resurrect the others in the meantime, giving you enough time to find Echo and the missing drive so that you can end this once and for all. He also forces you to take a handful of guards with you, and you have to hide your annoyance as they are just one more roadblock in your way.

You search a few places for Priya, relieved when you finally find her inside the tavern, stiff and uncomfortable. You assume your Josephine persona and call out to her, “Priya, there you are. I've been looking all over.”

She turns around in shock and gives you a cool smile when she sees you. “Josie. I heard you had quite the adventure.”

“You have no idea, and I'll tell you all about it, but first I need your help with something in the machine shop.”

She looks at you with concern, “What did Ryker do now?”

“More like what didn't he do.” You drop your voice lower, so the others in the tavern can't hear you as well. “Dad asked him to wipe one of the prisoners, but he's completely lost his nerve. It's embarrassing.”

“He's never wanted to face the reality of our situation. Let's go.”

The two of you turn to leave, heading towards the door with your guards right behind you, but you only make it halfway there before a loud yell comes from behind you. You and Priya jump and turn around in shock, just in time to see Echo vaulting herself off the bar, taking out one of your guards. Gaia and Miller jump over next and take out the other two, and as soon as Priya sees that you are both guardless, she turns to the door in fear, yelling, “Josephine, come on!”

But as she tries to run past you, you reach out and punch her, knocking her out, and her body falls to the floor with a thud. You look up and meet the surprised eyes of your friends, and you smile at them, letting them know it’s you. Echo smiles back and whispers, “I knew it.”

She walks towards you and pulls you in for a hug, and she releases you a moment later, allowing you to hug both Miller and Gaia in greeting. With the mini reunion out of the way, Gaia looks at you with confusion. “How are you here?”

“I'll explain later, but first we need to lower the shield. Bellamy and Clarke are out there with the cavalry. We can get Priya to help me take down the reactor, and then we go after Madi.”

They nod in agreement, letting you know they’re with you, and you, Echo, Miller, and Gaia all sneak Priya back to Ryker’s shop and anxiously wait for her to wake up. The suns have already set on this impossibly short day, and you continue to grow anxious with each passing second, aware that a whole bunch of people are relying on you to get this damn shield down so Gabriel can deploy the toxin. Though, you start to think that someone somewhere got the plan mixed up, because you hear alarms go off for the toxin, though the shield is still very much up and Priya is still very much unconscious. You smack her face a few times to wake her up, and you threaten to smash Ryker’s drive if she doesn't agree to cooperate. The threat seems to do the job because she quickly types in the code to take it down before Miller tugs the bag back down on her head after you motion for the group to follow you.

You all sneak down to the base of the stairs to Sanctum, waiting for Bellamy and Clarke to arrive with the others, and after a few tense minutes of waiting, they come running up the hill towards you. They both hug you desperately, grateful that you’re still alive, and you inform them of the danger you’re all in now that Gabriel has deployed the toxin too early. A crowd has gathered outside the palace, and a collective decision is made to tell the truth using Priya, all of you hoping that will be enough to convince the people of Sanctum that they are living a lie, and that the ensuing chaos will be enough for you to get your people out.

Bellamy agrees to take Priya and the drive and do the talking, since he's always been the best with speeches, and a few minutes later the tides seem to have turned in your direction. That is, until Russell steps out of the palace and gives a short speech about how disappointed he is, seconds before he deploys a small bomb made of red sun toxin. This toxin quickly spreads through the crowd, turning believers against non believers, and the Children of Gabriel that are all around you pass out the antitoxin so none of you will be affected.

As Bellamy returns and you all try to figure out what to do now, Miller catches sight of Raven, Madi, and Jackson being led into the palace, all three of them restrained. Miller and Clarke seem desperate to reach the people you love, but you know damn well that you have the best chance of getting in there and getting them out alive. And though Clarke and Bellamy again seem reluctant to let you go, they know you have the best chance too. So with another tearful goodbye you head to the palace with Gaia in tow, who is pretending to be one of your guards. As soon as you step inside of the large dining hall where the others are gathered, Gaia melts into the background and you look around the room, taking everything in.

Murphy and Emori are dressed in the nicest clothes you've ever seen them in, both of them also wearing makeup, clearly now part of the elite group of Primes. Gabriel is also in the room, surprisingly enough, restrained and being held captive along the edge of the room. The rest of the room is dotted with various other Primes, all recently resurrected. As soon as Russell sees you, he anxiously walks your way. “Thank God. Where have you been?”

“I was looking for Priya, but then I was blocked by a bunch of Gabriel's lunatic children. She's dead, by the way. What the hell is going on?”

A surprising voice answers from behind you, “We're leaving Sanctum until it's purified.”

You turn around in confusion, coming face to face with your mother, dressed in Sanctum clothes. She crosses the room and closes the space between the two of you, and you tentatively whisper, “Mom?”

You already know in your bones that it isn't her, but you pray that she answers you in some way, letting you know that she’s still inside her head. You pray that your mother has not just been body snatched by the asshole Primes, but you already know that she has. Gabriel must sense your turmoil because he answers for your mother, “Your mother murdered her mother. Ironic, don't you think?”

And Gabriel’s confirmation hits you like a train. You want to scream and cry and truly burn this fucking moon to the ground for all they have done to you and your family, but you can't. You have a part to play and you have to play it for your people’s sake. So you turn to Gabriel and mask your sorrow for your mother as sorrow of regret, slapping him across the face as you snap, “Don't you speak to me. How could I have ever loved such a traitor?”

You feel tears run down your face, only visible to Gabriel, and your mother, your bodysnatched mother, puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, not realizing that your tears are for the body she’s in. “Oh, sweetheart. At least you have closure.”

Russell cuts your mourning short as he anxiously eyes the room. “That's enough. Now that we're all accounted for, it's time to go. Have you all taken the antitoxin?”

Everyone nods, you included, but you also shake your head in confusion. “Go? Where?”

“To space, of course. Sanctum has lost us. For now, anyway.”

One of the Primes argues, “We have no pilot. Priya's dead. Maybe if you didn't kill the Lees.”

“That won't be a problem.” Your mother, Simone, turns and grabs a gun from one of the guards, before spinning and locking her gaze on Raven. “We don't need the Lees, do we, Raven?”

“Go float yourself, murderer.”

Simone cocks the gun and points it at Madi, and you have to work hard to keep your fear hidden beneath your neutral expression. “How about now?”

Raven looks distressed, tears streaming down her face, her eyes darting over to you. You can’t say or do anything that will give yourself away, but you have to hope she’s as desperate to save Madi as you are. And it seems as though she is, because she turns her gaze back to Simone, nodding her head and softly whispering, “Okay.”

“Good choice.”

Russell accepts the compliance and begins yelling orders, “Guards, take the prisoners. We're using the tunnel, but be prepared for anything.” Everyone starts to file out of the room behind the guards and the prisoners, leaving you to linger behind. Russell starts to walk past you, but pauses when he reaches Gabriel. “Goodbye, old friend. Sanctum is yours, though I suspect you won't last very long.”

He stalks out of the room with Simone on his arm, leaving just you, Gaia, Murphy, Emori, and a few guards. You start to slowly follow the others out of the room, and Murphy and Emori pass you as you do, heading in the wrong direction. You stop and turn to ask, “You're not coming?”

Murphy is upset, and you can see tears in his eyes, with some already fallen down his face. He steps close to you, his voice an angry whisper. “You killed her. All she did was help and you killed her.”

You feel tears rise to your eyes when you realize he’s talking about you. Everyone's favorite cockroach is expressing regret and sadness for the way things went down with you and your body snatching. You glance at Emori, wondering if she shares the sentiment, and you catch the tears in her eyes before she nods. “We're staying. We're gonna save our people.”

You turn to look at Murphy, figuring it’s safe enough to let him know that you're okay. You smile a little and whisper, “I'm proud of you, Murphy.”

His eyes go wide as he realizes that you called him Murphy and not John, and you see the smallest smile grace his lips before he remembers to hide it. But he lets you know that he understands by leaning close and whispering, “Just so you know, Josephine called me ‘John’.”

You don’t get the chance to say anything else, because Russell calls out from behind you, “Josie, Daniel, Kaylee, is there a problem?”

You quickly wipe away your tears, and put a sneer on your face, turning to face him. “They changed their minds. Cowards.”

“The mind drive is a terrible thing to waste.” He shrugs and then turns to look at you again, “Josie, bring your guards and let's go.”

“Guards, move out.”

As all of you start heading towards the door, Gaia included, Russell catches a glimpse of her and yells out, “Wait, she's one of them! Throw her to the wolves.”

Four sets of guns turn on her, and Gaia looks at you with fear. You do some quick thinking and shout, “No! I saw her in Clarke's mind. Threatening the child may work on Raven, but if I'm right, we need her to get on that ship.”

You turn to look at Russell, trying to convince him that you know what you're talking about, and he finally nods, motioning for the other guards to lower their guns and grab her instead. They comply, and Russell takes one last look around the room before motioning for you to leave ahead of him, as he and the other guards follow closely behind.

You all quickly head to the transport ship and board with your hostages, and Raven flies you up to the Eligius mothership despite her earlier disagreement. You, Russell, and Simone all stand in the airlock with guns to the heads of your hostages, waiting for the doors to slide open so you can begin your negotiations. Some of Wonkru, led by Indra and accompanied by Niylah, all stand at the entrance waiting, guns pointed your way. At first, Indra seems unwilling to let any of you board, but luckily Gaia manages to signal to her mother to stand down, allowing all of you to take control of the ship. All of the people who are awake on the ship are led to the mess hall where they can be easily contained, and as soon as you let Madi and the other prisoners go, Madi yells out for those in the room to attack.

They are quickly shot down, restoring order within seconds, and you cross the room to Madi in a flash, smacking her across the face so hard that you knock her out. You let out a shaky breath, trying to push back your emotions over hitting your niece, though only your people see it because of the way you’re facing. You quickly compose yourself and turn back to your fellow Primes, heading towards the door as you call out, “Let them rot!”

All of the Primes follow you out into the hall, and once there, you start to discuss next steps. One of the male Primes, you don't know who, turns to Russell as soon as you are outside of the mess hall. “Planet Beta. Russell, we don't even know if it's survivable.”

“If it isn't, we go for Gamma, then Delta, then Epsilon. We won't even have to land to find out if it's survivable. Assuming there are no other signal sucking anomalies, we can access the mind drives of the other teams wirelessly from up here.”

Everyone seems placated with this information, everyone that is, except for Simone. She turns to her husband, shaking her head. “Russell, I love you, and I will go with you across the stars and back, but that child is a problem.”

You roll your eyes, hoping you can diffuse the talk of murdering Madi with a Josephine style joke. “Oh, for God's sake, she has the blood. In fact, dibs on her as my next host.”

Russell adds, “Simone, if we kill their leader, they will never follow us, and we need those people to serve us unless you plan on cleaning latrines.”

She sighs, clearly only on board with the idea of keeping Madi alive, because she doesn't want to do the jobs that she thinks she is too superior for. The thought makes you sick to your stomach. “Fine, but we’re killing her sleeping army because I promise you they are already talking about how to wake them. We brought enough mind wiping fluid to erase them all in their sleep, where they'll be perfectly preserved until one of us needs a new host.”

Your mind starts to race, wondering how much longer you can keep up this facade while still also saving the hundreds of Wonkru and Eligius people that are sleeping peacefully on this ship. You miss the agreement of the other Primes, and you're only pulled out of your head when Russell turns to you expectantly. “Josie, what say you?”

You slap a smile on your face and answer, “Are you kidding? It's brilliant! A little genocide, a long nap. What the hell? Let's be explorers.”

Russell sends the other Primes to the bridge of the ship, while you, him, and Simone retrieve the mind wiping fluid from the transport ship and head towards the sleeping army. You offer to carry it for them, and they think nothing of it, passing the liquid to you as they discuss the logistics of how to vent this into the room. The whole way to the cryo chambers all you do is search for an opportunity to run off with this liquid, but you don’t know what you’d do after that or where you’d go. You're stuck on a ship in the sky with no way to fly back down to Sanctum, all while the rest of your friends are locked up on the other side of the ship. So instead, you go along with the plans and discussions, nodding when appropriate, standing near the back as Simone rigs up the ventilation system to hold the fluid. She works quickly, all while you rack your brain to stop this, but you struggle to think of anything useful. Eventually though, time is up, and Simone reaches out to you. “Hand me the serum.”

You pull it away from her outstretched hand, your brain only able to come up with one distraction technique. You look at Simone with concern, before asking, “Are you feeling okay? You look pale. Have you had any nosebleeds or memory flashes that aren't familiar?”

“No, what are you talking about?”

You try to sound as casual as you can when you answer, “Oh, it's something I saw in the mindspace. Her mother had the same neuromesh as she did. I thought they destroyed it with an EMP, but-”

Russell cuts you off, his voice resolute and a smile on his face, as if failed mind wipes are a funny little mistake. “They did, I examined her before resurrection. I wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.”

Your blood runs cold, and you realize that this is it. There are no more stops for you to pull, no more tricks. You have to give up your advantage, reveal that you’re not Josephine at all, because that’s the only way to prevent a genocide. So when Simone reaches for the container again, you pull your arm away, backing up and putting distance between you and Josephine’s parents. Russell seems to figure it out first, though Simone is right behind him. His eyes well up with tears as he looks at you with sorrow, and you have another thought that it would be heartbreaking if he wasn't talking about a murdering body snatcher who tried to kill you multiple times, just so she could keep your body. “No, not Josie!”

You back away from the grieving parents, looking between then, shaking your head. “I can't let you kill these people. And believe it or not, I am sorry for your loss.”

You give them both one last look before you take off running, trying to put as much distance between you and them as you can. You don't hear the thundering of footsteps following you, and you start to rack your brain on why they wouldn’t follow you, until you have the horrifying realization that they’re likely grabbing Madi and searching for some way to track your mind drive. Deciding to tackle one problem at a time, you head to one of the hallways that holds an outer door, rigging up a way to get yourself out of this mess. You find a supply closet with a bunch of old and broken items from the ship, including a few discarded safety tethers. You grab them and head back to the lever to the outer door, tying them as tight as you can to a large metal bar on the wall. Then you attach the other side of the tether to your waist, hoping that it’s strong enough to hold you if the Primes call you on your bluff.

Sure enough, a few minutes later the Primes come into the hall, a tracker held in one of their hands, weapons in all the others. As soon as you see them you reach out and put your hand on the lever and yell, “Don't move! I set the inner door to stay open when I pull this, so you can put the guns down, or you can float.”

The Primes all freeze, looking between each other in shock, wondering what to do, when Simone turns her gun on all the others, “You heard her, weapons down now.”

You look at her with hope, lip quivering as you fight back tears, realizing that maybe your mom is okay after all. “Mom?”

She turns to you with a smile, and it warms your entire body. “Yes, it's me.”

The other Primes all put their guns down, and once your mother knows that you're safe, she turns to you with tears in her eyes. “I've been pretending too. Now let's lock them up and go save Madi.”

She turns back to the others, still pointing her gun at them, but something about the situation isn't sitting right with you. You aren't sure what, maybe it's because she didn't use your nickname or hug you or doesn't seem as emotional as she usually would be. Maybe it’s the fact that you remember Russell’s words about how he double checked for a neural mesh and found none, meaning there would be nowhere for your mother to go in the mindspace. Regardless of what it is, you call out to your mom's back, “What's my father's name?”

You repeat his name in your head like a mantra, begging her to say it, but your mother only turns around and looks at you with a blank expression. That’s enough for you to know the truth, that your mother truly is dead, and Simone is just trying to play you. You can tell that she knows you aren't buying it anymore, because she tries to turn her gun on you, but you quickly pull the lever to the outer door, sending all of the other Primes into space. Simone is the exception though, because she manages to reach out for you on her way past, wrapping her arms around your waist and holding onto you tightly as you both move and shift with the rushing air. You look down into your mother’s face, now being worn by someone else, and you swear you can feel your heart rip in half. You killed this woman's daughter, and you know she'll never let you live after this.

Which is why you put your hand on your mother’s forehead and push, sending her out into space with the other Primes. You use the tether to make your way back to the lever, pushing it down so you can close the outer doors again. You hit the ground with a thud, a sob tearing through you for the first time, finally able to mourn the loss of your mother. But then you remember that Russell was not with the group, and he likely has Madi, so you push your emotions aside for now, tucking them away. You untie yourself and head straight for the mess hall in search of your niece. You use Shaw’s failsafe code to get into the room, looking around at the group gathered there as they all stare at you in shock. “Where's Madi?”

Gaia answers, “Russell took her.”

“Oh, no. Oh, no. No, no.” You feel your knees give out beneath you as you realize that this is it for Madi. She is going to be killed for what you've done, and there is likely no way for you to stop it. Raven comes over to you, grabbing your arm, trying to comfort you. “We'll get her back.”

You look up at her with tears in your eyes, “No, you don't understand. I killed his family, and now he's gonna kill mine.”

Before she can answer you, the door to the mess hall slides open. You scramble to your feet and watch Madi and Russell walk in, followed by a large group of armed warriors. Indra mutters, “The demon awoke Wonkru.”

Madi yells, “Kneel if you want to live!”

You are the first one to kneel, tears in your eyes, and she looks down at you with disgust. “They said you were strong, but you're weak. Your love has made you so.”

You feel your tears spill down your face, and you lean over to one of the Wonkru guards nearby, snatching the pistol from his side and holding it to your temple. You look into Madi’s eyes, ignoring the fact that Sheidheda has made them so cold and unfeeling, and you start to beg. “Madi, I know you're in there. Please come back. I lost my mother today, I nearly lost myself. I don't know if Clarke and Bellamy are okay, and I can't lose you too. Please.”

She looks at you with a blank stare and the tears fall down your face as you reach for the trigger. “I'm gonna pull the trigger in 3...2…”

You nearly make it to one, stopping as Madi takes in a deep breath, holding up her hand and yelling, “Take the Prime and his men!”

Wonkru immediately responds and lowers their weapons, only turning them on Russell and his other men. Madi runs across the room and straight into your arms, both of you hugging each other tightly as you relish in the fact that you have saved one of your family members today. But just as you’re enjoying your reunion, Madi starts to seize up in your arms, sending you into a panic as Raven yells, “Get her upstairs!”

Jackson and Indra both grab her and quickly carry her upstairs, and you run up after them, despite not knowing what's going on. They take her into a small medical lab and strap her to a table as Raven lifts an electrical cord and sticks it into the open wound on Madi’s neck, presumably connecting it to the Flame, all the while Madi continues to seize. You call out to her, letting her know you’re here for her, trying to encourage her to fight in the same way that Clarke and Bellamy encouraged you. “Madi, I'm here. Listen to my voice, you can do this! You have to fight, Madi. You have to fight!”

Raven furiously types away at the computer, isolating Sheidheda’s code before yelling, “Got him!”

The code starts to delete from the Flame, uploading onto the other computer in the room. As soon as it’s up and out of Madi’s head, you look down at her expectantly, waiting for her to wake up. But in the same way you didn't immediately wake up after Gabriel tried to restart your heart, Madi doesn't move either. You reach out and press your finger to her neck, your stomach dropping when you barely feel a faint flutter beneath her skin. “Her pulse is too weak.”

Raven looks at you, remembering what it was like after you fried the Alie chip in her head. “We have to take it out like you did with me after the EMP.”

Jackson immediately hops into action and grabs a scalpel, increasing the cut on Madi’s neck before reaching for a pair of forceps. He uses them to pull the Flame out of her head, the AI looking terrible and destroyed as it pulls free from her neck. As soon as it’s out, Madi takes a deep breath, Sheidheda finally gone, her mind back to only holding one Commander. You drop down beside her, smoothing her hair back from her face and smiling as you whisper, “Hey little sun, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

She smiles at you slightly, still weak and exhausted, whispering, “Thank you, ani.”

You transfer your gaze to Raven, who is standing close, looking down at Madi with worry, and you reach out to her and grab her hand, squeezing in thanks, well aware that she did all of the work. “Thank you, Raven.”

She squeezes back, her face full of regret when she counters, “I’m sorry about Abby.”

You nod, still not ready to process the loss of your mother. And with your niece saved and your people saved, you want nothing more than to get back down to Sanctum to make sure that Bellamy and Clarke are safe. Raven agrees to get you ready to fly within minutes, and you assemble a small team to head back down to Sanctum, while everyone else waits it out for a while, allowing you to make sure it's safe for them to follow.

You’re relieved when the transport ship finally lands back inside Sanctum, ready to reunite with Bellamy and your twin again. You and Madi walk hand in hand back to the village, both of you leading the group of your people as you return. Everyone starts to break away from the group and hug their friends and family as they see them, and you're almost caught off guard by both Bellamy and Clarke running your way. Clarke runs straight for Madi and lifts her in her arms, holding her tight, while Bellamy scoops you up in a hug and twirls you, both of you laughing with happiness. He puts you down so he can kiss you, and when he pulls away, he pulls away just enough to whisper against your lips, “I had a whole speech planned, but I can't wait any longer. Will you marry me?”

Your smile grows wider, loving this proposal just as much as the first one, as this one comes off the heels of your nearest death experience to date, and you whisper back, “Yes, of course I will.”

Bellamy smiles and kisses you again, before sliding the ring on your finger, looking the happiest he has in a while. Clarke lets out a little happy cheer, and you roll your eyes at your twin before pulling her in for a hug, just as happy to see that she’s okay, and she hugs you back, celebrating the fact that despite all the odds, you survived. As the two of you pull apart and look Bellamy’s way, he starts to tell you all about the journey that Gabriel has planned and how all of you should go with him. Your mind flashes to your mother and how she’s now dead and gone, floated just like your father, and you desperately want to escape the memory of what you’ve done. Which is why you agree to the journey with Bellamy and the others, hoping it’s enough to take your mind off of things. Your mother’s death is exactly why Clarke agrees to stay, hoping that she can clean up the mess in Sanctum and make her proud. So though it pains you both to separate again so soon after reuniting, you do, both of you needing to process her death in your own ways.

You, Bellamy, Octavia, Gabriel, and Echo all head back to Gabriel’s camp together, exchanging stories of what all of you have missed. Before you know it, you make it back to Gabriel’s camp, and he leads you all inside of the tent, motioning for you to gather around as he pulls the rubber panels that make up the floor away, tossing them to the side, revealing an old hatch. “I have to tell you I'm very excited about this. I've been studying those symbols since we found the stone, we built the camp here because of it.”

He lifts the hatch, revealing a short ladder into the ground, and he climbs down inside. All of you file down the ladder after him, standing at the base of it, staring at the object hidden from the world beneath this camp. It’s a large ball, made of metal, designed in the same swirl on Octavia’s back. The entire thing is covered in different symbols, and somehow, the ball is floating, supported by nothing. All four of you stare it in shock, not believing what you’re seeing, and Gabriel just smiles at you, glad you’re just as enamored as he is.

Gabriel walks towards the stone, Octavia right behind him, as he says, “It's thousands of years old. We have no idea who made it or what generates the magnetic field that holds it up, but we're pretty sure it's what sucks in all the radio signals.”

Some of the symbols on her back are red, it's a code.”

“Very good. We're about to find out what it's for.” Gabriel holds his hand out to Octavia, “May I see the drawing, please?”

She pulls the drawing of the tattoo from her pocket, passing it to him, and he unfolds it, searching the stone for each of the red symbols, and then touching them with two fingers, the symbol humming beneath his touch. As he works, Bellamy asks, “What happens if you're right?”

“I filled 100 notebooks with possible answers to that question.” He comes to a stop in front of the last signal, now standing beside Octavia. He turns to her, a small smile on his face. “The last symbol in the series is called an octonion. Advanced mathematics way above my head, but I don't think it's a coincidence you share a name. Please, it should be you.”

He gestures to the symbol, and she hesitates for a second before touching it, the symbol humming beneath Octavia’s touch. With the last symbol entered, you all stand waiting, staring at the stone in search of what’s going to happen next. Except, nothing happens, the moment stretching on for too long, and Gabriel’s face falls as he looks down at the sketched out tattoo again. “No, no, no, no, no. It can't be right, we must have got something wrong.”

As he turns to look at Octavia, a low rumble starts to shake the ground above, a sound not unnoticed by your fiance. He holds up his hand to Gabriel, gesturing for him to stop talking. “Quiet.”

All of you stand perfectly still, the rumbling growing increasingly louder, a strange green glow coming from the ground above the hatch. Gabriel looks up with a smile, the paper in his hand slipping from his grip, floating to the ground. “Oh, my God. I knew it.”

He bolts past all of you and heads up the ladder incredibly fast, and all of you scurry after him, trying to keep up. When you get into the tent, it’s flapping and shaking like you're in the middle of a windstorm, and a bright green light surrounds everything, casting an eerie glow. The sound is almost deafening, and you yell to be heard above it, “What the hell is this?”

Octavia just ominously whispers, “She's here.”

You look at her, taking note of the shocked expression on her face, very different from the confused expression on your own. She starts to walk forward slowly, and you hear a high pitched whine from the mouth of the tent, seconds before a figure starts to step inside. It's a girl, not much older than you are, her hair done up in two buns. She has symbols like the ones tattooed on Octavia back, except hers are on her face, etched across her cheeks and forehead. Octavia laughs when she sees the girl, a sound of happy shock, and she says, “Hope.”

You all look at Octavia, wondering what the hell is going on, and the girl, Hope, answers, “I couldn't get out of it, he has my mother. I'm so sorry, Octavia.”

They embrace, pulling each other into a hug, one that seems stiff and awkward, and Bellamy watches on, his anxiety growing. He yells, “Octavia, what's happening?”

Octavia leans up and whispers something in the girl’s ear, the words lost to all of you over the roar of whatever is happening around you, and as soon as she finishes talking, they pull apart. Hope steps backwards, a knife in her hand, the tip coated in blood, and Echo yells, “Knife!”

The pieces fall together, and you and Bellamy look at O, who starts to fall backwards, clutching her side. Bellamy catches her, his voice worried as he mutters, “O.”

Echo runs over to Hope and restrains her, along with Gabriel, as Bellamy holds his sister in his arms, you right at their side. You reach out to Octavia, pulling her layers aside to get a look at the wound, and as you do, you hear another high pitch whine, seconds before a bright green cloud slides into the tent, washing over Octavia and then pulling away. As the green glow subsides, you and Bellamy stare at his now empty arms, his sister carried off by the bright beam of light. You look up at each other, sharing a look of disbelief, trying to confirm that you both saw the impossible. He looks back down at his shaking hands, her blood covering one of them, evidence that Octavia was here, and then he turns and heads for the exit of the tent looking for her. You follow him outside, Hope collapsing as you walk past, but you ignore her, following your fiance out into the woods, the bright green light subsiding, returning back to where it came from.

The woods outside are empty, devoid of any sign of Octavia, no blood, no clothing, no nothing left behind as proof that she was out here. Bellamy spins in place, tears falling down his cheeks, his voice breaking with worried desperation as he yells, “Octavia! Octavia! Octavia!”

And there’s nothing for you to do but watch as the love of your life falls apart, his sister now gone. The mystery of Sanctum grew and then subsided, taking Octavia Blake with it.

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #the 100 rewrite

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

Red Steam Part II

If you want context and even more bullshit read Part 1 here.

Words: 4.5k

Rating: E

Warnings: Mentions of violence, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

a/n: thank god there are so many synonyms for “steam”

It was only after he bribed the middle-aged Twi’lek clerk—who eyed the credits he set on her desk unimpressed, only to pocket them after an exaggerated sigh—and followed her up a cramped flight of stairs and along the dark, mazelike hallways of the second floor of the healing baths, that the Mandalorian found himself in front of the narrow black door that hid his bounty. Apparently.

The clerk’s molars chewed on a wooden toothpick while she fumbled with the key ring on her hip that rattled metallically with every step. She took her sweet time inspecting key by key and seemed unfazed by the waves of moans and the banging on walls that floated out of closed doors.

“Think he only brought a girl or two with him,” the Twi’lek mumbled as she took out a key from the bunch and held it close to her eyes. After a nod, she inserted it in the keyhole.

Mando scoffed. Only a girl or two. Like the kid hadn’t fucked himself into enough trouble already.

The clerk turned the doorknob, pushed it inwards and headed back to her station. Over her shoulder, she barked at the Mandalorian, “Make it quick.”

Yeah, he intended to.

That was about an hour ago.

The whole place is trashed. Mando gets up from the floor panting and clutching his bruised ribs. Something’s broken for sure. He limps towards his rival, who sits angry and defeated on a bed of splinters that confettied out of cracked staircase balusters when Mando was thrown against them and fell to the ground level. With painful movements, his heavy boot kicks the blaster from his adversary’s reach and picks it up.

It wasn’t his quarry who came after him hard when Mando barged into the little love nest. One moment the poor kid was begging for his orgasm, the next he was ripping his lungs at the sight of the bounty hunter and tugging desperately at the fluffy mock handcuffs that attached him to the bedposts.

The girl who was jacking him off, though. She didn’t even give the hunter a second’s noticed before she lunged towards him, effectively tackling and disarming him. She fought the beskar-clad man fiercely and barefoot in a flimsy pink robe, until he decided that enough was enough and scorched what remained of the balusters to a crisp. And then he pointed the flamethrower at her. The pink figure begrudgingly raised her hands in surrender and slumped on the floor after that.

But her eyes are not exactly waving white flags when Mando throws the strongest pair of shackles he owns on her lap and orders her to cuff herself. She glares up at him and wraps them around her wrists, but not before she spits, “Fuck you. Fuck. You. My father’s gonna kill him.”

Mando tongues a dent that he bit inside his cheek. This was supposed to be the easy job, damnit. He was going to find the quarry, tell him the girl’s family wanted his head, and take him back to the ship with not a scratch on the beskar. Easiest money he’d ever make. He wasn’t counting on said girl being with the bounty, much less her fighting like some trained assassin on spice. Stars, the galaxy’s getting stranger by the day.

Once the girl is done, she shakes her bound wrists in the air to get her captor’s attention. He bends down to yank the cuffs, pulling the feral young woman attached to them on her feet. The effort makes needles pierce his injured muscles.

Maker, he’d been so sure it’d be some painless in-and-out job that he’d let you come along with him.

His grip on the cuffs falters.

He forgot. He forgot you came to the healing baths with him. Disappeared into the first floor corridors, saying you needed to “relax”. Could you still be here? Somewhere along the rows of steaming pools and massage rooms. Or maybe you hurried outside with the stampede of half-naked women he saw rush away from the healing baths.

No. No, if he had seen you run wet and covered only by the almost see-through cloth like the rest of the clients, he’d remember. He’d definitely remember.

The girl tugs insistently at the handcuffs, testing their strength.

Fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. He shouldn’t think about you ever. But. There’s something about imagining you dripping with a tissue-thin textile plastered on your figure that makes him forget the cut in his mouth.

“We fucking love each other.” The prisoner’s squeal snaps him out of his reverie. He drags her to what remains of the stairs. He’ll take the quarry, find you, and leave for good. “We only want each other, we crave for each other.” Yeah, he’ll find you and go back to the Crest. Back to barely speaking to you. Back to silently craving for you. “I’ve never felt anything like the pleasure when he slides into my—”

“Okay, I get it,” the Mandalorian snarls. Maker, he can’t stand Core World snobs. He’ll just take the bounty and find you and go. He’ll just—

“You get it?” The girl stops dead on her tracks at the foot of the stairs. She looks him up and down in indignation. “You get it? You glorified gonk droid. What could scrap metal get about passion?” The cuffs twist away from his grip as their master climbs a couple of charred steps. Before Mando can take her back in his custody, she turns around to face him, chin up, back straight, and towering over him. Too confidently for someone in shackles. She looks down on the visor with eyes so squinted her pupils look like horizontal lines. “What could you get about desire?”

That…that hits a nerve. Plenty, he wants to growl at her, even though she’s obviously just trying to taunt him. He knows plenty about obsessive lust that leaves room for little else. He’s known for a while that the reason he locks himself inside his quarters pulling pathetically at his stiff cock is not just an outlet for pent of stress. He’s come to accept that it is always your image that his psyche sneaks into his mind when his thumb circles the head. As guilty and disgusting as it makes him feel, he’s aware of the fact that every bead of precum belongs to you. That when he bursts into his glove he wants nothing more but to smear it all over your lovely face.

Still. There’s a little voice poking the back of his head and whispering that the girl is right. That someone who’s spent a lifetime with physical and emotional barriers separating him from all stimuli cannot possibly know genuine want. Even worse, maybe you have that idea of him. Maybe you don’t believe there’s flesh beneath the armor either.

His chest shrinks with a drawn out sigh as if he were the one defeated as he grabs the captive by the arm before she can get any further. He’ll just…just take the quarry…and find you—

Almost as a summoning, the syrupy density of your voice plops into his ears in a shape that feels like his name. The pounding against his chest quickens as he turns and ghosts a hand over his blaster. Waiting. Listening.

A high pitched whine drills a hole through one of the more secluded doors in a corner, urgent and upset.

You’re in danger.

The Mandalorian jerks the girl down from the couple of steps that she climbed, a little tougher than he intended. His neck is warm and the biting pain on his sides becomes an afterthought. One swift movement is all it takes to undo one ring of the usually complicated handcuffs. He spots a pillar and forces the prisoner’s arms to hug around it, securing the missing wristlet once her smalls hands meet at the opposite end.

“Hey!” she calls after the hunter, who is already stalking towards the cornered door. “Hey, you can’t leave me here, what—”

Fuck, he shouldn’t have let you come. He should’ve made you stay on the Crest like always. If something happens to you…

The Mandalorian draws his blaster and pushes the dark door open.

Hot, humid steam trails outside to welcome him, clouding his visor. He wipes it poorly with the back of his glove and steps inside. The heavy door falls shut behind him.

At first, all he sees is red. An angry, flaming crimson that dances around the black chamber and immediately draws strings of perspiration from his pores. Slowly, the smog thins and revels a bulky cube in the middle of the room. As well as another, smaller silhouette to its left, from where the restrained mewls are coming from.

Mando sheathes the blaster and steps closer to the figure, carefully, trying to make out what it is. Once he finds himself right between it and the table, he distinguishes the contour of a head. The mist dilutes and the desperate features of your face come to life under the hunter’s fascinated gaze. Your whole face looks like a crumpled piece of paper in an expression that falls just short of pain. Your eyes are wrenched shut and two fingers are shoved into your mouth. When a wide tongue licks them with lazy strokes, Mando feels the cloth over his crotch shrink.

Eyes wander lower, revealing a layer of sweat over your collarbone and…and…

The Mandalorian thinks the fall must have damaged his brain, because he only puts two and two together once he follows a droplet from your sternum to your heaving breasts. It hangs on to one peaked nipple before letting go and sliding down the line of your arm, down, down, down, getting fatter as it absorbs other smaller beads. It curls around your hand and finishes its journey once it falls from a finger. A finger drawing erratic circles around your clit.

If Mando thought it was hot inside the cave before…well, now he’s certain the seething thrill that rushes from his head to his toes and swells in his lower half is going to kill him. The potent punch of his heart is breaking more ribs than the girl did, and he can’t remember what exactly was hurting in his mouth when he runs his own tongue over cracked lips. His cock is draining all the blood and attention from the rest of his body, swelling bigger and bigger.

Of course he fucking knows he should leave. Walk out of the chamber, wait for you to finish, and take care of his own needs in some lonely corner back inside the Razor Crest. But, suddenly, one leg stretches and your foot sweeps over his cuisse.

Fuck, he can tell you’re close. Your thighs shake and the moans get louder and he really needs to get out. His knees start uncramping reluctantly, buying him some time to be able to at least see you come undone. Until you cry, “S-stars, Mando…!”

Did…did he hear you right?

Was that—?

Did you—?

Your fingers halt abruptly and ease out of both of your openings. Disappointment grabs Mando’s heart before panic crushes it. Shit, did you realize he’s here?

He takes a step back.

Wet eyelashes flutter a few times before your eyes open fully. They’re glossy as they look straight ahead. A finger wipes the vapor off the beskar. Your face moves along his body until your attention focuses on his visor and lingers.

The red light prevents him from knowing whether you’re blushing or not, but his cheeks sure as hell light up with shame underneath the helmet. He feels gravity pull his legs with more strength, holding him down in his place and making him face the consequences of his invasion

Still, his glove wraps around your wrist and gently pulls it away.

“I…I’m sorry,” the embarrassed hunter finally croaks out, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I heard you outside and thought…” He shakes his head and sighs. There’s no excuse for this. “I should’ve left. I’m sorry.”

All throughout his excuse of an apology you stare up at him panting. Your pupils are so wide your irises almost disappear behind them. The leftover surprise of being interrupted pleasuring yourself still hangs on your expression, but something in front of you seems to catch your eye, and your features rearrange to confusion. You scoot to the edge of the bench. Your neck cranes up, placing your face directly below his crotch.

The hot breath from your open mouth warms his clothed balls and makes him flinch.

What? Why are you—? Maker, he wishes he knew what the hell you were doing, because he doesn’t think the seams of his pants can hold the way his shaft is pressing insistently against them. Your nose ghosts over his taint and he jumps back.

A pair of hands rests on the plates over his thighs. The remaining spit on your fingers smears on the beskar. You lick your lips until they glisten, and your head tilts to the side as you study his growing erection. Realization irons the puzzled wrinkles on your forehead and a smile pulls your plump lips softly.

“Could you,” you gasp breathlessly, and the Mandalorian knows the answer is yes before you finish, “could you help me?”

Mando…Mando glitches. He’s almost convinced the girl spiced him and his subconscious is borrowing from his archive of filthy fantasies of you to produce the most obscene hallucination possible. Regardless, reality or illusion, you sit soaked and perfectly bare with your face half-wedged under his crotch. Waiting for an answer.

“I, uh. Um.” He gulps. “Uh, h-help you?”

“Uh-huh,” you purr. One hand resting on his cuisse trails up to palm the tent forming in his pants. Mando hisses. You smile. “Help me pick up where I left off.” Your other hand goes back to its place between your legs.

Staring straight into the lines of his visor, you draw languid circles around your bud.

The helmet feels incredibly heavier on his spine. Your finger pushes into your clit and you gasp.

This isn’t real. The hypnotic red vapor fogs his vision and senses with a dreamlike dimness. You look ethereal behind it, like you’ll turn to steam as soon as he reaches out. He’s going to open his eyes in the cockpit of the Crest hard and alone, like always. He’s going to climb down to the hull and see you and try his best to avoid you. He’s going to wake up from the best dream he’s ever had; from the gorgeous curves of your body open and ready for him.

But. But you’re still here. Delusion or not, you’re still dipping your fingers inside your cunt, inviting him to partake. To prove himself human underneath his layers of barriers. And who can blame him, if he indulges in the one thing he’s wanted for months. Even if he will wake up from this.

Without a second thought, Mando rips both gloves off his hands and throws them into the mist enveloping your bodies. Your sweet smile widens when he wraps his hands around your shoulders and massages the moist flesh. You answer by giving his bulge a faint squeeze. But the Mandalorian has little patience for teasing, and he’s not sure when exactly he’s going to be ripped from this dream.

“Wait,” the modulated voice orders. “Stand up. Please.” You obey, grabbing him for support to avoid falling on the slippery floor. His palms land on your waist, spreading the sweat there. Stars, you feel wonderful.

“Do you want to, uh…” Somehow, he still can’t bring himself ask, so he pulls you closer, so that his erection presses against your belly.

Biting your lip, you look up at him and nod eagerly. Small fingers press between your bodies to unbutton his pants and explore inside. You hum when you feel how hard he already is for you and scoop his throbbing cock out of its prison. “Please.”

Mando grabs your hips and spins you until you’re between him and the table. He pushes you against its side. The fronts of your thighs hit the black surface and you hiss at the contact, but he barely hears you.

He feels buckets of perspiration pouring down his back and chest, hot and heavy wool sticks to his skin, and there’s barely any breathable air slipping below the helmet anymore. But there’s only you. There’s only you and your shifting shoulder blades and the elegant curve of your spine and your ass, all tinged the color of blood and soaked with the liquified version of the mysterious substance floating around in the air. The pains that overwhelmed his body are long forgotten.

The fingers of his right hand spread apart from each other and snake up your back so they can feel your silky skin under his.

You shudder.

Fuck, is this was the girl outside was talking about? Right now, tense and painfully hard and high on the sensation of your soft, sweaty skin against his calloused hands, he feels just as foolish as his quarry. Just as likely to beg for anything you’re willing to offer.

Rough fingers push wet strings of hair to the side and grab your neck. He likes how thin it is around his large palm. How the tips of his fingers almost meet when they circle you. He pushes it down.

When your tits brush the surface you flinch and pull back.

“It—it’s c-cold,” you stutter as you try to look over your shoulder at him, but the grip on your neck is steel-strong and he can’t bring himself to soften it. “It’s freezing, Mando.”

Normally, he’d let go. Normally, he’d drop his hand immediately and apologize meekly. Normally, he would’ve walked away the second he caught you pleasuring yourself and would’ve pathetically gotten himself off to your image back in the Crest, like he’s done so many times, and would’ve never brought it up again.

But here, he has you right where he’s wanted you for months. Right now, he needs to prove to himself and to you that there’s hot red blood running through his veins. That below beskar and wool, he desires just like everyone else. Even more.

Especially when it comes to you.

So he doesn’t let go.

With a stronger grip, he forces you down until your chest is flush against the icy table and keeps you still.

“Fuck,” you nearly sob.

The Mandalorian steps closer to you and flattens the backs of your legs and ass with his cuisses. You whimper at the contact like you did with the table, but the cries turn to moans when he starts rubbing his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

Every nerve in his body tenses like a stretched rubber band at the sensation. Your ass is so fucking drenched he doesn’t even need to spit on it to allow his rock-solid cock to glide against you. Your hips push back and you try to meet his movements, but his thighs just crush you closer to the side of the table.

He won’t look down. He won’t—he can’t, or he’ll lose it right there. He’s certain he’ll cum right then and there if he so much as peeks at what his doing to you. Or worse, he’ll wake up.

He looks down.

It takes every scrap of his self-control not to spill his cum all over your back at the visual. Your glistening body is folded over the table. Your arms hang next to your legs. Your nails scratch the dark rock desperately. The turbid red steam makes you blurry, like an apparition. As surreal as the mental images he conjures of you sometimes, when the ship is empty and he chases his relief inside the hard clutch of his fist. Only now, the long, husky moans you’re letting him hear are as clear as daylight, the scent of sex and sweat radiating off both of you sticks to his nostrils, and the way your body writhes against his are making him harder and more frantic by the second.

This isn’t a dream. It’s you and he has you all to himself.

He can’t wait any longer.

Mando releases your neck and brings both hands down to your ass. He massages and kneads the plump meat there. His teeth grit together to stop a needy groan from pushing past them. Tough fingers spread your cheeks and hold them open. You turn your face to the side.

“Please,” you suddenly spit out, your back curling and flattening almost involuntarily, “oh, fucking stars, Mando, just—just put it inside, just pl—”

The heat of his cock teasing your folds cuts you off. The Mandalorian inhales what little oxygen he can get and sheathes himself inside you in one strong movement. You cry out and he groans like nobody can hear either of you.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, why are you so tight? You’re—you’re—

“So wet,” he hears himself slur. The red haze of the room spins around him. He sounds drunk. “Why—who could be this fu-fucking tight and b-beautiful—I—” Mando manages to swallow the last few words. Now is not time for them. Instead, he pulls back. His cock eases outside almost completely, leaving only the head inside. Then he buries himself again, slowly, grinding into you and letting you feel how every vein of his shaft pulses against your slick walls. He works up a paused pace as he spreads your cheeks further apart and dips his helmet to see how he’s stretching you.

Your arms lift to your sides to clutch the opposite end of the surface. You’re making the deepest, most arousing sounds he’s ever heard. You take him with a throaty mmm or a trembling ahhh that make his chest collapse with embarrassing gasps that he’s trying so hard to suppress. But your boiling pussy clenches tighter and he can’t help choking on the heated vapor that dances under the helmet and drips on his facial hair.

“It’s you—ngh,” you finally answer. “I think of you al—always.” His hips falter at the sound of your voice. “I g-get so wet just im—magining what you—˝ Almost as a reflex, he pushes roughly into you and you cut yourself off with a high whimper.

You can’t finish your sentence. You don’t have to. What you said is enough to scramble Mando’s brains like eggs and flick a switch inside him he didn’t know was there.

Maker, he shouldn’t go faster. He shouldn’t overwhelm you. What if he hurts you? But your confession seems to thicken the mist that’s clouding his visor and restraint. Stars, you think about him just like he thinks of you. Maybe there were nights you would both touch yourselves simultaneously to the thought of each other in your separate quarters. What would you imagine? How long has it been going on?

He doesn’t remember releasing your ass nor burying his fingers into your dripping hair. He didn’t even realize how faster and more brutal his thrusts got all of a sudden until he hears how you trade your long, vibrating moans for short mewls that sound like his cock is puncturing them out of you.

And he should stop and he should ask you what you want and he should apologize for being rough and he should be doing so many things that he just can’t fucking bring himself to do when he feels you squeezing around him like you want him to be that much of a fucking savage with you. So he picks up the pace.

Through the haze, though, he manages to glue a couple of broken words together. “Th-this o-okay? Y-you—fuck—it—it fee-l good?” He sounds like he doesn’t even know fucking Basic, but you’re apparently fluent in whatever primitive language he just spoke, because you nod fervently, your cheek still pressed to the cold rock.

Your mouth gapes like it’s trying to suck the words you need from the fog around you and drool spills from your pretty lips. You only manage to breathe out, “Harder.”

Harder he goes, tangling the fist on your hair more tensely until it pulls your neck up. His other hand shoves your thighs and digs around your folds until he finds a hard nub that he rubs up and down quickly. The feeling makes you clamp down so compactly around his swollen shaft that he has to put his back into his thrusts to be able to push in. Still, he manages to slide inside with the help of your arousal and his precum and the sweat of your bodies and whatever the fuck is vaporized in the room. Every thrust shoves your whole body forwards and makes the edge of the table dig more violently into your hips. But you’re not complaining. Your irises are rolled as back as they’ll go into your skull and your companion is not sure you can even hear yourself moaning for him anymore.

Mando is going to black out. He’s sure he’s going to pass the fuck out. He can’t breathe and you’re repeating his name like a prayer and he can tell you’re close and his cock is just begging for release. A cooler breeze brushes the edge of the helmet. He keeps opening you like it’s the last thing he’ll do.

His ears ring with light metallic clinks and you’re muttering incomprehensible gibberish and he clenches his jaw when he makes out the words “I” and “cum” and he can’t believe his fucking luck and his balls pull up to announce that he’s also almost there and—

“I thought I said,” a sudden, chastising voice cuts the dense steam like it’s butter, “to make it quick.”

You both jump at the interruption. Mando’s heart and movements halt as adrenaline shoots into his blood and he looks around the brume for the intruder.

The Twi’lek clerk stands near the door, squinting to make out what exactly is going on in the steaming room. You both stare at her stupidly—Mando still buried deep inside you—as she swats the fog like a swarm of flies she can scare away with her palm.

Finally, the cloud dissipates enough for her eyes to focus on the erotic sight before her.

She doesn’t even look surprised. She simply chews on her soggy toothpick annoyed and rolls her eyes, like this is just another day at work for her.

“We literally rent rooms for that,” she grouses exasperated while pointing a long finger to the roof like she’s talking to two idiots, “upstairs.”

#the mandolarian #the mandalorian x you #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #Pedro Pascal #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #star wars smut #Smut

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Darkest Of Nights

Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How to Get Away With Murder)

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Vomiting, Swearing, Spoilers for Season 1 of How To Get Away With Murder

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship

Summary: On the night of Sam’s murder, it’s safe to say everyone is traumatized, looking for comfort and solace. However, one of them gets the complete opposite: Michaela is only offered more pain and trauma, bringing her to the brink of insanity.

Requested by 🐢 Anon, but also meant as a birthday present for an Anon who recently reached out to me. Happy birthday dear Anon! Hope you have the best one yet! Here’s the fic you requested - I hope it lives up to your expectations! It’s been such an honor to be the person to write you a birthday present and I can only hope I’ve done my job well! Love, Vy ❤

She’s still in utter shock and disbelief. She’s shaking like a leaf as she navigates the roads back to her apartment. It pains her that she’ll have to pass by the Keating house again tonight, knowing what happened there just hours ago. She squeezes the jacket tighter around herself, glad to not see any familiar - or rather any faces at all. The bonfire has gathered every college student, graduate and fan of the sport around itself, giving the streets an emptiness Michaela hasn’t seen before.

Michaela Pratt has always liked planning out her life, having her future laid out in front of her always at her disposal for changing and modifying. She’s always seen herself a successful, envied lawyer in the future, someone other lawyers fear and all wrong-doers want. Because who doesn’t want freedom? She’d pride herself on being the one to bring them that freedom. She’d pride herself on owning a title like Annalise’s - a bitch, a beast and a boss in the courtroom.

However, just like she had everything laid out in front of her eyes, she’s watching it all fall apart. Fall into that very bonfire her and her classmates went to take pictures at to own their alibis. To save themselves from possible suspicion. To paint the picture that they aren’t murderers.

That realization will never soften its blow to her chest and stomach. Every time she repeats the word ‘murderer’ in her mind, her heart skips a bit and her stomach turns, threatening to make her release everything in it onto the pavement she’s walking on. She feels disgusting and dirty, not only because of the ash and mud she has all over herself following the venture into the woods where they dismembered Sam’s body, but because she took part in it. She may have stood aside, crippled by shock, disbelief and disgust, but she’s now a part of it nonetheless.

With her heart and mind racing faster than she’s able to comprehend, she finds herself unable to turn that corner and get onto the street which the Keating house is on. She feels that if she sees that place she might just faint right there on the street and if that doesn’t raise a few questions, nothing will. Instinctively, she continues ahead, heading down the street that will inevitably lead her to where the mob of drunk or half-drunk people are surrounding a huge fire, celebrating something Michaela is less than disinterested in. She feels it’d make for an extra alibi in case the pictures they posted aren’t enough proof of their faux innocence.

Michaela squints her eyes at the brightness of the fire nearby, sensing both a cough and a sickening feeling climbing up her throat. There are reporter trucks everywhere, ones she sees as the perfect hiding barriers to prevent her from being seen by anyone in case that sickening feeling morphs into an urge to throw up. She quickens her pace, eager to find herself in the safe space between two of the reporter trucks and attempt to calm her heart that’s threatening to beat out of her chest. She’s still visible to anyone walking along the street, but as it was established earlier, the street’s vacant and it seems it’ll remain that way for a little longer so she feels almost invisible and tiny in comparison to the two truck that serve the purpose of her protectors in this very moment.

Placing a hand on the wall of the truck, she doubles over, preparing for the inevitable when she hears a whistle from somewhere close by. Or, more specifically, directly behind her.

“What a view baby!“ A drunken slur of a male voice follows that whistle, causing her to straighten up and turn on her heel as fast as possible. “Is that how women ask to get some nowadays?”

Her stomach’s now in knots and she can’t find her voice to say anything. She’s frozen with fear of the man’s silhouette that’s now approaching her. His features aren’t visible in the dark so even if she did know him - which she’s sure she doesn’t - she wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Not that it matters, recognizing him or not, this man’s intentions are more than clear and more than threatening.

“Silence means yes in my book, babe. So...why don’t we have some fun?“ Before she can even register his proximity, he’s grabbed her wrists and pushed her against one of the trucks. The disgusting fucker holds her wrists at either side of her head, firmly holding them there, ridding her of any chance of escape.

The events she’s had to go through have already weakened her enough but even with that put to the side she’s no match for this guy - he’s a lot stronger and bigger in size. He’s basically towering over her like a predator looming over its prey, toying with it before going in for the kill. And when he does, when she feels his lips on her neck, that’s the final straw.

The need to relieve her insides finally takes over and she starts gagging, causing the son of a bitch to pull away and let go of her. And then she throws up, all over him, earning her the perfect distraction that will buy her enough time to get the fuck out of there. Despite the shaking of her legs and her still-turning stomach, Michaela takes off running, feeling sweat drops forming and running down her forehead. She can hear the cursing of that gross fucker behind her, but luckily she doesn’t take notice of another pair of running footsteps, suggesting she isn’t being followed. Even with this knowledge, she doesn’t stop running. Her brain understands she’s somewhat safe but her heart is racing, her heartbeat echoing in her ears warning her that there’s danger all around. So, she keeps running until she’s less then two blocks away from her apartment complex.

Her adrenaline levels refuse to lower but her legs have basically turned into jelly and she can’t find it in her to even keep walking, let alone running. She collapses, a mess of tears, sobbing and fear on the sidewalk. It’s too much. All too much and all too soon and all out of nowhere. She feels violated, vulnerable, unsafe. She feels both fragile and like she’s already been broken into shards. She feels alone and worst part is, she feels like she deserves it. She sees what happened between those two truck as a punishment for having participated in a murder and the gruesome disposal of a dead body.

Michaela Pratt always knew karma would catch up to her, she just never expected it’d be this cruel.

She got taught the hard way that in the darkest of nights, the most evil of demons attack.

* * *

Connor Walsh is known to be laid back and nonchalant to the point of irritative. However, right now, he’s anything but.

He’s anxious, he’s nervous, he’s still under shock and in mild panic mode. He’s restless, pacing the living room of the Keating home while running his hands through his hair, desperately trying to ignore and push away the memories of the events that took place in this very room less than twenty four hours ago.

“Where the hell is she?!!“ He takes a portion of his anger out on the wooden coffee table with a punch that will for sure bruise his knuckles. His eyes skim over the two other accomplices who have never looked so out of it: dead, bloodshot eyes carrying a thousand yard stare, neither of them reacting to his rage nor sharing it with him. “How the fuck are you so calm?! How can you just sit there and-!“

“Cause there’s nothing we can do!“ Wes suddenly snaps, “You heard Annalise - she called in, saying she wouldn’t be able to make it. So what, you want us to exhibit even more suspicious behavior by thrashing and yelling all over the place?“

“No, no, no. She had said she couldn’t make it because she had something to take care of. That ‘something’ could be reporting us, how do you not understand that?!“ Connor lashes out again, his fists only tightening this time, not finding a victim to take their hits.

“Michaela wouldn’t do that, she’s not stupid. It’ll immediately tie her to it too. She’ll go to jail like the rest of us.“ Laurel says, much calmer than the two men in the room though it probably has to do with the lack of energy due to the lack of sleep.

“You never know what’s going on in the brain of that selfish woman!“ He mutters, suddenly getting up and grabbing his phone. He storms out into the hallway, already dialing Michaela’s number.

With the device pressed tightly against his ear, the dial tone piercing his head like a screech straight from hell, he runs a frustrated hand over his pale as a sheet face, squeezing his eyes shut. The call eventually goes to voicemail, but that doesn’t stop Connor Walsh. He keeps trying, each attempt falling through, each call getting sent to voicemail after about five rings. Each time his anger boiling hotter.

“The hell do you want?! Can’t you catch a hint?!“ His seventh attempt is proven successful when a familiar female voices answers from the other line.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Princess. Am I bothering you? My most sincere apologies! I just wanted to know if you feel like ratting us out to the police, but if I’m calling at an inconvenient time, please forgive me.“ He sneers, his sanity restraints breaking one by one under the pressure of frustration, fear and the anxiety attack that’s been building in his chest all day today.

“Listen here, Walsh.“ Michaela hisses threateningly, though Conner doesn’t fail to pick up on the fact that there’s something off about her voice. He doesn’t dwell on that, too over-occupied with his worries of future jail time to care. “I’m not in the mood for your selfishness or for dealing with any of what happened last night so save your shit-talking for a more decent time. And as for the ratting part, I ain’t that kind of scum, though karma will catch up to each and every one of you. Just like...“ her voice suddenly cracks, the words sounding more like a sob than a threat, “Just like it caught up to me last night.“ That sentence is spoken through a cry, which is the last thing Connor was expecting to hear from the woman he deemed so high and mighty and so full of herself she can’t see the world around her nor how she’s affecting it with her selfish decisions.

That last sentence of hers is what the call ends on and what anchors itself in his head. Connor’s left standing in the hallway with a sickening feeling in his stomach that wasn’t there before and a little voice telling him that something is very wrong with Michaela. Her words were all her trademark, expected and explainable phrases but her tone, and that final statement were odd and far too out of place for him to just brush off. That last line she spoke felt like the most sincere and vulnerable thing she’s ever said to him. To anyone, really. There was no show, no tough act in those words. It was nothing but the confession of a broken girl who’s never felt like her life isn’t her own until now.

With that alarm ringing throughout his head and no good explanation, instead of turning and heading into the living room like he originally intended to, Connor storms out the front door of the home with fast and determined steps, heading for the destination he never thought he’d go to.

* * *

Having ordered food twenty minutes prior, Michaela doesn’t find the doorbell sounding throughout her apartment to be weird or unwelcome despite the fact it made her jump and shudder in her seat. With the comfort of the tiny pepper spray bottle in the back pocket of her jeans, she makes her way to the front door, resting one hand on the handle before pushing up on her toes to check through the peephole that the person she’s expecting is indeed the one who’s on the other side.

Her stomach drops and frustration rises through the roof when the peephole reveals the familiar, somewhat distressed face of Connor Walsh.

“GO AWAY!“ She yells turning and placing her back against the door, now not at all willing to open it.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on with you!“ She hears his voice coming from beyond the door, sounding strangely honest and deeply concerned.

“Why do you care anyway?! I already told you I won’t rat you out, you’ve got nothing to worry about!“ The lack of hostility in her voice seems to encourage Connor to speak a bit more freely.

“Come on, Shooting Star. Students who kill and dispose of bodies together share problems together.“ He says sarcastically but with true gentility behind his words.

That hint of honesty and a bit of harmless humor is what makes her slowly inch her hand toward the doorknob once again. After briefly hesitating, she pulls the door open, not at all bothered by the fact her rival is seeing her the most unpresentable she ever remembers being: hair a mess, homey clothes she can’t even recall the age of, no make-up, eye bags - the whole pack.

“Don’t like a Princess or a Shooting Star, do I?“ She attempts the same amount of humor he used but coming from her it sounds rather dead and flat, not that it’s not to be expected after everything she went through.

“You look like someone who has seen and been through some shit.“ He says truthfully, still standing in the hallway, unwilling to go inside until she gives him the green light for fear she might suddenly snap at him. “And I’m not only talking about what happened with Sam.“

Michaela’s eyes gloss over with tears immediately, mentally cursing herself for being so obvious. In order to avoid eye-contact, she steps aside to allow him inside.

“Thank you.“ He mutters as he makes his way past her and down the hall, arrogantly comfortable in the new surroundings.

By the time Michaela has started regretting her decision of letting him in, she realizes it’s already too late so she shuts and relocks the door before following after him in the living room where she finds him already situated in the armchair like it’s his 100th time visiting. Hell, like he owns the place.

She takes the seat on the couch closest to him, not bothering to offer him any hospitality in the form of drinks and snacks. Such offer feels ridiculous under these circumstances. Speaking of ridiculous, the circumstances themselves are ridiculous - her biggest rival, and now one of her partners in crime is chilling in her living room with a smug look on his face.

“Karma’s gonna catch up to me, huh?“ He suddenly speaks up, reminding her yet again of how bad of an idea inviting him in was. “Yours caught up to you, you say. Though to me it seems like it beat and battered you too.“

Michaela’s never been a crier. In fact, she’s guilty of silently judging people she’s witnessed crying, thinking of them as weak and spineless. But here she is, fighting back tears at the memories she’d much rather forget.

“It did, but it had the opposite effect. I’m glad we ridded this world of a piece of scum like him. One less man who feels entitled to everything. Who feel free to take anything he wants anytime.“ Her throat feels dry as her eyes fill with tears despite her best attempts at holding them back, “Take a girl’s virginity, take her dignity, her safety, her life, take everything away from her. And all that when she’s most vulnerable and scared and helpless and...“

Her words come to an abrupt halt when she finds Connor has repositioned himself and is now sitting next to her on the couch, has turned to face her and has placed a reluctant hand on her shoulder, “Michaela, what happened to you?”

That’s when she breaks down for the fifth time today. Since that breakdown on the sidewalk on her way home, she’s found it infinitely harder to hold her tears back, keep her emotions at bay. So, instead of easting her energy holding back, she’s been wasting it sobbing into the comforter she had wrapped around herself like a safety cocoon until Connor rang the doorbell.

Instinctively more than intentionally, Connor wraps his arm around her shoulders as she tries to get a few words out in-between sobs, “This guy....h-he t-tried to....” she can’t even finish the sentence without the entire scene playing out in front of her eyes, causing her stomach to tighten and her sobs to grow louder. “But, I-I got away in time. But Connor, what if I d-didn’t? Oh God, what would’ve happened to me if I didn’t?”

“It’s ok, you’re ok now. You’re safe.“ He murmurs, pulling her closer until her head’s resting on his shoulder, “You’re ok. And don’t you ever think of it as karma, you hear me? You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. That was in no way your fault or your punishment. That guy’s gonna meet his punishment if I ever lay my eyes on him though, that’s for sure.“

“I-I didn’t see his face, i-it was too dark.“ She manages to say through the subsided sobbing that has now reduced to crying with the occasional sniffle. “I just heard his voice.” Despite having calmed down, she surprisingly doesn’t feel the need to pull away from Connor, create some distance between them. She doesn’t even dwell on how out of character this is for the both of them, nor does she dwell on the slightly off-putting thought that she’s actually glad to have him by her side. To have someone comforting and reassuring her that what happened is not a result of her own bad actions. That thought haunted her all night, preventing her from even thinking about falling asleep.

“Well, if you ever recognize his voice anywhere, you know you have three experienced killers and dismemberers you can contact to, you know, do the job.“ He says comfortingly, his tone light but still serious.

She can’t help but scoff, “One kill and you’re suddenly hitmen?”

Connor chuckles, “When someone messes with one of our own, we sure as hell are.”

That sentence feels like a bandage on one of Michaela’s many invisible wounds. That one of our own line fills that hole her loneliness drilled into her last night on that sidewalk when she felt so lost and alone and broken. When she felt she had no one to turn to and no one to seek comfort in.

Among the many things she saw, heard and learned, the most valuable lesson these past twenty four hours have taught Michaela is that after the darkest of nights still comes morning. A bright morning, a new beginning and a helping hand with it. A helping hand, a safe embrace and comforting words. Bonus lesson is that one can never guess where, or rather from who those three elements will be given. These two are a crystal clear example: never did Michaela think she’d find a helping hand, safe embrace and comforting words coming from Connor Walsh. But here they are.

It may be odd and it may be temporary, but she’s not complaining, he doesn’t appear to be doing so either.

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