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subpar-ghoulfriend · 3 years

Text

A Family Affair

Slasher AU CannibalFamily!EraserMicxReader

We’re going with the “strange family that lives outside of a small town” trope. After a few deliveries to the Aizawa household you get pulled in to an affair you never wanted to be a part of.

Spooky season is upon us and I’ve already begun watching too many horror movies. This fic will definitely be a two parter

Super Dark Content Warning!!! Literally do not read if you have any reservation and definitely no minors!

TW: cannibal themes, mentions of murder, mentions of corpse mutilation, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships

Part 2 is gonna include more of this and the smut

Growing up you were grateful for living in a small town. You didn't really relate to the coming-of-age stories told in the movies where the small town girl runs off to the big city for a whirlwind romance and a chance at some "big break." To you, small town life was more picturesque than any overcrowded city. You knew your neighbors, and watched a lot of their families grow and change throughout the years. A small town allows you to become a regular at several businesses, including the coffee shop and your favorite diner downtown. Going away to college was tough even though you didn't go far. The nearest city - a little over 40 miles away - had a great college with a program you were really interested in pursuing.

You went home every break and picked up delivery jobs at one of the local restaurants. It was winter break of your last year in college when you first delivered to the Aizawa residence. In all your years at the restaurant they never ordered delivery, one of the two men would always place an order for pick up. The thing about small town stereotypes is that small towns tend to self-impose said stereotypes. The Aizawa's were that family. The one that everyone whispered when they came to town and children would tell horror stories about during Halloween. They were the weird family that lived just past the outskirts of town.

You weren't entirely sure what either of the two men did. Everyone speculated that Mr. Aizawa was some sort of mountain-man-feral type and maybe did some mechanic work for the folks that tend to live in between towns. His husband, Mr. Yamada seemed like the stay at home trophy husband but you heard he did some sort of conspiracy podcast. They had children - reportedly, but no one has really met them - and other family members that live similarly further out into the middle of nowhere. The drive was absurdly long but they were loyal customers and the owners didn't want to turn their request down. Your boss handed you a chunk of bills to fill up your tank before heading out. That's no place you'd want to get stranded, he told you.

The paved road got worse the further you got from town. Forty-five minutes later you were pulling down the dirt road that led to the illuminated Aizawa home. A wall of cold air slammed in to you when you opened your car door and you grumbled about leaving your gloves at home. There was no doorbell, so knocked and did that awkward please-don't-let-me-freeze dance while you waited. Two unfamiliar faces opened the door, an apathetic looking teen and an adorable little girl. Must be their children. The older one called out for his dad before taking one of the bags you held and disappearing into the home. You looked down awkwardly and wave at the girl. She smiled shyly and reached out for the other bag.

"Are you sure?" You asked her, "It's a little heavy."

She nodded.

"Okay, but use two hands," You passed her the bag. "Oh jeez, you're strong. Don't tell your brother, but I think this is the heavier bag."

You smiled when she giggled and ran off.

Mr. Aizawa appeared in the door, "How much do we owe?"

He was just as terrifying up close and for a split second your mind went blank while your basic instincts were begging you go back to the car. He raised an eyebrow at you, looking irritated at your falter.

"Uh - forty-two."

He pulled counted out a chunk of bills and then you were off. You didn't even count the amount until you parked. Forty-two with a forty-dollar tip. They may be odd but apparently they're loaded. You didn't think much of it until the following week when you were heading back to their house with another delivery. You wished that they would order earlier but at least you could hope for another generous tip. You were taken aback when the little girl answered the door by herself, jumping up and down with excitement.

Was she old enough to answer the door by herself?

"Papa," She yelled. "The lady is here!"

She turned her attention back to you with a huge grin, "Shinsou got sore that you told me I'm the stronger one."

Before you could respond to her the other man, Mr. Yamada, bounced around the corner, "Eri, what have we told you about the door? Oh no, you must be freezing come stand inside while I go get your payment. Forty-two right?"

You wanted to protest, feeling uneasy in their entryway but the little girl tugged you by the delivery bags. So you stood there quietly while she ran back in forth so she could unload the delivery for you. Shinsou peered around the corner so you gave a small wave. Then it was just you and Eri once again. In the background you could hear Yamada asking his husband where the wallet went.

"I like your shirt," You smiled, trying to fill the silence.

"I wanted a Pegasus shirt but this was the only one my daddy could find."

"Well I think unicorns are pretty cool too."

You use to babysit for some of the families in town, no part of you could imagine doing that all the way out here.

The blonde rejoined you, giving you another lush payment. You heard the little girl whine about you leaving so quickly until her father appeased her by saying you'd be back.

Something about that rubbed you the wrong way; but you were back like clockwork the next week with their usual delivery. Once again you were brought inside while they went to get your payment. But on your fourth and what should have been your final delivery of the winter break you noticed something was off when you parked. Their truck was missing from its usual spot. Strange but they probably just moved it somewhere else on the property. You had become accustom Eri running to answer the door and telling you wait for her parents in the entrance of the house. You became suspicious after she had run back and forth to take the food to the kitchen.

"Eri, where are your parents? Or Shinsou?"

The little girl's response was nonchalant, "They had to go out, one of our cattle got out. But they gave me the money."

You stuffed the money into your jacket; payment was the issue here. In the back of your mind you though about how you never saw any cattle on your deliveries. A child her age shouldn’t be left alone.

"Oh, well, can I hang out with you while we wait for them to come back?"

The little girl lit up as she pulled you to the living room. There was a kid's movie playing on the TV and she had a coloring book out. Eri divide up her crayons and tore out a page for you to join her. You kept looking to the window, waiting for the truck to pull up.

Suddenly there was banging at the door, which elicited a cry from Eri. You reached into your pocket only finding the crumpled bills. Shit, your stomach dropped. You left your phone in your car. After all, this was just supposed to be a quick delivery. The noise stopped, only for a moment, before resuming.

"Eri, sweetie," You whispered to the stunned little girl. "Do your parents have a phone here?"

She shook her head.

A man’s voice tore through the door, "Let me in dammit, you have to let me in before they come back."

You held your finger to your lip, and Eri nodded, repeating the gesture. The living room light was on and you realized that if he came to the side of the house you'd be seen through the window, but turning out the light would draw attention. Maybe he was bluffing, maybe he didn't know if anyone was inside and turning off the light would signal your presence. You pointed to the kitchen, where the lights were off and the two of you tip toed to the safety of darkness.

"Eri, honey, can you go sit in the pantry for me and be really, really quiet? I'll be right out here and don't come out until I come to get you okay?"

She looked hesitant and tearful but you were surprised at her level of composure for a kid. Finally she complied. Once the pantry door was closed you began rummaging through the drawers, looking for something that could inflict the most damage. A meat tenderizer could work. The banging continued and you swore you hear wood beginning to splinter. Your grip tightened with every bang. Finally the door gave way and a man stumbled through the splintered wood. He stopped when he saw you holding the cleaver.

He was dirty, without shoes or a shirt and his skin was red from the cold.

You hoped your voice wouldn’t crack, "You need to leave-"

"Monsters, monsters," he blabbed. "They're gonna come back and we gotta go."

You decided to bluff, "Get out of here, I already called the cops."

"Good, good, good," He mumbled, “but we still gotta go. NOW."

There was one step forward from him, one step back from you.

"If you come near me, I'll make sure you don't get up," You warned. At the very least you had to keep him away from Eri. Even if that was all you could do.

There was a desperate look in his eyes; they darted from you to the keys hooked to your jeans, then back to the keys. Finally he smiled, "You have a car, man that's perfect. Listen I won't hurt you but we need to get in your damn car, now."

Sounds like something someone who wants to hurt me would say, you thought. Apparently you took too long to respond, the man lunged toward you and you tried to swing the meat tenderizer. The tool connected with his shoulder and he howled out in pain but still managed to wrestle you to the ground. The two of you struggled with each other and the man was yelling that you'd die if you didn't listen to him. You landed a weak hit to his jaw, splitting his lip. You even tried biting at him but he was persistent and struggling to get your keys. You were telling him he could have them that he just needed to let you go but he wasn't listening to you. Managing to grab his ear you had a flashback to the self-defense seminar you had to take in college, it should be easy to rip a human ear. So you pulled. Blood began to flow from the wound down his face and on to you. He got you off him before you got the whole ear by delivering a blow to your stomach. The air rushed from your body, is this what it means to get the wind knocked out of you?

There was a loud noise and fog lights flooded through the broken door. Then saw Shinsou and Aizawa pulling the man off you. You pushed yourself and back, clutching at your stomach. Your cheeks were wet. Were you crying or was that blood on your face? Probably both.

The trio wrangled the man outside where you heard more struggling, fighting, and groaning.

Eri. You managed your way to the kitchen but realized you were covered in blood. Not wanting to traumatize the little girl any further you spoke through the door.

"Eri, can you stay there a little bit longer?"

"Can't I come out? I heard my daddies," She cried, tugging at your heartstrings.

"Not yet, okay? They're here and everything's okay, I'm gonna have them come get you okay?"

Thankfully, the door didn't open. As you shuffled toward the front door Mr. Yamada entered, wiping specks of blood off him.

You were shocked when he pulled you into a hug, "You're okay. Sho and Shinsou got everything under control. Where is Eri?"

You told him about her hiding spot and he sighed in relief and rushed to her.

The other two returned with bloodied knuckles that made your stomach churn.

"Yamada," The mountain man called, with his eyes scanning the home.

"Don't worry, Sho, I got Eri. She's fine. Our delivery girl is okay, she's got some bumps and bruises but she made the other guy look worse."

Aizawa ushered you to the couch, expecting your legs to give out at any moment.

"We need to call the police," You finally spoke.

Aizawa assured you he did. They were 45 minutes out but they'd work on getting here faster. Yamada brewed you a cup of tea, “for while we wait.” They finally calmed Eri down and Shinsou took her upstairs to get ready for bed. It felt weird for them to return to mundane evening routines so quickly after all that chaos, but maybe you were just the odd one out. Close to an hour later you were still waiting for the police to show up. Your tea was finished long ago and your nerves had calmed. You were even having trouble keeping your eyes open.

"You think they're almost here, babe" The blonde wondered, draping a throw blanket around your shoulders. "I'm sure she wants to this day to be over with."

---

It was still dark when you woke up. The blonde was fast asleep on the recliner next to you. The police must have come by now but there was no way you slept through the visit. Anxiety from earlier made it’s way back in to your chest. The clock read 4am; had they even called the police. All of the childhood rumors you heard came flooding back and you exited the house as quietly as you could, not realizing your keys were no longer with you.

When you made it outside you noticed dried blood on the ground, trailing toward what you assumed was their barn or storage shed. You were entranced. Looking back to the house, no one was awake; there was no movement, no light, just quiet. You shouldn’t follow the bloody trail, you shouldn't go near the shed; but your body moved on it's own accord and before you realized it you were at the doors. You gave a tug, expecting it to be locked, but the door swung open and inside you noticed the lock lay on the ground.

You should have turned around, got in your car, and drove away. Instead you stepped inside and found the bloody, broken body of the man who attacked you. There was a slight sway to the corpse that was hanging from a reinforced pillar. Nearly screaming your hand shot to cover your mouth.

You should've left.

Aizawa was watching you from the kitchen, cursing Hizashi for leaving the shed unlocked. His hand hovered over the secured cabinet drawer that stored a pistol. He wouldn't shoot you only scare you a bit. But you weren't running out in a panic. He didn't even hear you scream. Interesting. He went to join you, moving like any predator concealing it presence and leaving the gun safe untouched.

You should've left.

You finally came to your sense and whirled around only to run into your late night admirer. A terrified squeak escaped you as you jumped further into the confined space.

"Mr Aizawa! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - I'm sorry."

He didn't look angry, although you wished he did. It would be better than the unsettling smile on his face.

"That's alright, I was heading out here anyway," He closed the door behind him and flicked on a dim light that lit up the room with shadows. "Can't leave it hanging for too long."

Your throat tightened, he stood between you and the only exit. If he noticed your terror there was no indication that he cared. He turned his back to you momentarily, rummaging through the clutter on the workbench. Now was the best chance you may get and you made a dash for the door. It was a futile attempt and part of you knew it but your nerves were ablaze with adrenaline and you were running on instinct not reason. There was a foreign tightness around your throat that kept you fighting to inhale. Struggling to breathe you didn’t even register the sharp pinch of a needle piercing your deltoid.

Aizawa pressed his nose to your hair, "Behave. Even if you get out of here, your tire has a flat, pesky nails tend to find their way on to the roads out here. A real shame."

He dragged you over to a chair across from the lifeless body cuffing both your wrists to the armrests. Stupid, stupid, he was grabbing out cuffs and I ran straight into him, you scolded yourself. You went to open your mouth and beg to be let go, but you were silenced.

"Keep it down or I'll have to find a way to keep you quiet."

Your heart was beating so hard it hurt. Once a friend said it was possible to die by fright, if that was true you wouldn't last much longer. Now that you were safely out of the way, Aizawa could make quick work dismembering the carcass. He donned his usual rubber apron and pulled back his hair. With his experience he could finish the job in less than two hours. Now was as good a time as ever for you to learn.

With a sigh he began his explanation and craft:

"Cannibalism has been around as long as we've existed: sacrificially, ceremonially, culturally, especially during times of plague, war, and famine. You can find documented accounts from pretty much every part of the world. And there's no one reason. Our family keeps it simple. We eat meat, animals are meat, and humans are animals. In times of famine and other hardships, this was a reliable food source. Of course now, there's not much of a risk for severe famine to effect people like us but it's tradition. This is how it's been for our family for years. And not just those of us around these parts but our relatives everywhere. It's important to keep old trades alive."

He paused, now splattered with blood, to take note of your dry heaving.

"Please," You gasped. "I just want to go -"

With narrowed eyes he continued:

"It's important for you to listen to our family history. Typically we don't reap a harvest until three weeks after the winter solstice and 3 weeks before the summer solstice. Twice a year is enough to get us by. Zashi and I are impressed that you managed to wrangle him in. Poetic in a way, don’t ’cha think? Consuming the flesh of someone who tried to overpower you. First reap of the harvest. Nice that it's a family affair."

The room was spinning and you were fighting the sedative as hard as you could. There was no way any of this was real, maybe you were dreaming? Maybe you'd been knocked unconscious when that man rushed you. Or better yet, maybe you were asleep at home still. It was possible that this whole delivery fiasco was just a nightmare. Your stomach churned at the speech. There was sun peaking through the cracks in the wall by the time he finished separating the ... different sections. There was no more body, just pieces. You nodded off for a few minutes before being jolted awake by the door opening and letting in the bright morning light .

"Good morning, you two night owls," Hizashi beamed. Walking to his husband handing over a tall mug of coffee. He was completely unfazed by the scene he walked in on. In fact the only frown he made was when Aizawa said he put too much sweetener in the coffee. "Anyways, grumpy pants, I called your sister. She's on her way to pick up Eri and Shinsou for a few days. To give us some time to focus on our little muse. Speaking of, I should go get her some water. Oh, plus we need to fix our door."

---

After you refused to drink anything they tried to give you they left you alone in the shed. The handcuffs were too tight for you to slip through and in your struggle you managed to topple the chair over, hitting the floor with painful slap. It was hard to ignore the buzzing of the flies swarming the space where the body once hung. You closed your eyes, your mind wandering to your family and what they would think when they realized you were missing.

Outside you heard a car pull up and were tempted to scream for someone to help you. Maybe it was the police; maybe someone realized you didn't go home last night and found out where your last delivery was. Your captors came out to greet whoever it was and you were glad you didn't yell, they sounded friendly. They were coming toward the shed but you were too defeated to react.

"Sho," Hizashi gasped, "She fell."

The response was sharp and sarcastic, "I hadn't noticed." He yanked you up with ease and the world was no longer side ways but the jolt paired with the exhaustion and drugs left the world spinning.

The woman must've been the sister they mentioned earlier. She squealed with delight, "Oh isn't she the cutest, lemme get a good look."

She resembled neither of the men and gave off cool-soccer-mom vibes. With a gentle grip on your chin she bore into your eyes.

"Please,” You begged, “I just want go home."

The sister didn't waiver, "Don't worry sweet thing, these two are gonna take such good care of you. Just relax and let them help you."

Help? You don't need help from them. You needed to get out of this hell.

"Okay," She bounced toward the exit, "Bring out my niece and nephew, we're gonna have a fun weekend. And take care of your girl, she looks like a keeper."

Finally you screamed in frustration. Brief, loud, and full of anger but it deflated just as quickly when the two men shot you a menacing look. How could all three of them show no display of empathy? You were again convinced this was an alternate reality when both children peaked their heads in to wave goodbye before they peeled away from the home, leaving you alone with Hizashi and Aizawa.

---

There was a hatch toward the back of the room where the two disappeared until they came back with a third body. They were dragging a woman up like a ragdoll and acidic bile burned your throat. If you had to guess you would say she was late middle age. It felt like they were setting a stage, Hizashi pulled you closer to where they stood while Aizawa managed to tie the woman down to the stained table.

"Why are you doing this," you cried. But they ignored you.

"Did you know there are people who pay for certain oddities and they’re willing to spend big bucks to get what they want? We keep whatever makes sense to eat and sell the rest. Ideally nothing goes to waste.”

The next hour and forty-seven minutes were excruciating. There were several “items” – as they referred to her body parts – that they removed while she was still alive; but finally Aizawa made the perfect incision along her thigh and a pomegranate wave gushed out. There was no way she would suffer much longer with this amount of blood loss.

"Please just let her die," You begged the universe. "Please let it end."

For the first time since starting they stepped back from the body, leaving it on the table to come over to you. Aizawa knelt before you and his bloody hand brushed hair from your face; his thumb rested on your lip and you couldn't even physically respond. Hizashi was behind him, rubbing his partner's shoulders.

"You're going to kill me?”

Both men finally softened, coming down their endorphin high. There was something so satisfying about your question. Arousing, even. They made it clear that your life was up to them, which meant they had you where they needed you.

"Am I having a blonde moment? I don't recall saying we'd kill her."

Aizawa threw an incredulous look his way before addressing you, "We aren't going to kill you. We wouldn't've saved you from that terrible animal if that were the plan. We don't kill just anyone. We wanted to introduce you to our lifestyle and now’s the best chance. Eri’s wanted to keep you since day one, but if you can't behave that'll be an issue. Can you prove to us that you’re going to behave or do we have to get you down into the cellar?”

There was no other choice than to nod. Picking up a piece of the dissected woman Hizashi muttered something about starting dinner before telling his husband that you really need to get more rest. Aizawa agreed, and since it seemed like you were having trouble getting rest he decided to give you another little dose of medicine.

#slasher au #mha x reader #bnha yandere #mha yandere #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere x reader

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jungkxook · 4 years

Text

—stay. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: popstar!jungkook x groupie!reader + smut / sprinkle of angst and fluff

⟶ words: 8,083

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you but the fact that you’re sleeping with two of his band mates too makes things a tad bit complicated.

⟶ warnings: multiple smut scenes, slight dom themes, oral sex, finger sucking oops, boob fondling, hair pulling ft. jungkook’s undercut, doggy style, missionary, thigh riding, spitting, jealous kook!!, unprotected sex, kind of slight possessive themes? but also just general sweetness tbh

⟶ disclaimer: my time jungkook still has me in my feels! also, this is a repost of an old fic on an old blog.

“Stay with me?”

Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. It’s just that, lying there with you on the hotel room bed, there’s no other place he’d rather be ━ and there’s no one else he’d rather experience the moment with than you. Legs tangled together on top of the duvet with your fingers tracing circles onto his bare chest, Jungkook swears he’s in love with you ━ only, you’re not his to have.

“I have to go,” You pout, though your fingers continue drawing constellations on his skin, treading down his arm and over the tattoos that adorn him. You’re focusing now on the lily on his forearm, around and around, sending his head spiralling. “Promised my friends we could hang out today. Besides, don’t you have Mina or Nina━” You wave your hand in the air to dismiss the thought━ “coming over soon?”

“Who?” It takes him a moment to even remember who you’re talking about. Truthfully, he hasn’t seen that girl in well over six months but he’d never tell you that. In fact, he hasn’t been seeing anyone else other than you but he would definitely never tell you that. “Oh, yeah. Well, I think she’s coming over later tonight.”

“Well━” You trail off, and Jungkook knows it’s because you’re stalling. You want to stay, and he knows it well enough, but every question you ask him is just meant to further reassure you that it’s okay if you stay. That he wants you to. “Aren’t you busy with work today before the second show?”

Jungkook shrugs. “We still have lots of time before the day starts.”

You shake your head at him but he knows he ultimately wins out when you start to smile to yourself. You prop yourself up beside him and he has to admire momentarily how you’ve never been timid in front of him when you’re naked. His hand reaches out to brush his fingers against your cheek and you smile down at him. But then something seems to dawn on him that he can’t believe he foolishly hadn’t thought of first.

“Unless… Unless you need to see one of them soon.”

“Who?”

“Taehyung or Namjoon.” It takes all he can muster to say their names without a trace of bitterness. He lifts himself up on his elbow. “Are you still seeing them?”

You shrug innocently. Sitting up a little straighter, you brush his hand away and fidget with your hair. “Would it matter if I was?”

Yes, he wants to scream but he refrains. “No. I just━” he stops. “Just curious. Is that what you meant by work then? You have to go see Tae or something right after me? ”

“No, you prick.” He’s relieved you giggle at him, fingers poking at his chest despite the fact that he was mentally cursing himself for being a dick the minute the words left his mouth. “Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of sex. Friends, too.”

“I know, I know,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry, I━ I know. You said you wanted to go shopping downtown before the show tonight, right? One of your friends ━ Dahyun ━ goes to school in the next city over and she’s taking the day off to see you. I do listen when you talk, y’know?”

He doesn’t miss the warm smile that spreads across your face. You finally return to him, kissing him slow and steadily. In the meantime, he flips you over onto your back and then parts from you much to your dismay. He’s nestled himself between your legs in an instant, kissing up your thigh and sending shivers down your spin. Your hand flies down to twine your fingers in his hair, now much longer than usual.

“I guess I could stay a little longer, if you’d want me to,” You say.

“I do.”

He wastes no time in swiping his tongue at your folds, his mouth wrapping perfectly around you. You’re already mewling with delight. That’s all it ever is with the two of you. Sex and more sex. And while Jungkook isn’t complaining, he sure does wish he could just have more of you. Jungkook burrows a little deeper, his nose rubbing against your clit as he eats you out.

“Morning sex does sound nice,” You manage to say, breath shaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps against you. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Your thighs are already threatening to squeeze shut around his head, fingers tightening in their hold. His own hands find purchase on your waist, stretching outward to hold on to you, and nothing can break you both apart. Not even the muffled sound of rapid knocking on the front door of the too grand hotel room. At least, not the first two times. On the third time when it’s followed by the sound of Jungkook’s manager irritably calling out through the flimsy wood panel, does Jungkook groan into your cunt and poke his head upward, craning his neck to look over his shoulder as his manager’s voice carries infuriatingly loudly to you both once again.

“Get up already, will you? We’ve got several business meetings to conduct today and we haven’t got time for you to sleep off a hangover or whatever it is you’re doing━”

“Gimme ‘til noon!” Jungkook asserts gruffly. He settles himself back between your thighs, and you surely don’t miss the devious way he smirks just before burrowing his head into your heat. There’s an inaudible sound that he makes, that you and certainly his manager can distinguish as being, “I’m too busy right now.”

Busy is an understatement, pointedly made clear when his tongue delves into you, lapping at your leaking wetness as if he were terribly quenched and only you could save him. You don’t think Jungkook taking his morning to eat you out is a good enough excuse that will run over well with his manager later in the day, but it drives him away for now with only a grumbled chorus of words left in his wake. But the silence only lasts for so long. Just as Jungkook is getting comfortable once more, you speak up.

“I don’t think tardiness is a very good quality to have as a celebrity,” You ponder aloud through a heavily pleased sigh.

“Ah, or it’s exactly the thing I need,” he counters with a shit-eating grin. “Being late is a very celebrity thing, isn’t it?”

“When the fame gets to their head,” You snort. Your voice splinters off into a whimper as he tilts his chin up a little higher, lapping deeper into you.

“Then I guess I’m bad.” His voice murmurs against you, rattling you to the bone.

“You’re definitely far from bad. Everyone thinks you’re an angel.”

“Wonder if they’d think the same thing if they saw me now━” He pinches lightly at the inside of your thigh, “head between your legs, and you coming on my tongue.”

You roll your eyes, but your wittiness falls short when he tugs with his teeth at your folds. Your back arches off the bed at once, hips pressing harder against his face.

“Namjoon called last night,” You say. No, you don’t say it. You moan it and even though Jungkook knows it’s because of him and how he’s making you feel in that moment, he still hates hearing someone else’s name roll off the tip of your tongue that isn’t his. “If you must know. Said he wanted to see me in the morning━”

Jungkook grimaces. He grunts shortly, “Guess you’re gonna have to let him down.”

“I’m sure Joon will love that━”

“Don’t,” he hisses. He bites down a little harshly on the inside of your thigh but you don’t mind. When he glances up to look at you, his stare is dark and hooded. “Don’t say their names. Not now. Please.”

You almost miss the desperation in his voice, the way he almost whines his words. You don’t ask, even though you’re curious. You don’t ask, even when he eats you out that morning until he’s made sure you’re crying his name and nothing else. You don’t ask, even when fucks you slow and deep and measured and almost, dare you say, loving like he never has before, clinging onto you as if he can’t live without you. You don’t ask, even when he may get a little rough (just how you like it), as if he’s afraid you’ll leave him right then and there. You don’t even ask when he sucks not one but two hickeys on your neck, large enough for anyone to see. For Taehyung and Namjoon to see.

You never really do ask, even though you notice things have become different.

It’s not as if you haven’t always been close to one another. There are more times than not in which you both physically can’t keep your hands off of one another in public, though in the safest and simplest ways possible. It’s there, in the way you sit next to him with your legs crossed regally on the couch in the green room backstage before a set, playing with the rings on his fingers on the hand resting on your shoulder; there, in the way you sit draped across his lap, leaning into his chest, in the studio as they blur through recordings. When you give advice on composing or lyric writing, Jungkook listens. When you giggle into his ear and whisper lewd things when you probably shouldn’t in the middle of a party with important business men and other celebrities, Jungkook is captivated.

It wasn’t always supposed to be like this. Jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you, but he always knew there was something about you he just could not get enough of. You had chosen him first, approaching him late one night at a bar, and he was instantly head-over-heels. Even if it was mutually agreed upon ━ and oftentimes never really outwardly mentioned ━ that you could sleep around with him, Namjoon, and Taehyung, then Jungkook would have to deal with it. He would do anything, if it meant getting to see you more. At first he didn’t even mind. What was one more groupie to the ever growing list he had already accumulated? He’s never gotten feelings for any of them, so surely he thought he would be okay with you; that maybe whatever he was feeling for you would go away.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

After he asks you the question the first time, he finds himself stuck in a greedy months-long habit of asking you wistfully every time he finds you in his bed. He asks it a thousand and one times, but only ever gets one response from you. You’ll say no, that you have to leave, and sometimes you will. But sometimes ━ sometimes when he knows he wins out because he knows you let your guard down long enough to become besotted by him, a tangible mess with his every touch ━ you’ll linger just a little longer and the notion alone is enough to instill a sense of hope in Jungkook even if he knows it’s wrong.

And maybe you shouldn’t play along. Then again, he takes all your time and you devote what little you have left afterward to him anyway, pretending that you’re still seeing Taehyung and Namjoon when you’re certainly not.

Sometimes Jungkook catches you when he doesn’t mean to, or isn’t expecting to, and it’s all different moments that physically pain him. Sometimes those moments come from paying one of the guys a visit and stumbling upon you there, too.

After having not seen you for the whole day, and just before the concert begins, Jungkook is called over to Namjoon’s room within the hotel to discuss some last minute changes to the show (which Jungkook’s positive he would have heard about if he hadn’t ignored his manager early in the morning). Only Namjoon doesn’t answer the door when Jungkook arrives. There’s a crescendo of giggling on the other side of the threshold and then it’s you, and you’re standing there wearing nothing but a baggy shirt of Namjoon’s that barely covers your bum (and shorts too, he thinks, but Jungkook’s much too focused now on you in Namjoon’s shirt). Namjoon’s standing a bit further back, leaning against the wall of the hallway without a shirt on and he’s grinning at something that’s just happened.

“Took you long enough,” Namjoon calls out. “Come in, we’ll get started. I’ll just be right back━ Just hopped out of the shower━” And then he disappears into another room, most likely to find another shirt that isn’t taken by you.

“Jungkook!” You greet him so cheerfully, as if the sight of you half naked in another man’s home isn’t eating away at Jungkook. You pull him into a hug that’s so tight he can smell your familiar perfume and probably Namjoon’s lingering scent if he focuses hard enough. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jungkook says. He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so standoffish. He hopes you don’t notice. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah. The girls had to leave but that’s okay.” You’re smiling so bright and wide that it almost hurts. “Namjoon━”

“Wanted to see you?” Jungkook finishes for you, remembering your words earlier in the day.

“Yeah━” You’re rambling on now but Jungkook isn’t listening. The pain is still lingering and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows it isn’t right but he can’t be bothered to care. In that moment, he realizes he’d rather be anywhere but there and he’s never felt that way before.

“Uh━ You know what?” He cringes slightly when he interrupts you. “Forgot I had to do something actually. Mina called earlier ━ said she wanted to talk or whatever.”

Your face immediately drops at the mention of the other girl and it pains him even more to know that you don’t see through his blatant lie. What’s worse is that Mina had called him the night before, but he had turned her down promptly before she could even say what she wanted.

You glance over your shoulder fleetingly as if to look for Namjoon, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your lower lip. “But I thought you needed to talk with Joon about the show?”

“Can’t, sorry. Tell Namjoon he can do whatever he wants. I don’t care. Seems like he’s got his hands full with you here anyway.”

He hates himself for it ━ he hates how petty he can be, how rude he can sound without truly meaning it ━ but before he can explain himself or apologize in a way that would probably make him look even more like an idiot, he turns his back to you. It’s the first time he’s really ever done something like that. Usually, he puts up with it ━ with you draped over Namjoon’s lap or Taehyung’s hand on your waist because usually he hadn’t always had feelings for you.

Truth be told, Jungkook doesn’t know how Namjoon or Taehyung feel about “sharing” you. He doesn’t even know how you feel about it or if you’ve noticed Jungkook’s short temper lately. He tries to contain it but he can’t and he hates how he’s become when he’s not alone with you. Lately, he’s started to think that maybe this isn’t right anymore. Maybe he shouldn’t keep meeting up with you if he’s going to feel this way all the time, and it wasn’t fair to you for him to be sulking so much. He’s not supposed to be in love. He’s supposed to be having fun.

After all, that’s what it was to you, wasn’t it?

But that night something happens.

Jungkook only notices you half an hour into the show later that night even despite the fact that you’re in the same place that you always are, standing on the side in the part of the pit closest to the stage where only family and close friends are allowed to stay. Of course you’re dancing along, just like you always do, and of course you’re watching him and the rest of the boys with starry eyes, just how he loves. You smiled wide at some point when his gaze locked with yours ━ him, drenched in sweat and nearing exhaustion, and you, face-flushed and looking as if you’re having the time of your life.

But that’s the thing about you ━ you’re not like the others. Sure, your eyes tend to drift to him more often than not and linger on him longer than necessary but you don’t just come for him. You live for the music, admire the rest of the boys that have treated him so dearly and make the group what it is.

And the way he performs ━ you wonder if he purposely exerts himself more because he wants you to only focus on him. Every rough thrust of his hips, every time he grabs at his crotch, dark and hooded eyes meets yours and you know he’s trying to tease you. Trying to make you suffer.

Later, when the concert is finished and you’re at a private room in a club with the boys to celebrate the evening and Jungkook has had one too many shots, he finds you at the bar. He sidles up from behind you, one palm sliding onto the small of your back. You know it’s him even before you look, judging by the familiar stature of his chest pressing against your body, and his usual scent. His lips press to the crook of your neck and your lips unfurl into a smile. You reach up blindly to grab at the nape of his neck as he starts to sway against you to the beat of the music, hips digging into your ass.

“I’ve been dying to be next to you all night.” He whispers this into the shell of your ear and you wonder vaguely how you’ve maintained enough self-control to not drop to your knees and suck him off then and there. Even worse is the fact that he’s still adorned in the makeup from the concert. Your fingers scratch at one of the newly shaved sides of his head, the rest of his long locks only maintain some of its original style pushed back and off his forehead, though now messily mused as it splays out on either side of his head and threatens to hide the undercut once more.

“You’re drunk,” You point out. He doesn’t seem to register the fact that you only point it out because otherwise, if he wasn’t so smashed, you aren’t quite sure he’d even be touching you the way he is now after the way he’s been acting lately.

“So are you,” Jungkook hums. “Let’s get out of here?”

And you can’t possibly say no.

He thinks it’s a shame, really, because you had looked quite pretty that night wearing a velvet red dress. Because after somehow calling a taxi and stumbling back to his dorm, he gets lost in you for a while and completely ravishes you, impatiently ripping your dress off you and pressing you against the wall, hips eagerly digging into yours until you hook your legs around his hips and he carries you off to bed to finish.

When you’re spent from your first high, Jungkook moves from your sprawled out positions on the bed and gets up, pulling on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the floor. You watch him as he combs his hair back that’s fallen into his face again, muscles in his biceps rippling as he does so. He reaches for an acoustic guitar in one corner, then sinks onto the edge of the bed. He’s not usually this quiet after a night spent together, though you don’t quite seem to notice, thinking nothing of it as he starts plucking away at the guitar with a melody in mind if only because when he’s frustrated and stuck on a lyric, he usually goes to you in seek of help in terms of finding relief. You get to your knees, crawling over to him so that you can drape your arms around his shoulders from the back.

“That’s pretty,” You sigh dreamily, nodding to the guitar and the lazy strumming he had been doing. In the distance, you realize there’s been music playing faintly the whole time from the dock where his phone is plugged in. You recognize one of the boys’ songs playing, then realize it’s Jungkook’s solo, his own voice singing beautifully back to you. Above all else, you realize all at once that he isn’t really playing anything at all, or brainstorming a new song, but plucking along absentmindedly to the melody of his own song.

He’s distracted but he tenses at your touch, then relaxes at once, melting instantly against you. “Just messing around,” he sighs.

“Nonsense,” You giggle. He glances over at you just in time to see you reach for his hand, and he watches as you play with the rings on his fingers. “There’s magic in these hands. In more ways than one.”

You press a chilling kiss against his palm, and then the tip of each of his fingers. Time seems to slow, and all he can suddenly focus on is you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” His voice has a dull, stubborn whine to it that he can’t shake. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Once or twice,” You smirk. You busy yourself by focusing on lining the bottom of your palm with his, measuring your hand in his. He’s much bigger than you, his fingers nearly towering over yours and they’re always so snug and warm.

“Well, it’s true,” he says. “You’re the kinda girl songs are written about.”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, “you have written songs about me.”

He feigns a look of doubt, though a smile threatens to tug at his mouth, especially when you delicately lace your fingers with his one-by-one. “Ah, is that what you think, baby girl? Don’t let the fame get to your head.”

You laugh, dropping your head and leaning your temple against his knuckles in an attempt to hide your sheepish face. With his free hand, he sets his guitar back onto the floor and then unravels his other hand from yours. His palm is calloused and hot as it slides onto your cheek, and you nuzzle into it even despite him guiding your face back up to look at him. He can’t help himself; he leans in to kiss you, biting at your lower lip and earning a delicious moan. As his hands come to grip at your sides just over your ribs and the underside of your breasts do you crawl into his lap to straddle him. For a while, he lets himself get carried away, feeling your hands roam his chest, but then with such vivid intensity, he can only imagine Namjoon and Taehyung in the same position as him and it almost makes him want to vomit. Either that, or it’s the alcohol. Gathering his wits, he shakes his head, pulling apart from you.

“I think I should write━” He fumbles uselessly with his words. “Namjoon’s gonna kill me if I don’t finish these songs━”

You arch your chest against his, warm and soft and palpable, and your hips dig into his a little more roughly, rubbing against his straining erection. You can be heard whining sluggishly as you kiss the underside of his jaw, “But I want you inside me, Kook.”

His breath hitches in his throat, but he can’t think straight anymore. Is the scent he smelling even you anymore, or just a mix of Namjoon and Taehyung? And when you tell him he’s the only one who can ever make you feel the way he does, do you tell that to them too?

His silence is answer enough, and is what ultimately forces you to look up at him. You’re met with an empty expression, then your own countenance is contorting. You sit back on his lap.

“I don’t understand you anymore, Jungkook,” You say. There it is, he laments to himself. The familiar pang to his chest, the dreaded realization that maybe he’s fucked this whole thing up forever. “It’s like sometimes you can’t get enough of me, touching me here and there and just before shows when you’re supposed to be on in ten minutes, telling me that no one will care if you’re late. Then sometimes it’s like you won’t even look at me. Like you can’t get me off of you fast enough; like you can’t even touch me anymore.”

Jungkook avoids your stare, which he knows is exactly the sort of thing he shouldn’t do. But you already have your answer. You clamber off of his lap at once to slide back onto the bed and he wants nothing more than to pull you back but he knows he shouldn’t. Now, you seem flustered, or maybe just disheartened. Your arms come to cross over your bare chest, as if to hide yourself.

“You don’t want to touch me anymore,” You say dryly.

It’s not a question so much as it is a statement. Either way, he shakes his head. Rubbing a tired hand over his face, he mumbles, “Maybe you should go.”

You clamp your mouth shut. “You’re not serious, Jungkook.”

He still doesn’t dare to meet your gaze, his jaw set hard in place.

“You’re kicking me out? Now? Now?”

“I’m not. I’m just━ Not in the mood tonight.”

“What a liar,” You gasp. “I had your stupid boner poking my ass the entire time we were at the club, and you sure as hell spent the better part of the night fucking me.”

He can’t quite tell if you’re mad. Your tone dances a fine line between incredulousness and amusement, though he assumes it all boils down to disappointment in the end anyway. You refuse to move, though, pushing yourself onto your knees beside him.

“Tell me the truth, Jungkook,” You plead carefully. “Something’s wrong. Has been for a while, and I want to know what it is.”

He takes a deep breath and finally meets your stare and, god, you look irresistible. Your lips are bruised red from him biting and sucking at them, and your exposed chest is too tempting, beckoning him to touch you. His mind is a whirlwind of emotions ━ plus, he’s just a little bit tipsy, and so he blames it on that for caving into you so easily.

He grimaces. “I’m jealous, all right?”

You don’t respond at first, and he decides he wants to curl up into a hole and die. Then, you snort, which isn’t exactly the sort of reaction he was expecting to hear from you, and suddenly you don’t seem so angry at him anymore. “I knew that. Was wondering when you’d tell me, though.”

“You what?”

“Well, it’s not that hard to see. You’re always giving Namjoon and Taehyung death glares when I’m around.”

“I didn’t think I was that obvious.” He says this sheepishly, and at least you giggle at him. “I just━ I’m selfish. I want you to myself.”

“I’m not a thing to have,” You retort.

“I know,” he says, and then groans the words again. “Fuck, I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re not a thing to have, and you’re not mine to have but, god, I hate it that they know everything about what it feels like to be with you.”

Gently, he grabs at your waist, tugging you onto his lap, rough hands spreading your thighs to sit perfectly on him once more. Then, with his hands planted on your hips, does he guide you back and forth on him slowly. He reaches out to brush his fingers along your bare arms, then across your collarbones, and down to your breasts. He leans down as if to kiss the valley between them, but his mouth never really does meet your skin; instead, his lips graze faintly against you.

“That they know your body.” He brushes his nose against your chest as he lifts his head. His mouth ghosts across your breasts, almost catching your nipples in his mouth, his breath warm and tingly against the sensitive flesh, just to tease you. His hand follows his lips, grasping firmly at the underside of your breast, his thumb flicking over the perked bud. “Have touched it where I’ve touched it.”

Your own hands flail out to grasp at his shoulders, your breath hitching in your throat. “Why? Why do you hate it so much? That’s all I want to know.”

“Because they don’t even know how lucky they are,” he mutters. “Because you probably do all sorts of things for them and they just think you’re another groupie. Because they aren’t in love with you.”

“You’re in love with me?” Your face is hot now, your body trembling. His hands are still on your chest when he starts kissing your throat.

“Yeah. I am.”

“What if I told you I’m in love with you too?”

“Well, you are fucking my band mates. I think that makes things a tad bit complicated.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You’re certain if he wasn’t making you feel like heaven in that moment, you would have snapped the words. Instead, you’re already shamelessly grinding your hips against his even without his guidance. “I called it off with them a while ago, actually. They were okay with it, too. Said they felt something was different. You’re the only one in my life, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stops suddenly. He pulls his head back to gawk at you and is greeted to your hooded eyes watching him. “You━ What? What about this morning when you said Namjoon wanted to see you?”

“I lied,” You admit timidly.

“And when you were in his room━”

“We never did anything,” You promise. “I just wanted to see a reaction from you. Honestly, so did Taehyung and Namjoon. I mean, Namjoon purposely told me to come to his room to see if you’d be jealous. And I think I went along with it because I really just want to know that when you ask me to stay with you, in your bed, do you really mean it? I just…” You trail off, biting at your lower lip, asking him apprehensively, “What about you and that Mina girl?”

“I haven’t seen her or talked to her in months,” he says earnestly.

“Of course not.” You say this in a breathless laughing manner, as if it’s just now dawning on you. Then, you reach up to cradle his head in your hands, grasping at either side of his face. When you speak next, your voice is an ardent whisper. “I want to be with you, Kook. Like really, really be with you. I didn’t know how to tell you because we were so used to just having sex and nothing more and I figured if that’s all I could get with you, then I’d learn to live with it even if it’d kill me to hear you hooking up with other girls.”

Jungkook blinks. He takes a moment to comprehend what’s happening, but then he’s feeling that tension in his chest loosen and he’s just so relieved.

“There’s only you,” he says. “Has been for a while.”

You smile, so big and soft and pretty, and he kisses you just to bask in the moment. Suddenly, he’s just overwhelmed with love for you and almost doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Maybe I should get you jealous more often,” You muse pensively. “It’s kinda hot.”

“It’s mean,” he pouts. Then, his demeanour changes and he’s smirking wolfishly. “Besides, they can’t fuck you like I can, can they?”

“N-No,” You croak feebly. “It’s always been you, Jungkook. Even with them. I’d never tell them but… you’re all I could think about even when I was with them. Imagining you touching me instead of them. Imagining it was you when they laid with me.”

This seems to grab his attention, having him groaning into your neck. “What’d I say? Gonna be the death of me.”

You shiver at the sound of his hoarse voice. You whisper aloud, “The feeling is mutual.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid lately,” he says. “Let me make it up to you. Do you want that, baby girl? But first you gotta show me you mean it. That you’re mine.”

As he tongues a pattern against your throat, you muster a nod. You wonder if it’s obvious how badly you want him in that moment, with the way your hips continue to grind against his.

“I want you to fuck yourself on my thigh,” he murmurs against you. “Can you do that for me?”

The thought entices you and has you scrambling to nod your head again. His large hands come to grab at your ass, shifting you until you’re seated on one of his legs. Your eyes never stray from his as you start to grind against his thigh, the rough material of his sweatpants rubbing at your core. Slow and steady, he guides you back and forth, watching as your pretty mouth pops open into a silent gasp.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he coos. “God, you look so pretty. And you’re all mine. Touch yourself for me.”

“Where?” You ask breathlessly.

“All over. Anywhere you want me.”

You whimper at the thought, imagining the feeling of his rough hands on your body. You start at your chest, grasping at your own breasts, squeezing at your perked nipples. You pinch them until they’re hard under your fingertips, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts with your palm as you try to picture Jungkook doing the same. Then, you slide one hand down the front of your stomach, past your navel. He watches as you dip lower and lower before finally reaching between your legs, fingers rubbing small circles against your clit. The mingling feelings of you rutting your hips against his thigh and the way you touch yourself under his burning stare has you writhing on his lap within seconds.

“Oh, Jungkook━” Your eyes clamp shut, brows knitting in concentration. “Wanna feel you so bad━”

“Uh uh,” he tuts at once. Grabbing at your chin, he yanks your head back up in his direction and taps his thumb against your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to see how I make you feel.”

“But it feels so good,” You whine. Still, you listen, prying your eyes open just slightly enough to meet his stare again. Now, you’ve started to grind a little harder on him, rubbing at your heat a little faster. “Please, Jungkook━”

“Cum for me first,” he coos, his tone gentle despite his obvious demands. “Then I’ll do whatever you want. You can do that for me, right?”

You muster a nod, eyes threatening to flutter shut again but you refrain. He moves one of his arms to wrap around your waist, his large hard encompassing almost all of your back as he pushes you closer to him and the action alone is enough to make you hum with delight.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says. “The things they could never do for you.”

He doesn’t say Taehyung’s or Namjoon’s names for you to understand and, truthfully, you’re glad he doesn’t. Your mind is much too focused on Jungkook to care about anyone else.

“I want you━” You cry out suddenly, biting at your lip. “I want you to touch me, anywhere. I want you to use me, and make me yours. I want you in me. I just need your dick, Jungkook, please. You always make me feel so good. Please, please touch me━”

His jaw sets hard in place as he continues to watch you, fingers itching to please you however which way you want, but he waits. He knows you’re close to your high when you start whimpering and moaning his name, your hand falling from your chest as your other hand rubs harder at your clit the faster you ride his thigh. He flexes his muscle beneath your core, and the simple action is enough to have your head spinning. As you reach your high, his hand that is still wrapped around your chin slides upward and his two forefingers poke into your mouth. Instantly, you’re sucking against them, tongue laving at his digits desperately as you imagine his cock in your mouth, in your cunt, stretching you wide.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he grunts. “Keep your eyes on me.”

As you unravel in his arms, body twitching into his chest, his arm tightens its hold around your back and envelopes you in his warmth so much to the point where it feels as if you begin to melt against him. You grab at his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper into your mouth until you almost gag, muffled moans meeting his ear as you climax. When you’re spent, your pace on his thigh slows to a steady occasional gyrating of your hips as you suck and lav at his fingertips.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Jungkook hums, his free hand stroking your back as you calm your nerves. When you’ve regained most of your wit, you pop Jungkook’s fingers from your mouth and he takes the liberty of guiding his palm down your chin to your throat to your breasts. “You’re doing so well for me. Bet you never listened as well to them as you do with me. Will you get on your hands and knees for me?”

You scramble to obey, crawling off his lap and onto all fours on the bed. You crane your neck to watch as he gets to his knees behind you, shoving the material of his sweatpants down to his knees in haste. He’s already impossibly hard, grasped in his knuckles, precum leaking from the head of his dick. He wastes no time in pushing himself into you, and though he’s stretched you wide hours ago, the same feeling of him slipping in snug to your heat does wonders on your body still.

“Mm, Jungkook!” You cry out as he buries himself balls deep into you, coaxed so easily by your slick arousal. He sputters at the sensation, palms pawing at your navel as he yanks you further down his cock. “F-Fuck━ You feel so good━”

“Show me,” he gasps, pulling his hips out once and rutting into you so vigorously you feel it shudder throughout your whole body. Then, he’s thrusting into you at a rhythmic fast pace that has you clenching so tight around him, his head spins some more. “Let me hear you. I wanna see how I make you feel. Let me see how you belong to me.”

He tugs at your elbows, yanking you up off the bed, and you clumsily follow suit, pressing your back flushed against his chest.

“I’m all yours, Jungkook,” You whine. “I want you to wreck me so bad. Only you know how to wreck me so bad.”

“Yeah?” he taunts. “Only me? Gonna prove it?”

“Please, Jungkook━ Harder, please━ I’ll do anything you want!”

He quickens his pace and slams his hips up into yours harshly. It has you moaning with delight, nearly slipping from his grasp, but he holds you tighter in place. He reaches round to grab at your chin again, twisting your head in a careful yet prompt manner so that you’re looking over your shoulder at him with your flustered gawking expression.

“Open up.” He taps at your mouth and you do as you’re told. Almost instantly, he pulls your chin closer until your mouth is hovering over his, and spits. It’s a wordless command and gesture, as if to further prompt you to prove your point. You welcome it entirely, swallowing his own saliva completely. What doesn’t make it into your mouth, dribbles down your chin and onto your throat. Then you’re chasing his mouth, hearing him hum approvingly, “That’s it, baby.”

You almost miss his lips the first time from the way he’s being so feral now as his hips continue to slam against yours. You’re fortunate when he guides your chin, still pinched between his fingers, in a much too tender manner for the crude moment that has your heart swooning despite all the hysteria. A hot open-mouthed kiss which is still entirely sloppy as your tongues ravish mid-air, and his teeth nip and suck on your lower lip any chance he can get.

“Gonna tell them how well I fuck you?” he asks breathlessly. You bite at his lip this time, tugging at it hard. “Let them know you’re all mine? Fuck━”

“Mhm!” You rasp. “Oh, Jungkook━”

By now, his pace is relentless. You threaten to ricochet from his grip with each rut of his hips, knees wobbling beneath you. He hand falls from your chin finally to grab at your breasts, replacing your earlier efforts, pinching at your nipples, squeeze at your soft flesh. He lavs wet kisses along your jawline, your neck, and shoulder. Your own head leans back onto his shoulder, a hand reaching out to grasp at his hair. Your fingers first scratch at the shaved sides, then thread through his hair, yanking at it tightly enough to have him grunting in delight.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna━” You whimper. “I’m gonna━”

But you don’t finish your thought. It doesn’t matter anyway. Jungkook already knows you’re close to your high with the way you start to clench around him. You pull even tighter at his hair, a pleasant burn evoking a hiss from his throat. His hips move even faster than before, desperate to try and carry you to your high. So riddled from your first orgasm not long ago and the one before that, you’re quick to crumble beneath him once more. Twisting and turning, you cry out his name in a repeated mantra, like music to his ears. When the scorching heat between your thighs and blinding your eyes subsides enough for you to be somewhat coherent again, you meekly find your voice.

“Tell me I’m yours,” You beg despairingly, voice barely a ragged panting whisper. The aftershock of your orgasm still shakes through your body that the way you’re clutching at his hair now is only so that you can still have some sort of hold on reality still. “Please, please. Tell me. I wanna be yours so bad. You already have me, just wanna hear it from you. Tell me you want me as much as I want you. Please, Jungkook━”

A nerve flutters in Jungkook’s heart. And his dick. He marvels momentarily at the idea of how he wants to continue to wreck you and simultaneously love you all over and grows impatient. Without warning, and with much difficulty, he pulls out of you. Before you can register what’s happening or miss the warmth of his cock in your heat, he pushes you onto the bed and flips you around so that you’re on your back. Then, hovering over you close enough so that he can hook one of your legs over his shoulder, he pushes himself back into you.

“You’re all I want,” he says, smoothing his mouth over yours once more. He moans against your lips, then rests his forehead against yours as he squeezes his eyes shut. “God, I’m so fucking in love with you. You make it so hard to think sometimes. Everything about you drives me wild.”

His pace isn’t as harsh as before, though he’s careless as he abandons all form in an attempt to ride out your high and reach his own. Each thrust he makes jolts you back and forth on the bed, the sensitivity between your thighs a mild burn that starts to crescendo as you gasp each time his cock slides back into you. You reach out tiredly to grab at his face with soft motions despite not bothering to move him from where he still rests with his forehead. One large palm of his comes to grasp at your side, pushing you further into the mattress as he hammers into you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum━” He moans. “Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Gonna let me make your cunt mine?”

“Yes, please,” You rasp. “Wanna feel it so bad.”

It’s different this time despite knowing the sensation well enough from all those times before. Every event since then has been a build up to this, and when he finally releases into you, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. The last few sluggish ruts of his hips make the both of you whimper and whine, mewling with delight the longer he cums in your heat.

Then, he slumps against your chest and the room falls silent once more safe for the sound of your mingled panting. He burrows his face into the crook of your neck and your fingers rake through his sweaty hair in a soothing manner until that too ceases after a few silent moments.

“Not falling asleep on me now, are you?” he asks after the thrill of both your highs have subsided. He lifts his head to look at you and finds that you are, in fact, beginning to doze off.

“No,” You lie. You pry one eye open to look at him as you bite back a sheepish snicker. He pulls out of you at long last, and the lack of warmth has you immediately protesting. You reach out blindly for him before he can move too far. “Come back here. I want to cuddle you.” Then, letting your surroundings register once more, you realize suddenly that music has still been playing all this time. Most specifically, Jungkook’s solo which has been left on a loop. You meet his curious gaze in the dark and deadpan, “Did you seriously just fuck me to your song?”

“It’s not fucking when we were making love,” he wriggles his brows suggestively. You wonder how he’s always so quick to go from one extreme to the other. Whereas five minutes ago, you wanted nothing more than to have him demolish you with his dick, now he’s just his usual lovable idiotic self that you want to kiss all over. He’s not wrong though, you discern. The song isn’t a bad one either, and the thought of him having sex with you to his own music is undescriably hot anyway.

“You can’t say you were making love to me when you just took me raw.” Amongst other things, you think to yourself, but you’re certain he’s well aware of that. His snickers warm your heart to no end and you can’t help yourself when you lean forward to kiss him.

“I can and I will because I love you,” he says proudly. Then, as if tasting the words on his tongue and favouring the sound of it, hums more pensively again, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And this time he knows you mean it because, in the morning, when you both wake up feeling sore and marked all over by one another (so that Namjoon and Taehyung can know), you’re still curled up into Jungkook’s chest. You’re half asleep, your nose nuzzling against the crook of his neck and making him smile. You’re only roused awake by the feather-light strokes his fingers make as they rub small circles into your back.

“Stay with me?” Jungkook asks this hopefully, of course, but he already knows the answer. This time, he even knows it’ll be different.

He sees your sleepy smile widen when he kisses your temple sweetly, and decides quickly that he likes this, right there and now, as it is, and especially when he hears you whisper finally, “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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hozierandco · 3 years

Text

Sam Fender x Reader / call me lover

Friends to lovers. Lots of fluff.

Plot: Y/N and Sam have been friends for as long as they can remember but growing up has led them to grow apart. There are many things they have to tell one another.

The thing with kids is that they grow up. Too quickly, with too much silence surrounding them.

Sam was a boy, Y/N was a girl but to one another, they were just friends. They had known each other for as long as they could recall and had not doubted one second that they were just friends. Of course, there were the subtle questions from their parents, the hesitation when Sam would spend the night at Y/N's but their parents too knew it was just friendship.

Although they agreed that with all the secrets and trust they shared, they would be the best of couples, they thought it to be too pure to be broken.

Their friends too believed that it would inevitably happen, that they would end up together. Of all people, Dru was the most persistent on the matter. He had known Y/N for a longer time than Sam since Y/N's mother was the doula and a close friend to Drew's. Therefore, the two of them considered each other as siblings.

He liked to tease Sam to make him confess a crush he would have on Y/N. To no avail.

And then, there had been Y/N's first boyfriend when she was 15. At a time in his life when he was still playing Fifa in his room when he was not toying with his piano, he had to endure his best friend clung to her boyfriend's arm.

For the first time, he felt repulsed by the sight of Y/N but mostly by that of the Alex Turner wannabe her heart had fallen for. He began writing about love and deception though he had no reason to have known either.

Of course, the idyll was cut short with Alex Turner #2 coming back from summer camp without his virginity anymore, exploit he felt the need to share with the whole school.

Sam and Drew had come to Y/N's rescue the day at school and together, they had eaten pizza and waited for Y/N's tears to disappear. It was the world against them from now on, and nothing could change that.

Sam had worked his ass off to make Y/N proud and had done all he could for his A-levels. In spite of all the intensity and long hours of going over Horatio Nelson and the Boer War with Y/N, he gave up and started working in a pub. He was to be a musician, no matter what.

His fingers got crooked because of his guitar, his voice sore but at last, he was given a festival to play at. Drew would be there too of course.

As for Y/N, she had started working in an architect's office while studying at the local Uni.

Things got so fast. The kids grew and were soon overwhelmed with new responsibilities. Y/N had a new life for herself and Sam was about to tour before releasing his debut album. When he found out that a label had signed him up, the three friends along with Dean and Joe had screamed their lungs out.

It had come out of the blue that Joe fancied Y/N and it had also come out of the blue that Sam didn't like this turn of event.

The tour meant that they would not see each other for at least half a year as Sam's studio was in London. They had never been away from one another for so long so the day Sam left North Shields, it felt like the soil was crumbling under her feet.

Y/N informed herself of Sam's whereabouts through Dru as Sam didn't reply to her texts. Dru was regularly implying to his friend that he should call her every now and then, but he was always "too busy". Just like that, silent formed around them.

"Sam, call her", Dru begged one more time.

Sam sighed. He did not dare calling her, he felt as though he had let time rule his emotions. The more distance he put between them, the harder it was to think of something to say. Sure, he was busy but he always had been busy.

"You know what day it is today, don't you?"

Sam stared with round eyes at Dru.

"It's her bloody birthday, Sam. Just call her, okay?"

Dru had taken Sam's phone from his coat that was lying on the floor and forced Sam to take it.

Sam went to the room, right next to where he was and dialled Y/N's number, ending up on the voicemail "Hi! I hope that the voicemail just indicates that you're getting hammered somewhere and I also wish you a happy birthday. I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, I wish I could make it up to you. I miss you and I love you"

It was not until the message got sent that he realised what he had just said. Sam knew that opening up always led him to say too much and he couldn't take the risk to lose Y/N.

"What's wrong?" Dru asked when he saw Sam visibly agitated.

"I screwed up"

"You just had one call to make, how can you screw up a call?"

"I said something I shouldn't have. I told her that I loved her"

"As in I love you?"

"Yeah, I mean it's not something we say to each other"

"And do you? Love her?"

"Yes, Dru. I think I do. I think I always loved her"

"Well then, you haven't screwed up. You've just made things easier"

Days went by without a word from Y/N and Sam to pass time was playing with his phone a couple of times a day, not knowing what or if he should write to her. But then it got worrying, he feard that something had happened to her.

"D'you have news of Y/N?", he confronted Dru one night.

"She didn't say that she loves you back, huh?"

"She hasn't said anything at all, in fact. Is she alright?"

"That's odd. Yeah, she's fine, I just got a text from her, not even ten minutes ago. I can ask her to reach out for you if you want"

Dru is a magician as not only five minutes later, Sam's phone buzzed.

Y/N: Dru said you called on my birthday. My phone was off, you should have left a message... Sam: I did! You didn't listen to it? Y/N: I didn't get anything... Sam: Can I call you now? Y/N: No, not tonight. I'll call you tomorrow morning, good? Sam: Yes :)

Sam was not a morning person but he woke up as early as he could. He waited and finally she called. On FaceTime. She looked radiant, unlike him who severely lacked of sleep.

"Hey!"

Bring the tone down, Fender, Sam thought. You're gonna freak her out.

"Hi, sorry I couldn't call you yesterday. It's good to see you"

Just like that, one moving still of Sam was enough to have her mood lit up.

"So, can't make a voicemail work, huh?" Y/N joked around.

"I promise you, it worked. I don't know what happened but it's good I get to tell you like that"

"Tell me what?"

"Well, first that I'm sorry I've been an idiot lately. It's just that I've missed you so much and I wanted to see you and I couldn't stop thinking of you all the time"

An unfamiliar noise of a plate falling.

"Garlic's going on an adventure?" Sam referred to Y/N's cat that was known to be the clumsiest cat on Earth and that Sam had helped naming six years prior.

The distraction was much needed as Sam was blushing and it started showing on camera.

"Let me just go somewhere quieter"

As Y/N left her living room for her bedroom, Sam saw the silhouette of a man trying to assemble the splinters the plate had left behind.

"Sorry for that. What were you saying?"

"Nothing. I'm just sorry I didn't call you earlier and I hoped that you had a great birthday..."

"You sure there was nothing else"

"Yeah, yeah I'm sure"

The two of them chatted for another 5 minutes when the conversatio became awkward.

Y/N was certain when she hung up that Sam was about to reveal his feelings. And she would have let him. In fact, she would have revealed hers as well.

But Dan had to be in the way. Or was it Ian? Stan? Y/N had always done this. When she was thinking of Sam too much, she was collecting men to share the night with.

She never got attached to anybody but liked to wake up by a man's side.

A few weeks later, Dru called Y/N with good news.

"We've got some rest from the tour. We'll be at Shields for a month or so. I cannot wait to see you again, little sister!"

Y/N had set her mind to meet them at the train station from where she would get in the tour bus with them. Since Sam's aborted declaration, Y/N had not gotten any news from him and was not taking any.

When the van arrived and its doors opened, Dru ran to Y/N and hugged her "Ah, come here, you!"

There was a new face amongst the original team.

"Hi, I'm Lisa" the stranger introduced herself. By gazing that her hand was in Sam's, Y/N took a wild guess that the two of them were a thing.

"Nice to finally meet you. You're the 5th Beatle or so it seems. The boys could not shut up about you"

Y/N grinned at Dru and fainted a smile towards Sam. Unfortunately, she couldn't say as much for Lisa and blamed Dru to have kept it a secret.

Lisa was gorgeous, it was undeniable. Her posh accent had made the journey with her and contrasted with hers and the boys'. As long as Sam is happy, I'm happy, Y/N tried to convince herself as she got in the van.

"So, pub?" Dru asked. It was not even 5 pm but the idea seemed to everyone's taste.

"I'll join you later if that's alright. Joe, can you drop me off? I've got a few things to do before I join"

"You alright?" Dru whispered at her as he was seated next to her in the back of the van.

"Yeah, I'm fine" but as she answered, she stared a little too long at Lisa and her brown curls, her tanned skin and her perfect Julia Roberts smile.

"It's Lisa, huh? I don't like her either. Too posh for Sammy"

"I've never said I didn't like her"

"Then what?" Dru hesitated and then exclaimed "Oh!"

As he had nearly shouted, all of the boys and Lisa turned around to laugh at his looks of bewilderment.

Dru shushed himself down as his friends took the piss at him "Finally got the epiphany that you're ugly, Michael?" Dean mocked him.

As Dru brushed the joke and everything went back to normal, he went on with his whispering "You fancy Sam?"

Y/N simply nodded which got Dru leaning back in his seat, stirred by the confession.

"There, you go, princess" Joe stated as he had parked right in front of Y/N's flat.

They all greeted Y/N goodbye and agreed that they would see each other at 7. Sam did not dare looking at her in the eye. He knew he should have said something about Lisa but he had not come around it, why would he since she had her own life now?

As she opened the door, Y/N started tearing up a little, stunned by all the events. She seized her phone and sent a text.

By 6.15, the intercom rang. Y/N had changed into a wrap dress made of sequins and black heels.

"Hey!", she exclaimed to the man who was waiting by the door. This one was Chris, a chap she had seen some days prior. He reminded her of Alfred Enoch somehow with his chiseled jaw and round cheeks. Y/N didn't feel like being alone tonight and Chris was good company.

"Y/N, here!" Joe informed as he was in charge of getting a new round of drinks "By the table over there. Oh hi" he said to the stranger "I'm Joe"

Chris was by far the best-dressed man there as, clearly not familiar to pubs, he was wearing an open white shirt over brown chinos.

Dru and Tom made some space for Y/N and Chris to sit once Y/N had introduced everyone to her date.

The conversation was very much alive by 8 except for the fact that Lisa and Chris felt left out as it was all about childhood memories and family-related topics.

Sam was all eyes for Y/N. It was as though nothing awkward had ever happened between them and as though they were kids all over again.

In an effort to include Chris in the night's ambiance, Y/N asked him to dance with her. She hoped by that that she could get a reaction from Sam as dancing was THEIR thing.

At her birthday parties, they were always the two ones inventing silly dance moves on cheap Eurodance. As teens, they would always wiggle at gigs while the rest of the audience would look at them tenderly.

"I should get going. I've got a meeting in the morning" Chris let Y/N know as a song by Marvin Gaye ended. It was only 10 pm but Y/N didn't hold him back.

"C'mon, Sam. Invite her to dance, you're dreaming of it" Lisa rushed him. "She's your best friend after all"

What if he didn't want to be her best friend anymore?

Sam got up and joined Y/N. Tonight, he would tell her the truth. Not tomorrow, tonight.

"May I accompany you?"

"Yes, you may. Lisa's not into dancing?"

"I don't know but I'm into dancing with you"

"He's in love with her, isn't he?" Lisa asked Dru who had just ordered more drinks.

"Yeah, I think he is.. I'm sorry"

"Don't be, it's no big deal. Sam and I were just fooling around anyway. She's sweet, just what he needs"

"They just have to admit it now"

"So, Chris.. You two are together for long?" Sam asked.

"No, I mean technically we're not together. We've met twice with tonight"

"He seems nice"

"Yeah, I suppose. You and Lisa?"

"About the same: couple of weeks, nothing too serious"

"What did you mean to tell me last time?"

"Last time?"

"Yeah, you were saying that you missed me and all"

"Well, yeah. Touring without you sucked. I've missed you every fucking day. I want to be with you all the time. It's always been like that me and you"

"I missed you too, Sam"

The song had changed.

"What I'm about to say could ruin what we have but I just have to say it: I've always loved you, Y/N. It took me a whole ass tour to realise that. It's what I told you on the voicemail"

"I love you too, you idiot!"

Dru admired Lisa's ability to remain amicable even when she understood that Sam and Y/N had just confessed their feelings. He had judged her badly and saw what Sam had seen in her: a genuine goodness.

Sam was eager to kiss Y/N but had to make sure that Lisa was alright. He wanted more than anything else in the world Y/N and him to be together but he couldn't do it like that.

He turned around to Lisa only to see her kissing Dru. Sam shook his head and turned back on Y/N who was laughing at this sudden act of PDA.

Sam laughed along and then joined his lips to Y/N's.

#sam fender #imagines #fluff #friends to lovers

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Part 12 of my bay/rise crossover! @brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88

It hurt. Everything hurt and he didn't know where he was and he felt sick. He bellowed out into the cold, dark room. He cried again, this time louder as he tried to stand on instead legs. His head spun. Powerful bounds around his wrists and ankles held him down, and moving sent electricity down the length of his body that made him roar. Something on his face covered his eyes— not his mask, something far darker. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t move— he couldn’t hear anything other than his own echo. He was alone.

****

“... come to find out it wasn’t really a car show. It was a destruction derby and I… he just wanted to use my car to win it so he could get another trophy.”

“I cannot understand how upsetting that must have been for you.” Splinter’s head was low as he watched the steam rise off of his tea, “I am certain you treasure your creations just as much as my Donatello. I am sure your father meant no harm, but even the best of intentions can come off as… less than that. When my son was having diffuclties as leader, he said and did many things that upset his brothers.”

“Really? My Raph’s never done anything like that.”

“Your Raphael?” Splinter looked to Donatello curiously as he sipped his tea.

“Yeah. I mean, he has his moments but he’s usually pretty chill toward us— the stress of being the leader leader gets to him sometimes but—“

Splinter choked on his tea. He dropped the cup in favor of covering his mouth during the intense coughing fit that followed. The cup shattered on the ground and spilled tea all across the cold stone of the lairs floor.

Donatello sipped his tea calmly. “You okay, buddy?”

Splinter waved that he was fine as he slowly recovered from the fit. Donatello helped himself to another buiscit.

“Ah— my apologizes, Donatello. Your words just started me is all.”

“Ok.” Donatello didn't ask why. “These are really good buiscit.”

“Thank you, but a… clarification question if I may?”

“Ok.”

“You did just state that your Raphael was your leader, correct?”

“Yeah? He’s the oldest, so leader by proxy. Why?”

“I apologize— when I stated my son was having some difficulties, I should’ve clarified it was Leonardo. The leader of my sons…”

“Gasp. Now it is my turn to choke.” Donatello put his cup to his lips and purposely inhaled some of it. He immediately fell to coughing just Splinter. “ACK! GAG! CHOKING NOISES!”

“You really are a curious fellow.” Splinter hid his mouth with another cough as he laughed. The mutant’s ears pricked to attention at the sound of a disturbance from the opposite side of the lair. “I believe we are not alone.”

Donatello wiped his mouth and looked behind him trying to see whatever Splinter had seen.

“Stay here.” Splinter gave Donatello a pat on the shoulder as he ran past.

Donatello gasped, and then squealed. “OH AM GOSH! A positive touch from a parent aged adult! Dreams really do come true!”

Donatello drank the rest of his tea happily, starting to wiggle in his seat to try and get his nervous energy out. All of the anxiety flooded right back into him when he heard Splinter’s loud scream.

“Splinter!” Donatello was on his feet and running before his mind could catch up, initially on the rats trail but quickly turning paces when he spotted a broom in a corner. He grabbed it, holding it like it was his own staff, and sprinted finally into the room Splinter had entered.

The rat had his own staff at the ready, backed into a corner with his eyes locked on the beast that filled a great deal of the room. The snapping turtle's jaws were frothing over with white foam in his panic, his tail lashing like a whip to further show the agitation of the red beast. Around his wrists and ankles were ropes that had once held him down, now snapped at the base and swinging as he struck out wildly and blindly toward the assumed attacker. Raphael couldn’t see them— his eyes were covered with a tight blindfold that made him lash his head back and forth trying to find any stimuli to tell him where he was.

Donatello recognized the fearful motions immediately— he’d lived with Raphael all his life and learned to recognize the motions his brother would go through for fear or anger or pain, and this wasn’t the second. But one so unused to recognizing the different cues that the snapping mutant had could easily misinterpret any one of them as an anger response.

Splinter brought his staff down at the bridge of Raphael’s shell trying to force him into a corner. Raphael roared in response and swiped a counter strike, just barely missing the staff's quick motions as it hit him in several more places though it was more like gentle, guiding taps.

“Wait— nonono!”

Raphael made a sharp movement when he heard Donatello’s voice and tried to search for it, colliding with Splinter and making the rat stumble slightly before he found a more secure footing.

“Raph, it’s me!” Donatello ran forward, trying to reach for the blindfold, but the moment he touched Raphael, the mutant shouted and slammed a massive fist into Donatello’s stomach.

Donatello stumbled back into the wall, gagging and clutching as he stomach as he tried to both catch the breath that had been knocked from him and try not to throw up. He did, of course, have plating over his plastron just as his brothers did— it was just covered with soft skin instead of hard keratin—but the bone only served to make the pain worse somehow as Raphael’s fist collided with enough force to knock a grown man off his feet.

Raphael immediately recognized who he had hit and started to panic even more.

“Don-nee?” His head thrashed back and forth trying to shake off the blindfold obscuring his vision.

Donatello tried to call out to him, but only a wheeze was produced.

“Donatello, stay where you are.” Splinter took a defensive pose in front of Donatello.

“Nah…” Donatello tried finally, pushing himself off the wall and trying to stumble to his brother's aid, but Splinter’s tail directed him back. “Don’t hurt—“

“I’m not.”

“But he doesn’t know that!”

Splinter jabbed the tip of his staff into Raphael’s chest, making the savage mutant grunt and try to grab at whoever kept poking him.

“I swear… ah…” Donatello felt his way across the wall trying to get behind Raphael without being hurt again or singled out— if he could separate his noise from the racket Splinter was making, then maybe— “I’m… so gonna beat those other turtles shells… if I have any spoons left by time they get back. RAFFEREL!”

Raphael grunted and turned quickly at the sound of the voice.

“Listen to me! Your name is Hamato Red, but when you were nine and me and Leo were eight and Mikey was seven we all chose names we thought were cooler from an old library book April gave us, and you became Hamato Sanzio Raphael.”

Raphael listened intently, his breathing still labored and body tensed, but all senses locked onto Donatello. Splinter stopped his assault to listen as well.

“And when we were little hatchlings and you’d go into your fits, dad always calmed you down with the Chūgoku lullaby. And Leo and Mikey and I were always jealous because you got your own lullaby, but every night Splinter would sing the Takeda lullaby to all of us before we went to sleep. Do you remember the Chūgoku lullaby?”

Raphael didn't respond.

“Come on. You know how it goes! Nenneko shasshari mase, neta ko no kawasi… okite naku ko no… nenkororo, tsura nikusa, nekororon, nenkororon…”

As Donatello went slowly through the lullaby, Raphael started to chur softly and sway. Halfway through he started to hum along, and once Donatello was sure Raphael was calm, he approached Raphael without stopping the song. Donatello reached gently to Raphael’s head, hesitating as the great beast flinched but quickly recovering enough to take off the blindfold.

As Raphael blinked in the sudden light, Donatello gently fell to unbinding the ropes from Raphael’s wrists, and the song wrapped up perfectly as he removed the final knot.

“There we are.”

“Don!”

Donatello screamed as he was yanked into a hug, then fell to growing as Raphael rubbed his cheek against Donatello’s battle shell.

“Oh come on Raph you know I’m afraid of togetherness—“

Raphael moved to rest his head on top of Donatello’s, holding the softshell tightly to his plastron. “You’re okay…”

“Of course I’m okay you idiot you threw yourself on top of me!”

Raphael kissed the top of Donatello’s head and continued to hum happily while the softshell struggled for his freedom.

“Oh, really? Really with the kiss? You were just trying to kill me two seconds ago!” Despite his words, Donatello’s heart flooded with warmth at the snapping turtles quick rebound from beast to brother.

“Donnie, I don’t feel good…” Raphael sniffled.

“What kind of don’t feel good?”

“Like I’m gonna be sick.” Raphael stuck his tongue out, “And my back hurts- it is bad—?”

Donatello grabbed Raphael’s face before he could turn around to look at the bandages, forcing the snapper to look back at him. “He probably just gave you oxycodone to help with the pain.”

“Oh okay.” Raphael nodded, not quite understanding but trusting his brother's judgement. “But uh. Who is ‘he’?”

“I may be able to help best.”

Raphael gave a confused grunt and turned around, pulling Donatello along with him as he saw Splinter for the first time.

“Hey, pops got taller! Good for him.”

“That’s not dad you idiot— well it is kinda— but not our dad!”

Raphael blinked. “Raph is confused!”

Splinter laughed, finally letting his staff back down into a relaxed position and resting on it. “I’m going to need so much more tea.”

#lullabies #poor Raphie #he luv his brother #brother snuggles!#splinter has adopted both of them already

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

88. I dropped my watch in an open grave, jumped in to get it, and while you were visiting your dead grandmother, you saw me climbing out of the grave (credit to @enchantedcass)

Indruck, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here it is! This is technically SFW, though there's some discussion of sex and a bit of steaminess at the end.

“Here, these are fresh.” Indrid sets the wildflowers on the small, stone marker, so covered with moss and worn with age that no one can read it. He only knows where to find her because he watched from the Barrens as she was put in the ground.

Temperance Leeds. His grandmother, the one who narrowly avoided accusations of witchcraft, the only human who ever set foot deep enough in the trees to bring him food, to drape blankets over his shaking shoulders. She never forgot him, and he shall return the favor as long as he lives.

There’s a thump of earth behind him and he whirls; it’s midnight in a graveyard, who could possibly be here? The ghosthunters usually wait for darker nights to come. In his periphery, a hand rises from an open grave.

Great, if the dead rise he’ll probably be blamed for that too.

“Fuck” A young man pulls himself from the grave, staring at his cell phone, “c’mon, please don’t be fuckin cracked.” Light illuminates his face and sighs, “thank fuckin christ.”

The light disappears and he blinks, eyes adjusting to the dark. Indrid, too caught up in working out why he’s in the ground, hasn’t bothered to hide as he should. The human notices.

“Uh. I. Uh. Dropped my phone checkin the time. I, uh, definitely wasn’t smokin in the off limits, uh, fuck, graveyard I, uh, I fuck, promise I’ll clean up my beer bottles I mean, uh, fuck.” He scratches the back of his neck, “please don’t call the cops?”

“Can you see me?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Yeah?”

“And you are worried about me alerting the police?”

“I mean, guess we’re both breakin the rules but I kinda figured you were staff here because of the clothes.” He gestures to the ensemble Indrid cobbled together from clothes lines.

Indrid stands, stretches his wings, flicks his tail and watches the human slowly notice the color of his eyes and the outline of his horns.

“Fuck. Look, man, whatever you are, I swear I won’t tell, I’m just tryin to keep busy, please, my folks are already worried about me-”

“I’m not going to harm you.” Lightning cracks through the sky, flashing his shadow across the frightened human, “I just wanted you to see me clearly.”

Rain patters on the leather of his wings. The man looks up at the sky, face seeming even younger as it fills with resignation. Indrid recognizes it’s source.

“You have nowhere to go, do you?”

“No. I, uh, decided I wanted to get outta town and never come back, made it as far as here before I ran outta money.”

Indrid offers his hand, watches the man’s face zero in on the claws, “You may spend the night with me, if you wish. My home is a ways into the woods, but it is dry and warm.”

“Okay.” The young man replies softly, letting Indrid help him up as the dirt turns to mud. Indrid shelters him as best he can with a wing until they reach the cottage. Indrid kneels by the fireplace, lumps kindling into a pile as the young man sets his backpack on a chair.

“Nice place. Gotta admit I was expectin somethin more dilapidated. On account of the whole, uh, y’know.” He gestures to Indrid’s horns and cloven feet.

“It was much like you expected, once upon a time. But a human named Arlo Thacker took pity on me and helped me build it with the aid of a few friends. There.” The fire flickers merrily, “that should keep us warm. You may--ah, what are you doing?”

The young man has removed his jacket and shirt, revealing what Indrid recognizes from human magazines as a sports bra. His hands are now on the fly of his jeans.

“You said I was supposed to, uh, spend the night with you?”

“Yes, in that you may sleep here to be safe from the weather and any who might wish you harm. Not so that you may keep me warm. So to speak.”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?”

Indrid flicks his tail, surprised, “You would offer yourself to me, looking like this?”

The man nods in a way that suggests he’s run a calculus in his head and decided Indrid’s desire was less abhorrent than some other option. Indrid crosses the small living room, bringing them face to face. He reaches out a hand, runs his claws through black hair until the human closes his eyes. Then his hand slides to cup his cheek, one nail tracing fond little shapes on the skin as the man sighs. Against his better judgement, he tilts his head down to nose the dark locks; smoke lingers there, just as alcohol hangs on his breath. He’s so warm, so willing and so very soft. Indrid wants nothing more than to undress him further, carry him to his cozy bedroom and discover what sounds come when he fits their bodies together.

“What’s your name?”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

“A charming one. But no, Duck, I will not take such advantage of you. I may be called a devil, but I do not believe in making one trade their body for basic kindness. Come along, the bedroom will allow you more privacy.”

“Thanks.” Duck sways, and Indrid senses a weariness he’s not certain a good nights rest will fix. Tomorrow he will be sure to be gone when Duck awakens, leaving his dry clothes and a map back to town outside his door so that he can do what Indrid can dare to; leave the Barrens and find a life waiting for him in the world beyond.

-----------------------------------------------------------

There are some days when Duck thinks his encounter in the woods was a dream. The hand-drawn map he keeps folded among his books tells him otherwise.

He’d come home after that night, made his peace with Kepler for a few years more, and often awoke from dreams where he was pushing through brush in pursuit of a strange shadow. He never cites these as a reason for his taking a job at a state forest in New Jersey that includes the Barrens.

Now, he’s decided to upgrade from his apartment to a house in the woods that’s been listed for over two years and is a goddamn steal because of that.

“As you can see, there’s another residence across the clearing; that’s why the company that built this lovely dwelling was able to do so. They intended to build a nice little community here.”

“The fact that ain’t happened got anythin to do with the reason I gotta stay the night before I make an offer?”

Ned’s smile falters, “Indeed, dear boy. I like you, so I’ll be forthcoming; we’ve never seen anyone in the other house. But they have most certainly seen us.”

Duck settles in for an uneventful afternoon and evening, reads his book and considers whether he could fit some windowboxes on the house for garden space. It’s not until it’s pitch black outside that it starts; footsteps on the roof, followed shortly by red eyes peering in through the living room window.

He opens the front door, the undergrowth rustling hurriedly to his left.

“Uh, hey there. You may not remember me but, uh, we’ve actually met before. About ten years ago. You uh, you let me stay the night?”

Only some crickets, unaware of the tension in the air, reply to him. Then the bushes grow two, ruby red flowers.

“Duck?”

“Yep. Y’know, you never told me your name. If we’re gonna be neighbors, feels like I oughta know what to call you.”

A shadow moves from the trees, stopping when it reaches the light spilling from the windows. He’s as Duck remembers him; short horns sprouting from a mop of silver hair, claws on his fingers and black wings folded on his back. His skin is a swirl of ashy grey and ember red. And his face, while striking, is human. That was the part that always tripped Duck up; the Jersey Devil was always drawn with a goat or horse face, making him question whether that’s who he met all those years ago.

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

“Nice to see you again, Indrid.”

The other man smiles, and Duck knows what will replace the mad hunt through the brush in his dreams, “Likewise.”

-------------------------------------------------

“You know, she had three more children after me. None of them suffered the same curse.” Indrid kicks idly at the long decayed remains of his family home. Their nightly walk brough them close to it this time around, and Duck had been curious. His interest is never prurient or morbid; Duck wants to get to know Indrid, not his legend.

“That fuckin sucks.”

Indrid chuckles, “I do enjoy how you put things so plainly.”

“I’m serious, what kind of folks put their kid out when it’s a baby? I mean, mine weren't always the fuckin parents of the year but at least they understood lookin after me was part of the deal.”

“It was a different time.”

“Fine, but I’m still judgin the hell outta them.”

Indrid looks fondly down at the human, “That’s as fair a fate for them as any.”

---------------------------------------

“It don’t weird you out?” Juno indicates Indrid’s house from where she and Duck are sitting on his front porch. The twin Adirondack chairs are a new addition, as the warmer months mean he and Indrid spend ample time trying to see the stars through the treetops.

“Nah. Indrid’s a real good neighbor when he’s around. He’s uh, from an old family so he don’t gotta work. Part of why he keeps such weird hours.” Duck wishes he could introduce them; it’d be nice for the three of them to have dinner before Juno heads south again. But Indrid has several centuries of shitty human encounters that dig under his skin like splinters, and Duck will never push him to ignore that pain. Besides, there will be other visits.

The summer and fall pass in much the same ways last winter and spring did. Duck works in the park, visits friends in town, runs errands, and generally goes about all the mundane moments that make up a life. Then he spends his evenings in one of the two cottages, or walking alongside Indrid on long-overgrown pathways.

The hardest part of it all is not mentioning Indrid in every single conversation; Duck is already tempting disaster being unable to lie and the neighbor of a cryptid. He doesn’t want to also drive his friends up the wall talking about said cryptids art, or his laugh, or the little herb garden Duck is helping him grow.

They’re in the stretch of days between Christmas and New Year, and Indrid has just finished opening the gift Duck brought him; a thick, soft sweater that Duck stitched a “I” into the front of along with a few little pine tree patches. Indrid smiles at him and notices that Duck’s sweater is done in a similar fashion (in fact, everyone in the Newton family wears one like this). The grin turns bashful and Indrid rubs his cheek against the fabric.

“Thank you, Duck. I, ah, I’m sorry I do not have anything to give you. Holidays are not my strong suit.”

“Just gettin to see you is enough.” Duck stands to refill his tea, Indrid’s gaze caressing his back as he moves through the room. He almost hadn’t gone home, had offered to stay and keep Indrid company. But his friend insisted, reminding him that while it felt odd to be without each other, they both had spent plenty of time apart and been fine. All the same, when he got home yesterday Indrid was knocking on his door before he even put his bag down.

Duck didn’t mind at all. No more than he minds when Indrid sleeps with his head in his lap or strokes his hair while they read on the couch.

The cryptid stokes the fire as the snow gives way to sleet, streaking the windows with icy drops.

“Goodness, what a frigid night.”

“No kiddin.” Duck sets his mug down, turns just as Indrid gets to his feet, “can’t say I mind, kinda reminds me of the night we met.”

The colors of Indrid’s skin make a blush difficult to spot, but Duck’s learned which dip of his head and quirk of his lip means it’s there.

“‘Drid? Did you ever think about that night? Because I did. I, uh, I do.”

“Yes.” Indrid’s tail twitches.

“What do you think about?”

“I, ah, I...you first.”

Duck crosses the creaking floorboards, looking up into red eyes, “I think about how safe it felt when you brought me here. How when I woke up, I felt like this was some kinda weird sign, that I needed to rethink some things and that’s how come I went home, which turned out to be a good call. And” he smirks, “I think about how I was drunk and desperate enough to ask the fuckin Jersey Devil if he was gonna fuck me.”

Indrid blushes once more, studies the ground as Duck touches his shoulder, “I must say that is the part that dominated most of my thoughts. Not right away; for the first few weeks when I thought of you I only hoped you were alright. Then I would let myself imagine that I had been devilish indeed.”

Gently, Duck raises Indrid’s hand and cradles his cheek with it as they did that night, “What would you have done, devil of mine?”

A snicker, “I will answer that only if you tell me whether you are angling for the demonstration that I think you are.”

“Damn right.” He closes his eyes, heart swelling and skin prickling as Indrid steps closer and nuzzles the top of his head.

“I would have asked if you were tired of running. If you wanted a home. And would you like to make it here, so that we could keep each other company. I know in my heart this would have been a selfish offer. I am glad I did not make it, did not trap you here, resign you to a fate that was not what you would have chosen freely.”

“I’m pretty fuckin free these days.”

“And that all on it’s own fills me with joy. But yes, there were nights where I wished I’d been selfish.”

Duck tips his head up, brushing their noses together, “Say you made that offer and I accepted. What then?”

Indrid cups his face with both hands. The kiss is chaste, Indrid sighing against his lips as he twines his claws in his hair. Duck wraps his arms around his waist, lightly teasing the edge of one wing.

“Then” Indrid murmurs, “I’d carry you to bed.”

“Yeah, that part woulda been easier when I was seventeEEN” he laughs as Indrid scoops him into a bridal carry with ease. He’s never been in Indrid’s bed, so he giggles again when he discovers it’s ten times squishier than his own. The cryptid sinks onto it with him, guiding him so they’re face to face on their sides.

“May I undress you?”

“Knock yourself out, darlin.” Affection deep and warm as a thermal spring wells up in him as Indrid carefully removes his sweater and shirt before dainty setting his claws to work on his fly. When Duck is down to his boxers, hunger enters Indrid’s eyes for the first time.

“Oh you are divine.” One hand strokes his leg, pausing at the crease of his thigh each time it reaches there. The other curves along his belly up to his chest before caressing his face, the black claws making his skin seem oddly pale and very fragile in comparison.

Duck touches the hem of Indrid’s shirt and the cryptid freezes.

“‘Drid? Is this okay?”

“Do you...truly wish to see me unclothed?”

Duck surges forward to kiss him as he rucks up his shirt, the movement a sufficient answer for Indrid to raise his arms and let him pull the sweater and battered shirt beneath it away. His skin here is the same swirl of colors as the rest of him, but there’s a dusting of peach fuzz fur across it. It’s delightful under Duck’s tongue, though the little keen of pleasure from Indrid is even better.

“It’s strange” Indrid traces hearts and zig-zags with his claws along Duck’s sides as the human continues kissing his chest and neck, “I thought that seeing you like this would so overwhelm me with need that I’d beg to have you this instant. But it seems I feel much the same way I did in my fantasies of that night.”

“Oh” Duck reaches up to toy with the base of a horn and Indrid groans happily before continuing.

“Had you stayed, knowing you were now mine, I’d have taken my time. Nestled you under the blankets, opened you up on my tongue until you were weak from pleasure. That way it would be easy to take you when I was ready. Perhaps on your back, so you had me to hold onto if you needed. Or on your belly, so you would be even more sheltered from the cold, cruel world by my body and wings. And I’d stay there for hours, make up for decade after decade of touch starvation by glutting myself on your young, willing body.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid.” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, “christ that’s a fuckin good image.”

“Mmmm” the cryptid licks his cheek, “it is, isn’t it. But since you are not going anywhere, and we are not limited by the confines of my imagination, I am even less inclined to rush. Will you indulge me with just kisse tonight?”

Duck brushes silver hair from his forehead, planting a kiss there when he’s done, “Of course.”

----------------------

The morning brings several feet of snow and announcement that those who can stay in their homes and shelter from the ongoing storm should. The pines drop heaps of white across the ground, and frost makes the windows so icy it’s better to draw the curtains and stay curled up in the dark.

Duck doesn’t mind at all.

#indrid cold/ duck newton #indruck #meet ugly #monster boyfriend

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thevioletcaptain · 3 years

Photo

Coals Aglow

11.4k | Explicit | DeanCas

A years-delayed 13.21 coda, in which Cas uses his grace in ways that it is probably not supposed to be used, and gentle-doms Dean into asking for what he wants.

{i}

It’s been several hours since the rebels split off into groups—half retiring to their sleeping quarters while the others walked with purpose to keep sentry around the camp’s perimeter—and Castiel has made a point to visit every one, speaking with each of them until he understands as much of this place as he possibly can. Just in case.

Castiel supposes that he could have just asked Jack, but despite Sam’s unexpected return he’s been quiet all evening. Almost withdrawn. It makes sense, considering how Sam came to be here and who he’d been forced to bring with him, but it still makes Castiel uneasy. Even after all these years, after his slip-slide into feeling, the emotional discomfort is something he’s not quite accustomed to.

Close to one in the morning, he spots Dean sitting on a log by the remains of a fire at the center of camp, picking idly at the bag of Skittles he’d packed for the trip and referred to as “trail mix” to irritate his brother. Sam is nowhere to be seen now. Dean appears to be doing little more than quietly passing the time.

After what happened this afternoon, Sam’s absence from Dean’s side is noteworthy enough to make Castiel apprehensive about joining him, but he pushes past his reservations and powers ahead. He’d rather sit with Dean in silence than go anywhere else, and though Dean has never said so, he knows that he’s not alone in his preference for spending what little downtime they have together.

Up close, he can see that the fire has burned down to little more than coals and ash. Dean prods at the sole remaining log with a stick, disrupting sparks and dark plumes of smoke that curl up into the night.

As Castiel sits beside him, the log shifts, pressing down into the loamy earth. Dean glances over to look at him. The weak light of the embers casts him in its deep orange glow, reflecting in his eyes, bright as the long-gone sunset. Something in Castiel’s chest settles at the sight.

“You doing okay?” Dean asks, offering the bag of Skittles. Castiel can only shrug as he takes a few and pops them into his mouth.

Almost as soon as he starts chewing, they dissolve into their component parts—citric acid splitting into carbon and hydrogen and oxygen; sucrose molecules breaking down into fructose and glucose. With effort, he focuses on all of them at once and captures a glimpse of the intended taste, just for a moment, before an unfathomable number of branched chain starch molecules unravel on his tongue, overwhelming the bright flavor he’d briefly enjoyed.

He’s been working on this. Testing things, training himself to taste the sum and not the parts. It’s a work in progress, but it’s one that he’s resolved to see through until it’s an automatic process.

“Relatively,” he says, and swallows the candy before he has to taste it any longer. “How are you?”

“Relatively,” Dean parrots, folding the bag up and poking it into his jacket pocket. “What a day, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“With Mom and Jack. Sleeping. Don’t think he wanted to be alone while he’s in the camp.”

Dean doesn’t gesture toward the place they designated to hold Lucifer overnight, but Castiel looks toward it anyway. He imagines he can feel his brother’s cold, prickling energy down to the tips of his fingers. Like frostbite. He frowns and turns back to Dean; tries to soak in his warmth instead.

“You should get some rest, too,” he says.

“Yeah, probably. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch.”

“Even by our standards,” Castiel agrees.

Dean huffs, his mouth ticking up to the right, and scuffs his heel in the dirt. Castiel watches as he picks idly at the log they sit upon; the twitch in his cheek as he hisses and inspects his index finger before raising it to his mouth. The shape of his lips as he tries to suck a splinter loose from where it's buried itself beneath his fingernail.

“Damnit,” Dean mutters, pulling his hand back to look at it with a frown.

“Here.”

Reaching out, Castiel catches Dean’s wrist in one hand and his fingers in the other, expending a shimmering wisp of grace to work the splinter free. He’s not sure what compels him to make such a show of it — he could have healed the minuscule injury from where he’s sitting without touching Dean at all — but he can’t help himself.

At some point, years ago, his duty to help Dean and his desire to be close to him got all tangled up. He can no longer recall when he’d started healing him through unnecessary touch, but it’s the singular selfish thing that he does, and he’s not planning on stopping unless Dean tells him to.

The splinter falls silently to the dirt at their feet. Castiel curls the tip of his index finger against the tiny puncture in Dean’s skin, directing his grace as it knits back together.

Beside him, Dean lets out an unsteady breath, and a pulse of love stretches out from his soul to brush against Castiel’s true form. If he’s being truly honest with himself, this is another major reason why Castiel allows himself to touch him in moments like this; he knows that Dean enjoys it as much as he does.

Despite all his half-hearted blustering about personal space, Dean is a tactile person, and the moments when Castiel heals him are the moments when his heart is the most open. When he lets himself feel the way he feels without holding back, just for a breath or two. It’s enough. It’s always been enough.

But now—the feeling draws out longer than usual, shifting to something closer to hunger, to desire, and Dean’s fingers flex a little in Castiel’s hand. When Castiel starts to pull away they turn to gently grip him back. And this…

This is new.

Not the feeling—that has been there for years, poorly concealed and just below the surface—but the action that echoes it. Dean has never done something like this, and Castiel has never been brave enough to try it himself. He’s still not, he realizes as he looks down at their hands tangled together and tries to strategize a safe response.

He’s got no ideas, so he doesn’t move. Couldn’t move if he tried.

“Y’know,” Dean says, interrupting his thoughts with his voice pitched low, and Castiel glances back up to see that his pupils are blown wide. Apprehensive. Tense. Aroused, Castiel’s mind supplies, and he pushes the thought away just in time for Dean to make him wonder if he’d been too hasty in rejecting it. “I don’t think I can stand to be alone tonight, either.”

There’s a clear, deliberate weight to Dean’s words, and although Castiel recognizes it for what it is almost immediately, he hasn’t got the slightest clue how he’s expected to address it. How could he? They’ve kept such a delicate balance for so long that even this one sentence feels monumental. It’s as though Dean has casually dropped an anchor onto a scale that would have been thrown off kilter by a feather, and now he’s just sitting here, acting as though he hasn’t just thrown out the entire rule book of their relationship.

Castiel is afraid to respond at all. He wishes he wasn’t, but fear compounded by habit is hard to shake.

“I could watch over you,” he offers eventually, hating himself for taking the easy way out even as he says it, and waiting for the inevitable refusal. Dean exhales as he slowly pulls his hand away and shifts his gaze back to the glowing embers.

“Aren’t you tired, Cas?”

“I’m running a little low on grace, but—”

“No, I mean—aren’t you tired of… of this.” He waves between them with an open hand, the movement far too casual to be anything but calculated, and glances back to meet Castiel’s eyes. “We could die tomorrow.”

“You could say that about every day, for us.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean huffs. “Look, can we just—”

Pushing to his feet, Dean takes a few steps away before turning back to look at Castiel, his hands tense at his sides, clenching into fists and releasing, over and over as though he needs the movement to keep from… something. Castiel isn’t sure what. But his eyes are pleading. Begging Castiel to meet him halfway.

Castiel wants to. He’s just trying to figure out how.

“Can we skip this part?” Dean asks.

“What do you—”

“The—” Dean briefly lifts his hands, then lets them fall helplessly back to his sides. “The… I don’t know, man. The freakin’ confessions. The discussion. The… the whole what now thing. All that bullshit.” He looks up at Castiel. “Can we just skip it?”

Castiel blinks, slow.

“You mean—”

“I mean I’ve had enough, Cas. I’m tired, and I don’t— I don’t see the point in ignoring this anymore. I haven’t really seen the point in a while. Didn’t want to rock the boat, I guess, but now…”

“But now you’re tired.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re rocking the boat.”

Dean doesn’t respond to the question directly; just looks at Castiel with a determination in his eyes that leaves no room for misunderstanding, and says, “I’m going to bed. You should come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Doesn’t even pause to see if his assumption that Castiel understands his meaning is correct.

Castiel is surprised at his confidence. Not because he’s wrong to have it, but because even though this thing that’s been growing between them for near on a decade has been more difficult to deny with every passing year, even though Castiel has been able to feel Dean’s longing for him as sharply as he’s been able to feel his own, Dean has still never acknowledged it in any concrete way.

For his own part, Castiel has given him more openings than his pride would like him to admit, but Dean’s played things so close to his chest the entire time that Castiel has always assumed he didn’t want to deal with it at all.

He just didn’t think they’d ever get here.

There’s always been something in the way. An apocalypse, a near death, an actual death. Something. When he came back from the Empty, miraculously alive again against all odds, he’d thought to himself, it’s now or never, and Dean had barreled into him, fingers pressed to the back of his neck as they’d embraced in a dimly lit alleyway, and Castiel had felt love radiating from him like light from a star, and still nothing had changed.

So, never, he’d thought. He’d made his peace with it. Being near Dean was enough, if being with Dean was not an option.

But now—

Dean is already nearing the dilapidated mess hall he’s been set up in for the night—the camp only has so much space for sleeping quarters—and Castiel hurries to catch up. He slips through the door behind him and into the dark.

Inside, the main room is cluttered and overfull with folding tables.

A dozen or so chairs are stacked along the walls, and the faint scent of instant coffee lingers in the air. Ahead, Dean maneuvers through a tight gap between tables toward a dark red door. When they make their way inside, it’s to find a cramped storeroom, where a thin bedroll and blanket has been set out for Dean on the floor alongside several unlabelled boxes and a shelf of cleaning supplies. His backpack sits at one end like a makeshift pillow.

Near the ceiling, there’s a single narrow window, and the moonlight that filters through its dusty pane catches on the buttons on Dean’s jacket, reflects bright in his eyes as he turns to look back at Castiel.

Years ago, in a similarly cramped storeroom in the Rexford Gas n Sip, Castiel had knelt on the floor to gather his things while Dean waited outside in the Impala, and wondered if perhaps one of them would be brave enough to ask for a single room at the motel they were headed toward.

He’d known already, even then, that what they felt for each other was far beyond the limits of friendship. Had felt it for a long time before that night, too, though it had taken an abrupt fall from Heaven and a brand new soul grown under the worst possible circumstances for him to truly understand what it meant.

But just for a few minutes, kneeling in that storeroom, he’d thought that perhaps this was the night. That Dean would make his move. That he’d summon the courage to make a move himself.

The way Dean had looked at him earlier that night had him feeling recklessly hopeful, and he’d been halfway convinced that they’d arrive at the Rexford Motor Inn, and their hands would touch as they walked to the room, and some understanding would pass between them.

That they’d fall into one another before they even managed to get through the door.

He’d thought about it in sharp detail. Imagined confessing to Dean, telling him how the first thing he’d felt when the angels stopped falling was the overwhelming desire to hear Dean’s voice. To see him. To hold him. To breathe him in.

How his fledgling soul ached every day that they’d been apart; how he’d realized, finally, that this thing between them was love.

He’d imagined it countless different ways as he pushed to his feet with a plastic bag in his hand, as he left the building and locked the door behind him, as he’d gripped the cool metal of the Impala’s door handle. As Dean’s hand had settled on the back of his seat while they reversed out of the parking space, fingers brushing carelessly against the back of Castiel’s neck.

He’s lost in the memory, still trying to wrap his head around what they’re doing here when Dean laughs aloud. Castiel meets his eyes, and feels the soul tangled up with his grace sing at the sight.

“Sorry,” Dean says, and there’s a touch of wild hysteria in his voice. “Just…” He gestures loosely around them. “Kinda hilarious that this is… we’re basically in a goddamn closet.”

Castiel can’t help but huff out a laugh himself, and Dean’s gaze drops to his mouth. It’s not the first time that’s happened. It’s not even the first time Castiel has noticed. It’s different now, though.

Because this time, Dean doesn’t immediately look away. He doesn’t step back or crack a joke or lash out or deflect. He looks at Castiel’s mouth, and he keeps on looking. And looking. And looking. Castiel feels as though he might buzz right out of his body if he doesn’t just—

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes lift to meet Castiel’s, and there’s a shade of reckless humor in them. Something devious and endlessly irritating that makes Castiel want to throttle him for making him wait, even now, when they’re supposedly not doing that anymore.

“Yeah?”

“What are you waiting for?”

The answer, as it turns out, is nothing. Dean grins, and crowds into his space, and kisses him. Just like that.

As though it’s always been this easy. Maybe it has been.

Raising one palm to rest against Castiel’s chest, Dean slides the other into his hair, thumb dragging soft against the back of his ear as he moves him into place, and Castiel lets himself be directed. Lets Dean push him back until he’s pressed firmly against the door. Lets Dean tilt his chin just so, and deepen their kiss.

The memory of Dean’s fingers accidentally brushing against his neck that night in the Impala comes rushing back full force now that Dean is holding him there so purposefully. Kissing him with a hunger that Castiel had resigned himself to thinking would never be sated.

Even now, he’s still not sure it will be. Dean is kissing him, but Castiel still longs for him as though they aren’t pressed flush together.

Castiel isn’t sure if his perception is skewed by love, but as Dean’s lips part, he decides that despite the molecules, Skittles taste better on Dean’s tongue, and it suddenly feels incredibly important that Dean knows. Not about the Skittles, but the rest. Everything.

Can we skip it? Dean had asked, but now that they’re here, Castiel realizes that doesn’t want to.

They’ve avoided talking for years, and as Dean put it—Castiel is tired.

With his hands on Dean’s waist, working under his jacket to pull him closer still even as he breaks their kiss, Castiel does what he hadn’t been brave enough to do in Rexford. He tells Dean the truth.

[keep reading on ao3]

#deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #cass writes fic #here have some smut

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mishasminion360 · 3 years

Text

Crushed (Bonus Chapter)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Warning: Language

Notes: Okay, I just couldn’t resist writing one more chapter from Javi’s POV. Purely because I’m a sucker for pain and love writing sad shit. I hope you’ve enjoyed my little ficlets! If you haven’t already, be sure to check out Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 before reading this one.

He was there when the call came in; one of the first to learn that 220 pounds of TNT inside a car had just turned the downtown Bogotá shopping district into a pile of ash.

He didn’t even wait for the higher ups to finish barking orders before he was running out the door, ahead of the troops. He didn’t need to wait for orders and he didn’t need directions. He knew that district by heart by now. Because he’d been to your apartment enough times to memorize the way there.

***

The mess wasn’t anything like Javi had imagined; had hoped for. It was much worse.

Bodies, and pieces of bodies, had been tossed about haphazardly in the wake of the blast; strewn about as chaotically as the rubble. He realized with a growing sense of dread that one of these corpses could be your own.

Working his way through the destruction, smoke filling his lungs, he dared to glance up at your apartment and his heart dropped to see that it was...gone. There’s nothing but a hole where walls and windows used to be. That home he’d come to know better than his own had been reduced to a fucking crater.

His pulse hammered in his ears and muted the world around him. The screams, the sirens, all far away now. Somewhere in the distance right beside him he could hear Steve yelling at him, trying to pull him back from the ledge before he fell headlong into a chasm of despair.

“She’s fine, Javi. She’s got to be. She might not have even been home. Whatever you’re thinking right now, just stop.”

Javier didn’t even turn to look at him as he responded. “You don’t know what I’m thinking. You couldn’t possibly know.”

He was already off and running before he’d finished the last sentence. Javi didn’t care that part of the building was still in flames, he didn’t care that it could collapse at any moment. All he cared about was you.

Javi took the steps, what was left of them anyway, two at a time on a perilous journey to your floor. There wasn’t much of that left either. Opening the door was another trial, and once he’d finally managed to jimmy his way inside he could see why. And it made his stomach roil.

The blast had blown everything, debris, furniture, to the front half of the apartment and the pile of wreckage had barricaded the door. Javi didn’t waste a single second climbing the mound of detritus, like the Dread Pirate Roberts scaling the Cliffs of Insanity.

He felt his lungs tighten from exertion and the excess inhalation of ash and dust, but he still found enough strength to scream your name as loud as he possibly could. He got only silence in return.

Javi started flipping over smoldering furniture and chunks of scorched rubble, praying softly to himself that he’d find you and that he wouldn’t. He dug and dug until he was soaked in sweat and his fingers were black with soot and red with blood.

He spotted your hand first, sticking out from beneath the splintered remains of your dining room table. The small, delicate extremity was abnormally pale, and not because of the layer of dust that coated it. He frantically removed the rest of the mess until he’d uncovered you, his buried treasure.

One of your arms and legs had each bent at an unnatural angle. Your skin was littered with cuts of different sizes and stained with bruises. Your hair was matted with blood. But it was your eyes that frightened Javi the most. They were wide open, but unseeing.

Javier knew better than to move you until paramedics arrived, but that didn’t stop him from trying to rouse you into the realm of wakefulness.

“Come on, baby, wake up,” he said, voice cracking as he framed your bloodied face in his hands and tried to force those empty eyes to look at him. “Don’t do this to me, baby. Please.”

He refused to leave your side for an instant, not even to spare a second to cross over to the gaping hole where your wall once was and shout down for help. So he just screamed again.

“Ayúdame!!” he roars. “I need help! Someone, please!!” He didn’t know if anyone was coming. He didn’t know if it’d make a difference. “AHORA!!!”

His throat was too raw to try again. Javi collapsed at your side clutching your hand in both of his, as if he could heal all your wounds himself the tighter he squeezed. If only life, or love worked liked that.

“Please....”

***

He’d always hated hospitals. There was something so unnatural about the sterility, and the fact that it served as a haven for healing felt like nothing more than an illusion. Javier knew what it really was. A place where people came to die. A place where you were currently bedded.

At first the nurses refused to let him in, not being a direct family member and all, but they quickly learned in frightening ways that nothing was going to keep Javier Peña from your side. If Steve hadn’t been there to watch his back, Javi was fairly certain he would have been arrested for assaulting a doctor. More than once.

Steve was the sensible, level headed one. He asked the docs all the questions, got all the answers. All Javi could do was stare at you. You looked almost alien to him wrapped in plaster and sprouting too many tubes and wires, but it was still you and he couldn’t look away. His deep brown eyes willed you to wake up.

From time to time he caught words from the doctor’s mouth, words like “skull fracture,” “extensive hemorrhaging,” and “cerebral and internal bleeding.”

“Can you fix it?” he thought he heard Steve ask.

“The damage she’s suffered is severe,” said a doctor who’s name Javier did not know and did not give a fuck to know. “We’ve stopped the bleeding for now, but until the swelling on her brain goes down she’ll more than likely remain comatose.”

The only thing Javier hated more than hearing the doctor spout his medical jargon was hearing his lame attempts to be comforting.

“These attacks are getting worse and worse in terms of casualties. It’s always a shame to see someone so young this badly broken,” said doc what’s-his-name. “Poor woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Will she be okay?” The words left his mouth so softly that Javier wasn’t even sure he’d said them.

“As I said, the surgery was a complete success,” the doctor responded. “The rest is up to her.”

The doc had other patients, so he didn’t stick around. Steve offered to stay, but Javi told him to beat it. All Javi wanted was to be alone. Alone with his grief. Alone with his shame. Alone with his love.

His fingers stroked tender circles up and down your arm; he wondered if you could feel it.

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

***

Days turned to a week, and that week became two. Javi had taken up a steadfast vigil at your bedside. He’d become a permanent fixture in the room and no one could convince him to leave or, at the very least, sleep. He’d sleep when you woke.

The nurses tried to offer positive affirmations here and there and their saccharine sweetness almost made him sick.

“It won’t be long now, I’m sure of it,” one offered. “Just a matter of time until we see those pretty eyes of hers.”

“Her vitals are stabilizing. That’s a good sign,” said another.

They all reminded him to keep talking to you; that, even though you couldn’t respond, you could hear his every word. It wasn’t long ago that he would have killed to get you to stand still and listen to him. Now he finally had you all to himself, but it wasn’t in the way that he wanted. This was an awful way.

“Come back, corazón,” he pleaded silently. “Please.”

***

Soon the doctor was able to deliver a spot of good news: the swelling in your brain was gone and you were likely to regain consciousness soon. Javi tried to take the news for what it was, but knew he wouldn’t be able to officially breath a sigh of relief until you truly were awake and responsive.

“She’s going to have a long road ahead of her, though.” Ah, the good ol’ doc. Never one to sugarcoat shit. “Recovery will be difficult.”

“I’ll be there,” Javi said flatly. “Every step of the way.”

***

It was going on three weeks and you were still fast asleep. According to the doctor you were pretty much healed, internally anyway, but you just refused to come around. Stubborn as always.

Javi couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept himself. The last time he’d moved. He’d missed a shit ton of work, but he didn’t give a fuck. The world had stopped turning and it wouldn’t budge again until you returned to him.

Javier Peña was not a patient man. He’d never waited this long for anything in his life. But for you, he’d wait a lifetime. It felt like he already had. He’d spent so much of his life searching for something that he’d never been able to find. He wasn’t even sure what it was. Until he met you.

The second you walked into the office something shifted. You were like a breath of fresh air; an answer to all of his most burning questions. You awoke in him a feeling he’d long ago forgotten. He didn’t know yet if it was love or just desire, but he knew well enough that you were going to change everything.

But now, in that very moment, gazing longingly at your silent, slumbering form, he recalled the name of that feeling. In that moment he realized that you had made him whole. And it was at that moment he finally broke.

The tears came out of nowhere. His exhausted body was consumed by great, heaving sobs. Javi felt his throat constrict around a string of words that came unraveling from the very depths of his aching heart.

“Wake up, baby,” he begged. “Come back to me.”

He wept openly and loudly and didn’t give a fuck who heard or saw.

“Please, come back to me, please.”

He collapsed atop your supine body and cried the tears of a man shattered beyond repair.

“I’m right here,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

He repeated those words until, at long last, sleep overtook him.

***

“J-Javier...”

He was floating in a sea of darkness, blissfully lost in it when he heard the call. That very sound was enough to cause the inky blackness to evaporate and the world was suffused with light; a sunrise over the retreating black waves. And something inside Javier began to steer him toward wakefulness. Because he knew that sound. He’d heard it countless times in the waking world, and in his dreams. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. The voice of the woman he loved.

“Javi?”

The pull of the ocean receded, and he turned his face toward the sun.

@mamacitapascal @obsessivelysearching @grimeylady

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dontcare77ghj · 4 years

Text

Skin

Natasha x reader x Bucky

When a person was born, the name of their soulmate was printed onto their skin. It made new parents relieved to know that their child had a perfect match in the world.

Your parents were not soulmates. Neither had ever met theirs and fell in love with each other. Their union had produced you, and when you were born, you had two names printed onto your skin.

Natalia Romanova and James Barnes.

Triads were not an uncommon occurrence in the world, but not everyone was as accepting of fates design.

Your father didn't believe in triads, he thought by having two names you would choose one and abandon the other. As you grew older, it became clear to you your father did not believe in soulmates.

You didn't like the notion of abandoning one of your soulmates. The idea made you a little sick, to be honest. You thought yourself to be very lucky, you had not one but two soulmates. It wasn't something everyone could say.

As a child, your only dream was to find the two tattooed on your skin. You had no idea how soon you would be meeting them.

Non-reader POV

The Red Room did not often associate with HYDRA. There was no grudge, just a case of not having the same goals. Today was one of the handfuls of times they had to meet.

"It's come to our attention that you have something we want." The HYDRA director said, lounging in his chair.

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about." Madame B. mused, staring the man down.

"Natalia Romanova." He clarified. "And we have James Barnes."

"You seem to believe that means something to us." Madame B. smirked. "We don't encourage soulmates, and we certainly aren't going to let you take one of our girls."

"We don't want to take one of your girls." The director informed her. "We've been having some issues with our boy. He's not freezing as he used to, and when the asset is awake, it seems to believe it has control."

"What does my girl have anything to do with your solider?"

"Your girl could help us control him. Allow them to meet, form the bond, and it will serve as a reminder for them to follow commands. In return, we will provide her with extra training." The director bargained.

"She is already getting the best education she could." Madame B. scoffed. "What better could you possibly provide?"

"From James Barnes himself. The Winter Soldier." The man smirked as he spoke the ghost tale's name.

"This all sounds well and good, but my girl has a third soulmate."

"As does the asset," The director assured her. "We've already planned for her extraction. She'll ensure the asset and your girl understand there are consequences. What do you think, Madame? Shall we continue negotiations?"

"Yes. Yes, I do believe we shall." Madame B. smiled.

Reader POV

"Happy birthday, sweetheart." Your mother greeted you that morning with a smile. "Big, big day. You're eighteen, maybe you'll meet your soulmates."

"Soulmate." Your father cut in from over his newspaper. "You only need one soulmate."

"Perhaps I'll never meet either of them. Like the two of you." You said, sitting at the table.

"Ignore your father. He's especially cynical before his coffee." Your mother rolled her eyes.

"And you're especially bubbly with it." He muttered.

"Do you have any plans for today, sweetheart?" Your mother asked in a loud tone as she flitted about the small kitchen.

"Not really." You admitted, feeling uncomfortable. "I was just going to work on my painting."

"You should go outside more." Your father told you gruffly. "You're so pale, you need more sunlight."

"Leave her alone, Jack." Your mother sighed.

"Whatever, Marie." He said, standing from the table. "I'm going for a smoke."

"Your father is a difficult man when he wants to be." Your mother commented.

"Why do you stay with him?" You asked her. "He's not your soulmate, and half the time he acts like that."

"It doesn't matter, I love him, and he loves me. Love is complicated, my darling." She explained.

"What would you do if you did meet your soulmate?" You quizzed her.

"Talk to them." Your mother smiled. "I would get to know them, sit with them, and I would explain why I married another."

"Would you leave dad for them?"

"I don't know." She answered. "I truly don't know."

You had left the kitchen shortly after your conversation with your mother. Returning to your room, you had fitted in your headphones and drowned out the world.

You weren't sure how long it had been since you zoned out. The sun had shifted across the room many times by the time you turned off your music.

With your music silenced, you heard screams, crashes, and gunshots coming from downstairs. A part of you wished to run downstairs and fight whatever was attacking your home, but the intelligent part of you won out.

With haste, you rushed towards your desk and shoved the item in front of your door. Barricading yourself in, you rushed for your phone. As several booming thuds hit the door, you dialed 911 with shaking hands.

A shriek left your lips as the door splintered.

"Hello? My home is being broken into. I live at 890 Real Street. Please hurry, I think my parents are dead." You said quickly, letting out another scream as your door was thrown open.

You had no weapon, making it very easy for the men to knock the phone out of your hands and push you into the wall.

"Get off me!" You cried, struggling against a burly man. "Please, let me go! Let me go!"

None of the men seemed moved by your pleas as one passed over a rag to the one holding you. You tried to hold your breath as the cloth was placed to your mouth and nose but failed.

The world went dark quickly, and you collapsed into the man's arms.

With a loud gasp, your body shot upwards as you finally awoke. Your eyes widened as you took in your unfamiliar surroundings, and continued to grow as you noticed people sitting in front of you. In front of you, sat a man, maybe ten years older than yourself, and a girl about your age.

Once they saw you were awake, the girl made to move towards you. Before she could get close to you, you pushed yourself into the corner behind you.

"Vse normal'no. My ne sobirayemsya delat' tebe bol'no." The woman said, raising her hands.

"Vy v bezopasnosti s nami." The man added.

"I, I don't speak Russian." You stuttered, praying they could understand. "Please, I don't know what's going on. Do either of you speak English?"

"You don't have to be scared with us." The woman said in perfect English. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Where am I? Why was I taken?" You asked her.

"Unfortunately, we're the reason you're here." The man sighed, lifting his shirt to reveal your name and Natalia's.

"James." You breathed. "I take it, that means you're Natalia." You said, turning to the woman.

"I'm sorry." Natalia apologized. "Neither of us thought they would take you."

"Where exactly am I?"

"You're in Russia. In a HYDRA facility." James informed you. "I'm sorry, but this is to be your new home."

Seven years. You had been trapped in this HYDRA facility for seven years.

You had attempted escape three times, and each failed. The results of said attempts were nightmares you did not wish on your worst enemy.

James lived in the compound but was often out on missions or frozen for months at a time. Collectively you had spent two months with him per year.

Natalia, on the other hand, was stationed in a place she called the Red Room. She told you, you were her reward. If she did well during the week, she was allowed to see you for a handful of hours during the weekend.

For the first few months, you had been terrified. You barely spoke to anyone, let alone your soulmates, and you were too scared to sleep. You overheard some of the soldiers talking, telling each other the director was mad at the lack of bonding between the three of you.

After your fourth month in the compound, you had been dragged out of your room and into another room. A place you would call hell.

It felt like a decade had passed when the torture stopped. You were barely conscious when James lifted you into his arms and took you back to your room.

Imprinting is what Natalia called it. They thought by hurting you and having Natalia and James fix you up, you would turn to them and eventually garner feelings for them.

The three of you had a real conversation that night. They explained their lives or revealed what little they were allowed to. You spoke of your previous existence, a lump in your throat the whole time. The two were allowed to stay much longer than they had in past months, and you felt you finally knew who your soulmates were.

Seven years later, you were still trapped. Still locked away, under a much stricter lock and key than at your arrival, in this hell hole.

"Look who's awake," Natalia said, entering your cell, pulling James behind her.

"You're back." You sighed happily, jumping from the bed and throwing your arms around him as the door closed.

"I'm back, kotenok." He confirmed, tightening his arms around you.

"If you're back, that means you're going on a mission." You said as the two of you pulled apart.

"Both of us are," Natalia said, sitting on the small bed. "We're going on a mission the day after tomorrow."

"They've never let the two of you on missions together." You commented.

"We were surprised too." James nodded. "But orders are orders, and we do what we're told."

"You don't need to tell me that, James." You said. "I'm well aware of how orders work around here."

"Sorry, kotenok," James said, looking away from you.

"No, I'm sorry, that was rude." You apologized, squeezing his hand. "You don't deserve that."

"Are you okay, kisa?" Natalia asked you. "You seem on edge."

"I got new guards today." You admitted, not looking at either of them. "They just put me on edge."

"Did they do something to you?" James questioned you, lifting your chin.

"No, they didn't do anything." You mumbled.

"We've spent too long together for that to fool either of us." Natalia snorted. "What did they do?"

"They actually do anything." You insisted. "One made a couple comments about taking me off your hands, and the other is very dedicated to HYDRA. A little bit too much."

"I'll kill him," James growled.

"No, you can't." You told him. "If either of you does anything, you're going to get punished. They're going to hurt you, I'll be fine. I don't see people often, I won't have to see them."

"I should gut him. Give me the name of the one who said it." Natalia demanded.

"Nat, I don't know his name. It's fine. All the guards know not to touch me. They just like their little jokes." You rolled your eyes, sitting on the bed with her.

"It's because they all sit watching us through the camera," James grumbled, standing in front of the two of you. Blocking the camera from seeing the two of you.

"Will I get to see you when you come back?" You asked, looking between the two.

"Hopefully." Natalia smiled. "But even we're not sure when we'll be back."

"What she means is we're not sure if I'll be put back in the freezer." He said.

"You're never going to let the freezer thing go, are you?" You asked, managing a weak smile.

"Probably not." Natalia smiled. "If it makes you feel better, I've been

given permission to stay at the base overnight."

"Really?" You asked, eyebrows raising in surprise.

"Yeah." She nodded. "I have to train with J in the morning, so it was decided it was easier for me to stay the night."

"And we were informed that they want our bond to strengthen further, so we're allowed to stay in here tonight," James said, stepping forward and taking one of yours and Natalia's hands.

"So, they want us to try again?" You stuttered, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

There were many reasons you had been brought into the HYDRA compound. To control James, join them with the Red Room, and produce the future of HYDRA.

They wanted you to breed with James.

It wasn't until you were twenty that this became an idea. The three of you had strengthed the bond, and it suddenly gave the handler ideas.

Seven years they'd forced the idea of breeding, and for seven years, it had failed. So far, there was no possibility of children. Something you were incredibly grateful for.

"Yes, that was the implication," James said, not looking at you.

"I love that my one act of defiance is not giving these assholes any children." You chuckled without humor.

"You shouldn't have been brought here," Natalia said, taking your hand. "You should've been allowed to live a life, get married to someone else, be with your family, anything just not this."

"I'll be the first to admit, I don't want to be here." You started, looking at her. "I've never wanted to be here, but I wouldn't go back. I couldn't go back. I wasn't happy before, I'm still not a hundred percent satisfied, but the two of you are my saving light." You told them.

"You're too sweet, kotenok," James said with a small smile.

"Too sweet for your own good," Natalia added, squeezing your hand three times in quick succession.

Natalia and James were very shut off people because of what they'd had to do in life. The words 'I love you' did not come naturally to them, resulting in the three of you coming up with the hand squeezing to substitute it.

Squeezing both their hands, you pulled James onto the bed with you and Natalia.

Few words were exchanged that night as the three of you laid in your small bed. The times you were allowed to all spend together were few and far between. Instead of worrying when you would all see each other again, you were simply enjoying the time. Enjoying the comfort, you all brought each other.

"I have news from the lab." A dark-haired guard said as he entered your cell. "Unfortunately, you're not pregnant."

"Right then." You nodded, staring at the wall. Natalia and James had been gone for two weeks, and you were slowly losing it.

"You don't seem to understand how important it is for you to be pregnant." The guard growled, moving towards you.

"I probably don't." You rolled your eyes.

"You are weakening HYDRA." The man snarled. "You are turning our soldier soft! You are not producing our next super-soldiers! Weakening us from the inside out. Are you committed to HYDRA?"

"Not particularly." You said, narrowing your eyes at him. "You kidnapped me, and murdered my family. I'm not exactly your number one advocate."

"HYDRA will one day establish a new world order. And we will do that with the asset and the Black Widow. We do not need you." He said as he advanced towards you.

You attempted to dodge the man but were grabbed by the back of the neck. A cry left your mouth as the man's gun was brought down upon your temple until you blacked out.

The next few hours were a haze. You could briefly remember the man taking a scalpel to your soul marks, slicing the skin off your forearm only for their names to reappear. They would appear with burning pain on different parts of your body every time he would attempt to erase their names.

You could remember the man throwing the scalpel down in a fit of rage. Screaming at you and nothing in German.

The last thing you could clearly make out was the man taking you into his arms and sneaking you towards the cryotubes.

"They'll kill you." You weakly snapped as he locked you in the tube. "They'll make it hurt."

"They're not going to do anything to me. You died of natural causes." He smirked, before setting the machine.

You raised a hand to the small window, and the world froze, leaving you in the dark for years to come.

Non-reader POV

Natalia and James never returned to the bunker. They overheard a conversation between two of the men with them, detailing the death of their Y/N.

Anyone who came across them in the next three days could only describe them in two ways. Robotic and bloodthirsty.

It was a miracle when they didn't kill Clint Barton on sight. The things he said on that mission, things about choice, making their own way, leaving their own marks, had resonated with things Y/N had said.

With one look, Natalia and James knew they were both thinking the same thing.

It had been three years since their defections from HYDRA and the Red Room. Three years since the death of Y/N, and the shattering of James' brainwashing.

The two had joined the SHIELD first and then later the Avengers. Steve and Clint were the only two on the team to know of the two's shared soulmate. Though they suspected Fury and Wanda knew.

There was one day a year Natasha and Bucky asked for the team to leave them alone. Y/N's birthday. They asked for no contact with anyone so they could grieve privately for the loss of Y/N.

This year, they couldn't seem to respect their wishes.

"I know it's your day off, but you're needed," Clint said, standing by the doorway.

"Unless the world is being invaded by aliens again, I think you can handle it," Bucky said, running his fingers down Natasha's back.

"Okay, let me rephrase this. There's someone you need to see."

"Who?" Natasha asked, trying not to purr at the feeling of Bucky's fingers on her skin.

"He works for HYDRA. Fury brought him in, and he keeps mentioning the two of you." Clint explained.

"Everyone in HYDRA knows us, Clint." Natasha pointed out. "It's not a new thing."

"He also brought up Y/N," Clint said, causing the two soulmates to freeze. "Steve's got the team handled for now, but this guy seems to know a lot about her."

"Take me to him," Natasha demanded, rising to her feet. Her face was hard, and her gaze rivaled Medusa's at that moment.

Clint did not say anything as he led both the soulmates to the tower's holding area. Bucky and Natasha were clutching each other's hands as they stared into the one-way glass.

"Do you know him?" Steve asked, approaching the trio.

"Unfortunately." Natasha deadpanned before entering the room, Bucky right behind her. "I should have killed you three years ago."

"We all know you were in too deep for that." The man said, smirking at the two.

"Lucky for me, I'm not in deep anymore," Natasha smirked, circling behind the man, and slamming his head into the steel table.

Bucky smiled as the man cried out. His face covered in blood, dripping from his clearly broken nose.

"You are the reason our soulmate is dead. I know it." Natasha snarled, tightening her grip on his hair.

"I didn't kill her!" The man exclaimed.

"Don't play dumb, Gideon," Bucky growled, stepping closer. Gideon's eyes widened as he noticed Bucky's mechanical arm shifting. "You were her guard. You were the one who reported it. There is no-one else who could have done it!" He said, slamming his fist into the table.

"I'm not lying, she's not dead!" Gideon stated, flinching at the loud noise.

"Bullshit!" Natasha yelled, slamming his head into the table again.

"She's not! I swear! She's alive! In cryostasis!" Gideon cried out, spitting out blood in his mouth.

Both Natasha and Bucky froze at the statement.

"Explain," Bucky growled.

"She was ruining HYDRA. She wasn't pregnant, and she was weakening you. She had to go. I tried to cut her marks out, attempted to bleed her out, but she kept healing. Her marks kept reappearing." Gideon stammered.

"She was injected with serums like mine. You should've known that." Bucky snarled, seeing red at what he was hearing.

"I didn't, I swear! And when she wasn't dying, I got scared! If anyone found out, I would be killed. I panicked, and I threw her into a cryo chamber! No-one ever found her!"

"You son of a bitch," Natasha gnarled, letting go of him and stepping towards Bucky. "She's still there?" Natasha confirmed.

"Yes! Yes, she's still there." Gideon nodded.

"You better pray she's still there and alive," Bucky said. "Otherwise, you'll pray for death." He chuckled darkly.

"Oh no, you're going to pray for death." Natasha corrected. "You're going to pray for a swift death as you're choking on your blood. You're going to pray as we burn you alive." She smirked as the man paled.

Bucky took her hand and led the woman out of the room. Stepping into the corridor, they saw the team waiting for them.

"Someone deal with the piece of shit in there," Natasha said, moving past everyone.

"Do you want to explain what that was in there?" Tony asked, following after the two.

"That, was well deserved," Natasha said, not looking at the man.

"Dammit, Nat." Tony cursed, managing to stop the two. "Who is Y/N?"

"Our soulmate," Bucky told him. "Someone who we thought was dead because of that scum in there."

"Are you going after her?" Tony asked, despite knowing how dumb the question was.

"Yes." Both responded in unison.

"You're going to need help," Steve stated, coming up behind Tony with the rest of the team. "You can't go running into a HYDRA base without backup."

"We're not going to force anyone to come," Natasha said. "If anyone wants to come suit up and meet us at the jet in ten." She told them before she and Bucky walked to the elevator.

"Nat, I don't know what I'll do if she's not okay. I can't go through that again." Bucky murmured as they suited up.

"She'll be okay," Natasha assured him, taking his hand and squeezing it thrice. "She has to be."

She had to be. If she wasn't, the world would burn in the wake of their despair.

"Is there a plan here? Or are we just going in, guns blazing?" Tony questioned as the jet neared the drop zone.

"Kill anyone who gets in the way, get Y/N, and get out," Bucky stated, strapping multiple guns to his form.

"I'm coming with you," Bruce said to the soulmates. "I highly doubt he treated your soulmate or set the chamber correctly. You'll need help." He told them, grabbing a medical kit.

"Agreed." Bucky nodded.

"I'll come with you to cover Bruce," Clint said, putting two sheaths of arrows on his back.

"Thank you, Clint." Natasha gave him a small smile.

"Alright, we've got ten minutes. Make sure you've got everything you need, there's no information as to whether or not this place is still running." Steve said. Everyone nodded before scattering in the jet, preparing for the fight.

"Nat, can I ask you something?" Clint murmured, standing next to Natasha as she checked over her widow bites.

Natasha gave him a quick nod.

"What did Bucky mean when he said Y/N was injected with the serum?"

"She was injected with the serum." Natasha shrugged. "It was a punishment for the three of us not attempting to bond during her first months there. She was tortured, and they wanted to see how we'd each react to her being injected."

"All because you didn't bond the way they wanted?" Clint asked, raising a brow.

"She wouldn't even talk to us during those first few months. I don't blame her. HYDRA had killed her parents and snatched her out of her life. But we had seven years together, I would burn the world if she asked and it would make her smile. I would do anything she asked if it meant I got to see her smile again." Natasha told him.

"You'll get her back," Clint assured her. "The two of you will get her back."

"Thank you, Clint." Natasha smiled.

"We're here," Steve announced.

It was time. It was time for Natasha and Bucky to get their girl back.

The base had not been empty. It had been as full as Natasha and Bucky remembered it to be three years ago. Steve had led the rest of the team in a fight against the agents as Natasha, Bucky, Bruce, and Clint snuck in.

"This way," Bucky said, moving down a corridor. The HYDRA headquarters was a labyrinth of hallways. Twists and turns, and dead ends littered the base, but Bucky and Natasha knew them all.

The path to the basement was a familiar one, to Natasha especially. She would always be asked to collect Bucky after he had been frozen.

"He said she'd be in one of the last ones," Natasha said as they entered a room filled with cryotubes.

Clint and Bruce nodded at her words before they split into their own corners.

"I found her!" Bruce called. Natasha and Bucky were by his side before he could blink.

"What do the stats say?" Bucky asked Bruce as Natasha raced towards the tube. "Can we get her out?"

"Yes, but these scans are all over the place. Some wounds were pouring blood when Y/N was put in here. Even if she was given a version of the serum, she's still human. We're going to need to be ready to close the wounds the best we can." Bruce said to him.

"We'll be able to heal her?" Natasha asked the scientist.

"As best we can." Bruce nodded. "We'll have to take her to medical, so they can fix what we've done, but it should keep her stable."

"Make it work, Bruce," Natasha said, stepping away from the tube. Bruce began setting up a makeshift medical station and informed everyone as to what they would have to do when they released Y/N from her cell.

"Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three." Bruce said, before opening the tube. Bucky grabbed the woman gently before she could hit the ground and laid her on the floor. Natasha and Clint used rags on her wounds, which began bleeding as she thawed out.

Bruce quickly began stitching up the wounds, flinching at the patches where the skin had been flayed off.

Bruce had closed two of the wounds when suddenly, Y/N's eyes snapped open, and she jolted upright.

"Y/N!"

Y/N had passed out almost as soon as she awoke. Bruce had quickly closed her open wounds, and Natasha and Bucky were able to get her onto the jet.

Y/N had been unconscious for three days now. Bucky and Natasha had not left her side once, despite the multiple attempts for Steve.

"YA obespokoyen." Natasha murmured to Bucky. "Ona do sikh por ne prosnulas'." Bucky knew she must be incredibly tired to slip back into Russian.

"She'll wake up, I know she will." He told her, taking her free hand.

"No chto, yesli ona etogo ne sdelayet?" Natasha asked him. "YA ne mogu snova yeye poteryat'."

"Natasha, she will pull through," Bucky said, looking her in the eyes. "YA tebya lyublyu." He said, squeezing her hand thrice.

"YA tozhe tebya lyublyu." She smiled, leaning over to kiss him.

"I still don't understand Russian." A croaky voice said, garnering a gasp from Natasha. As she and Bucky turned around, smiles crossed both their faces as they saw hazy E/C staring at them. "I should probably start learning."

"You probably should." Natasha smiled as her eyes began to water.

Both Natasha and Bucky allowed their tears to flow as Y/N weakly squeezed their hands three times.

Reader POV

"You're beautiful, kotenok." Bucky hummed, trailing his lips down your exposed skin. A year of physical healing had done you well. Your body had healed from the years of torment at the hands of HYDRA though, there were still scars that lingered.

Particularly the scars from where the skin was removed from your body. Those scars never seemed to fade in color, remaining a bright shade of pink a year later.

But it didn’t matter to you. After all this time, you were free. You were free and you had both your soulmates at your side. Your father would be rolling in his grave.

“And you’re a charmer.” You smiled, moving your neck to give him more access.

“He’s always been like that.” Natasha smirked, running her hands down your form. “But it really comes out in the morning.”

“So does his accent.” You smiled, leaning up to kiss the woman. “So does yours. They’re sexy.”

“Good to know, doll.” Bucky drawled, pulling you closer. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“As will I.” Natasha said, curling up under your chin.

The three of you laid in the large bed for hours. The sun was high in the sky before you decided to move. And as you all dressed for breakfast, a smile was welcomed to your face at the sight of your name on your soulmates skins. And the sight of theirs on yours.

It was all you needed.

Taglist

@rvgrsbrns @smilexcaptainx @hopingforbarnes @starlingelliot @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @jelly-fishy-babie @skeletoresinthebasement @agent-barnes40 @reann-loves-sebstan @skadikh

Natasha Romanoff Taglist

@natasha-danvers @5aftermidnight @ohfuckno

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chaseatinydream · 3 years

Text

pirate king (73) || atz

You sink.

The impact from the waves knocks all air from your lungs, and then you’re enveloped by the cold, wandering fingers locking around your ankles, dragging you beneath the surface. You try to move, dazed, reaching for the little sunlight that manages to pierce the waves, but the warmth doesn’t reach you in the least.

Your lungs start fighting for air, heart fluttering wildly like the wings of a desperate bird in its dying throes. You open your mouth to breathe, but only water enters your lungs and the world around you spins, shades of black and blue and then nothing.

It’s silent.

Lonely.

You’re going to die alone.

This is the end, you think, hopelessly. There’s no pain, no sadness, and the cold of the sea feels nothing more than a comforting embrace you’re returning to. You’ll die here, a speck in the infinite ocean, just like you were always supposed to. It was foolish of you to try and go against the way of nature.

Vaguely aware of the fact that you’re still sinking, your eyes close, and uncontrolled streaks of colour flash behind your eyelids. The silence is suddenly drowned out by noise, and you strain your ears to hear the sounds more clearly.

“Chin Hae!”

The voice is urgent, laced with desperation, familiar. Who’s that? You wonder dazedly to yourself, sinking deeper and deeper into the blessed warmth. Who are they calling for?

“Wake up! Fight!” The voice resounds in your ears, a begging plea, but you shake your head, unwilling. What’s so bad about the situation you’re in right now? You’re just tired... and you want some rest. You’ll just close your eyes for a while longer... and then...

“Choi Chin Hae! You can’t die! You promised me!”

Something hard and cold presses into your hand, sharp grooves digging into the skin of your palm, a painful memory. Your promise?

Promises.

You’ve made so many of them.

You must keep your promises, even if you have to move the entire ocean to do it.

Your fingers tighten around the cold steel in your palm. There’s a tug in your chest, like there’s a rope tied to your heart and someone is yanking at the other end. It aches, but you remember now.

I promised.

And the sea explodes.

>>>

Hongjoong doesn’t know how long he’s been screaming.

He can’t seem to breathe. The world seems to move in slow motion, tiny cogs turning at a sedately pace, the ripples on the ocean surface swallowed up by the waves. His legs carry him forward, nearly throwing himself over the side of the ship, but something yanks him back.

That man is saying something, a small part of his mind registers, but he can’t find it in him to care. His throat is raw with agony, but he can’t feel it. All he sees is the surface of the ocean, and what he knows lies beneath it, out of his reach.

You.

He’d failed. He’d broken his promise to you, to his crew. He’d watched one of his family get thrown into the waves helplessly.

And he had done nothing.

You’re gone.

Something in him snaps.

“Captain, the sky!” One of the ship’s crew screams, and the quartermaster looks up in surprise. His surprise turns into shock, then into horror. Previously a shade of summer blue without a cloud in sight, he sees dark grey rolling in from as far as his eye can see, so thick that it blocks out the sun. Day turns to night, and the air hums, dropping in temperature and the smell of ozone rends the sky itself.

The quartermaster spins around in shock to stare at the captain who’s on his knees, still looking over the ocean even as the winds pick up into a roaring gale, whirling over them. The ship lists to one side, before another tempest pulls it in another direction, and the sky splits to let the rain fall.

It falls - no, it crashes - onto the deck and the crew scramble to bail water before the ship goes under. The waves heave over the deck and a man screams as he’s swept over the side, gone the second he hits the waves. The mast creaks under the force of the wind, groaning in pain, before the entire thing snaps in the middle and the thick pillar of wood falls into the sea as well.

“The sea goddess is angry!” Someone howls in fear from the crew. “Captain, what do we-”

Another wave washes over the ship, and when it subsides in frothing white foam, the man is gone, like he was never there to begin with. The quartermaster whirls to demand what is going on from the captain, but all he catches sight of is a length of short rope between the man’s fingers.

His one green eye flickers up wildly to stare at him, bloodied lips curled into a maniacal grin.

“I’ll have you pay with everything you have.”

With a tug of his fingers, the knot falls apart.

In an instant, the winds scream and the sky splits in half in a massive flash of light. The deck rolls beneath their feet, and the foaming sea heaves, causing the ship to plunge on the trough of a massive wave. Rain lashes against the crew’s faces, before they look up and realise - no, that’s not the rain.

The crest of the wave is twice as tall as their remaining mast, black water standing proud and tall, defying gravity... and it’s coming straight towards them, an unstoppable force of nature.

The wave crashes down on them, and the entire ship splinters like nothing more than matchwood.

>>>

There’s something warm and gentle pressing against your lips.

You wake up coughing and choking.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Chin Hae! Breathe slowly.” A pair of arms come up to support you as you hunch over, panting and choking shallowly, water dripping from your nose and mouth. You want to open your mouth and ask what happened, but the second you try to say something your throat screams in protest, and you turn to the side, violently gagging on nothing.

“Take it easy.” A gentle hand runs up your back to soothe you and you lean into his grasp, every bone in your body suddenly too heavy for you to hold up with your own strength. What on earth happened? You try to ask, but all that comes out is a painful, choked wheeze.

Something hard digging into the skin of your palm gives you pause.

“The key...” You manage to say weakly, raising your hand to see the little piece of steel trapped between your fingers. Wooyoung’s key. It’s here. “I’m... glad...”

A pair of hands grab you sharply by the collar, and you gasp at the sight of your captain hovering over you, his one green eye brimming over with fury and something inexplicable. Oh, you realise after a moment... he’s lost his eyepatch.

“You almost died!” Your captain practically screams at you, hands balled in the fist of your shirt. It doesn’t take you long to realise that he’s trembling, knuckles bleeding bone white. “After all of that, you’re still worrying about a stupid piece of metal? Worry about yourself first, you fool!”

He says that, you think dazedly to yourself, but he’s the one who’s crying.

Without thinking, you reach out a hand to wipe the tears falling from his one eye. To your horror, that only makes your captain sob harder, twisting away from you to bury his face in your shoulder. Warmth pools there, and you wrap your arms around him to pull him close.

He’s warm.

Alive.

You both are.

“You’re alive.” Hongjoong barely manages to say, shaking his head, words muffled against your dripping clothes. “Fuck, when that man threw you into the sea, I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I’m alive.” You repeat after him, testing out the words on your tongue. You can barely believe it yourself. You’re alive.

But how?

You must have said the words aloud, because Hongjoong pulls away from you, absentmindedly stretching out the wrinkles on your damp shirt.

“I don’t really know what happened,” Hongjoong admits, before he sits back on his haunches to look at you seriously. “All I remember was seeing you thrown into the sea and I got so angry, I used the last knot on my rope.”

Your mouth falls open in indignant fury and you smack your captain on the shoulder hard. He winces. “Captain, are you crazy? We’re in the middle of the sea! You could have died!”

He shakes his head with a wry smile that doesn’t match the severity of the situation, glancing down at the short length of unraveled rope in his hand. “Well, we didn’t. We should have, that was by far the biggest storm I’ve ever seen in my life, but what matters is that we’re both alive. I somehow clung to this raft the entire time, and when I came to, I found you floating a few feet from me.”

“Sounds like some sort of miracle.” You mutter, before you let out a cough and a sneeze. Even under the midday sun, you’re freezing, toes blued and fingers trembling. Hongjoong scoffs, nodding his head. “Maybe the sea goddess saved us, although I have no idea how we’re going to survive out at sea like this.” He glances over at you, mouth softening in concern. “Well, let’s take care of what’s in front of us right now. Are you cold?”

You nod your head, trying not to shiver too hard. You did nearly drown, after all. “Yeah,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself, “but there’s nothing much we can do about it. I’ll be fine when the sun dries my clothes.”

“Here.” You look up in surprise to see Hongjoong shifting about on the small raft, pressing close against you. His arms wrap around you suddenly and you yelp in surprise when he tugs you close into his hold. He practically radiates heat, you think, leaning into his warmth before you can think about social propriety. “Thank you, Chin Hae. Thank you so much for staying alive.”

You too, you want to say, but it’s as if exhaustion has finally caught up with you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you rest your head against his shoulder. You’ll face your other problems later, but right now, you’re just tired.

He’s warm, you repeat to yourself. He’s warm and you’re both alive.

And that’s enough for you for now.

As you slip into a deep slumber, you don’t notice the red marks around your ankles left the weight of the chains and the anchor, the skin there slowly starting to flake off, drifting like tiny pieces of matchwood in the puddles left on the raft.

>>>

“She agreed, but the sea witch warned her that if she did not fall in love with a man before her legs crumbled into soil, she would return to seafoam as she did not belong on land and from there on would cease to exist.”

- The Little Mermaid, author unknown

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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brax-was-here · 3 years

Text

Scarlet Briar: The Seeds of Life Chapter 1

Written by: Braxxus

Chapter 1: Just Walk Away From It

Sometimes we try to change the past

The fresh air of the Brisban Wildlands greeted Ceara as she exited the waypoint beam in the sylvari village at Zinder’s Slope. The warm environment was welcoming compared to the frigid cold she had just experienced at the Durmond Priory. The pleasant smells of the village greeted her nose, which she breathed deep. The sounds of the forest filled her ears, a stark contrast to the deathly silence of the halls of the priory. She looked over the surroundings. Citizens of the village going about their daily lives, paying no mind to her. Unhooking the clasp of her cloak, she started walking up the gentle incline of the hillside towards Amaranda’s home.

“Home…” she thought to herself as she looked at the small sylvari structure at the top of the hill. She thought back to the years spent travelling around in her life, never settling in one place for very long. Until dark times took control of her. She paused her ascent, taking a moment to look out over the river that ran nearby. Her thoughts drifted to those months living in the damp cave under the Durmond Priory.

“I never thought I would ever have a home.” She said quietly to herself as she looked down at the dirt path. She kicked at a small stone that lay in front of her.

“Come home, my child.” the voice of the Pale Tree drifted through her mind.

“Mother…” she whispered.

“It’s time for you to come home.” The voice of the Aspect thundered through her memory. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing at the thought.

“No…” she thought to herself, forcing the image of her ghostly doppelganger from her mind. She sighed and continued up the path.

“There, there. Now, you’ll grow stronger.” Amaranda spoke softly to one of the plants outside of her home. Tending to their needs, nurturing them gently when she noticed Ceara coming up the path.

“The prodigal daughter as returned.” she spoke softly to herself as she smiled lightly. She went inside and started gathering together a bowl of fruits and getting a container of juice ready. She placed them on a low table as Ceara entered the home. The pleasant smell of lavender greeted Ceara’s nose as she stepped through the threshold.

“Welcome home. Any news from the Priory?” Amaranda asked.

“Nothing new.” Ceara replied removing her cloak and hanging it on a nearby hook. She sat on a small stool and removed her boots, stretching out her legs before kneeling at the table. “They said that…since the demise of Mordremoth, activity in the blade had diminished but they still keep it heavily warded.” She plucked a strawberry from the bowl. Amaranda poured a leafy cup full of juice and set it front of Ceara before sitting across from her sister.

“Do you think…Do you think it gone?” Amaranda asked grabbing an orange from the bowl and slicing it open.

“I don’t think so. I could still feel it while I was there. It was trying to break free, but it’s severely weakened. The asura cutting it off from any energy source really did damage to it.”

“Well, I hope it stays that way. I would hate to think what would happen if it got out again.” Amaranda started cutting the orange into slices.

Ceara stared out of the front door, watching a pair of dragonflies dance around a small bush just outside. She slowly chewed on the strawberry as she thought about Amaranda’s book in the Priory. Amaranda looked up at her sister, realizing she was lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?” Amaranda finally asked after a few moments. Ceara turned back to her, staring at her somewhat blankly.

“Well?” Amaranda asked, taking a bite of one of the orange slices.

“Tell me about Malyck.” Ceara finally said taking a drink from her cup.

“Malyck? Why?”

“I’m just curious, is all. What was he like?”

Amaranda sighed as she remembered the strange sylvari Trahearne had brought to her. A sylvari not of the Pale Tree, but another tree. A sylvari with no connection to the Dream nor Nightmare.

“He was an enigma, to say the least. Not a sylvari like us. Different. No connection to the Dream. His pod was found just up the river actually. A pod from another tree possi-“ Amaranda paused as she looked at her sister, who was smiling impishly.

“What are…” Amaranda paused a moment. “No!” she snapped sternly when she realized what Ceara was thinking.

“What?”

“No!”

“Why not!?”

“I am not going to help you look for him or some other tree!”

“But why not!?’

“I’ve had enough adventure recently to last a lifetime!”

“But it will be fun!”

“Remind me to discuss your definition of ‘fun’ sometime, Ceara.”

“Oh, come on. Do you just want to stay here for the rest of your life? Live a little!”

“I am living. And I don’t consider travelling right into the front yard of our creator ‘fun’. You’ve heard about the creatures roaming around in the jungle. Some of them were sylvari at one time.”

“But Mordremoth is dead. There’s nothing that we couldn’t handle. Look what we did in Lion’s Arch.”

“Yes, and it could have killed us. No thank you.”

“Feh!” Ceara spat.

“How about finding someone to settle down with. To spend your time peacefully enjoying a quiet life with someone else?’

“Well there is-“

“Someone not named Lord Faren.” Amaranda spoke bluntly.

Ceara looked at her sister somewhat perturbed. “He’s a fine man!” she rebuttled.

Amaranda looked at her, a look of disbelief on her face before snorting a small laugh.

“Really?” Ceara shot back at her. Amaranda shook her head.

“Dear sister…you have much to learn.” She said with a smile on her face.

“’You have much to learn.’” Ceara repeated, snidely mocking her sister. Amaranda laughed as she finished her orange.

“I’m leaving in the morning to travel into the jungle.” Ceara said abruptly

Amaranda looked up at her. “You’re seriously going to look for this other tree? It’s not even known if it exists. And even worse, if it does exist, we don’t know if Mordremoth attacked it as he attacked mother. It may be full of his creatures now.”

“Well, that’s what I’m going to find out.”

Amaranda sighed, as she took a sip of her juice, shaking her head lightly. “I know I can’t stop you. But…just…be careful. Make sure your waypoint device is working.”

“Aren’t I always?” Ceara asked with a smile. Amaranda slowly shook her head as she gently set her cup on the table.

The sun was rose slowly in the morning sky as Ceara arrived at the waypoint furthest west for which she had coordinates. She exited the beam near an area in the far southwest part of the wildlands dubbed “Tangle Root”. Most likely due to the fact that the area is believed to be where Mordremoth had managed to break through and spread his influence throughout Tyria. The dry air gave a hint of where she was heading. A slight shudder went down her spine as she saw the remains of Mordremoth’s large vines protruding from the limestone ridges that surrounded the area.

“You were my champion.” The jungle dragon’s voice rumbled through her mind. Closing her eyes, she focused the memory away. She breathed deep before slowly opening them. It would still take her a day to get through the chasm filled borderlands between the wildlands and the desert wastes of Maguuma. She had decided to stop by the small mining town of Prosperity to check to see if any of the things she left behind were still there.

“This would have been so much easier with my old transporter.” She thought to herself. She had left it behind when she moved her operations from the cave in Lornar’s Pass to the Breachmaker. “I guess the Priory has it now.” She wondered. “Or that little asuran girl with the crooked walk.” Her brow furrowed at the thought.

The Seraph outpost near the edge of the canyon that would lead her to the Dry Top region of the wastes was quiet. Two guards manned the perimeter. Her thoughts drifted back to the first time she had passed through this area as she approached.

“Im just passing through to the desert regions. I’m going to study the plants that live there! I’ve heard they are so much different than anything I’ve seen here!” she happily lied to the Seraph that were stationed at the outpost at the time, covering up her true reason for heading into the desert. To this day she still wasn’t sure if that was a lie she made up as her own or if it was brought forth by the Aspect that was residing in her mind in those dark days. The outpost seemed lightly manned. Just a few troops scattered about going about their mundane tasks.

“Hopefully, this works.” She thought to herself as she opened a small panel on one of her gauntlets and pressed a tiny, illuminated button. She was enveloped in a light bending field that caused her to turn seemingly invisible. She quickened her pace as she knew the field would not last long.

The hours passed by as she made her way through the twisting canyon. She rarely saw a Seraph patrol, and when she did, she was able to easily hide and get passed them. A few travellers were also passing through the canyon as well.

“This was a bandit route in the past. I guess the rise of Mordremoth changed things.” She thought to herself. Midday had come and gone, and the walls of the canyon had started to change. She recognized the vines that were weaving throughout the limestone rock. She approached one slowly, cautiously reaching out and placing her hand upon it. The outer skin dried and fragile, broke and splintered at her touch. She slowly closed her fingers, digging them into the dried vine, pieces of it splintering in her grip as her hand closed into a fist. A feeling of anger was forming in the pit of her stomach, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“This thing. This took control of me. This is what drove me to madness…” Her angered scream echoed through the canyon as she smashed both of her fists down, shattering the section of vine, sending shards in all directions. She choked back the tears as she cleared her thoughts. She stood in silence for a moment, her breathing heavy as she calmed herself.

“I’m sure someone heard me.” She thought as she looked into the distance, down the path her journey was taking her.

The hours rolled on. The sun was low in the sky as Ceara neared the western end of the canyon. Soon the desert expanse of Dry Top would stretch out in front of her as the path curved slightly northward. As the mouth of the canyon gave way to the arid desert, she paused at the scene that lay before her.

“The Zephyrites?” she thought to herself as she gazed upon the wreckage of the Zephyrite airship. Its structure strewn across the desert, twisted and broken like a pile of twigs she would find in Caledon Forest. Off in the far distance, she could make out the small buildings of the town of Properity. Dimly lit windows dotted the dark face of the far cliffs. She took a drink of water from her canteen before making her way down the pathway along the cliff face.

“What happened here?” She thought to herself as she surveyed the wreckage during her decent. As the pathway emptied out at the bottom of the cliff, she felt uneasy as parts of the airship slowly creaked and groaned in the desert breeze. Not even the smallest of animals were to be seen throughout the crash site.

“Did… was this Mordremoth’s doing?” she pondered quietly to herself. She paused a moment. “If it was…then…” Her heart sank. She closed her eyes a moment before taking a deep breath. “I…I can’t think about this now.” She continued moving through the wreckage. She took note of possible remains of footprints in the sand around large pieces of the destroyed structure.

“Someone survived, I guess. Or bandits. Looks like some asura as well. Also, I haven’t seen any of their special crystals.” She glanced at the sun, which was dipping below the far cliffs.

“The wind is picking up. Maybe a sandstorm blowing in.” She thought. She pulled her scarf up, covering the lower half of her face and placed her goggles over her eyes. Lastly, she pulled the hood of her cloak up.

“I may not make it to the town in time.” She thought as she quickly scanned the wreckage for anything to make a temporary shelter. Grabbing some broken beams and some battered panels, she managed to fashion a small shelter against an alcove in a pile of nearby boulders. She quickly grabbed more materials to help reinforce it against the blowing wind.

“I guess I’m staying the night here. Not what I had planned at all.” She said to herself as she closed the makeshift door, securing it behind her as the wind buffeted the small building.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mid-morning sun shone brightly over Properity, a small mining town that also acts as a waystation for travelers passing through the Maguuma Wastes. The towns inhabitants were going about their daily routines. Some heading towards the mine to work, others taking care of business around the town. A particular duo was busily leaning against the town well when they noticed a familiar sylvari approaching. They watched as she crossed one of the bridges over the river of quicksand that helped to protect the town from danger.

“Is that…is that who I think it is?” the asura spoke to his charr compatriot.

“I…I think so. Never thought we would see her again.” The charr replied.

“I hope she doesn’t want to see her place. Think she’s gonna be a tad upset when she sees what that crew did to it.” The asura said, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Ceara paused while crossing the bridge into Prosperity. She could see remains of Mordremoth’s giant thorned vines sticking out of the cliff walls surrounding the northern part of the town.

“It’s amazing they survived him.” She thought to herself. She continued across the bridge, immediately noticing a waypoint beacon set up nearby.

“Well that’s very convenient.” She smiled to herself as she pulled out her waypoint device and calibrated it. She then turned and started walking to the building where she lived for a time. She paused when she saw the duo at the well gawking at her.

“Those two…still standing in the same place the last time I was here…” she said, squinting at them. “They must have grown roots by now.” She shook her head and approached the room she called home for a while. She paused several feet away, looking at the door that had been blown off its hinges.

“Someone set off the trap…” she thought to herself. Cautiously stepping inside, the pit of her stomach sank. The room was completely empty. All her things were gone.

“Well, I should have guess something like this would have happened.” she said to herself. Sighing, she stepped through the hole in the far wall into the cavern beyond. She illuminated a small light from her satchel and cautiously descended the wooden stairway into the cave. A lot of things were still there. Random parts of asura tech, broken odds and ends that she had no use for. Everything that was of any value to her in those days was gone.

“Thorns!” she spat. She climbed back up the makeshift stairs and exited out of the room. Spying the duo at the well, she started marching over to them.

“Uh-oh.” The charr grunted.

“Um…turn around. Act like you didn’t see her.” The asura sputtered. The pair turned and started walking away.

“OH my! You actually don’t have roots!” Ceara shouted. “Now, I have a question and I think you two know the answer!”

The pair started quickening their pace, but Ceara caught up to them, grabbing the asura by the collar.

“Don’t hurt me! It wasn’t us!” he screamed. The charr turned to find the barrel of Ceara’s pistol in his face.

“Whoa! Whoa! We didn’t do anything!” the charr stammered.

“What happened to my things!?” Ceara barked.

“Look! It wasn’t us. It was some other group! An asuran girl. With some humans. And a charr and a norn! They destroyed the door to your place and the asuran girl had a krewe come in and move everything out.”

“And you didn’t stop them?”

“Why should we!? They were heavily armored and carrying around big weapons!”

“Heavy armored…” Ceara thought for a moment. “You said a norn and charr? And some humans?”

“Yes.”

“Was the charr a female? With funny looking eyes? And the asuran girl? Did she have a crooked walk?”

“Um…yeah”

“And the humans… two women, one with dark hair and wearing dark armor, and the other looking like a princess?”

“Yeah. They came in here asking a bunch of questions about you and what you were doing here.” Ceara let the asura go and holstered her pistol.

“What I was…” Ceara thought back to those dark days.” “Oh no…oh no!” she exclaimed; her eyes wide. She bolted back to her room. Darting through the cave, she quickly found the exit that led into a canyon that would take her to a place she had not seen in a very long time.

Ceara journeyed through the canyons of Dry Top as fast as she could hoping to find the cavern where she first found and studied leylines. She didn’t know what lay waiting for her there, only that she had to stop anyone from using that machine.

“That infernal device.” Her mind drifted back to that fateful day.

“At long last I’m going to see it. I’m going to see the Eternal Alchemy itself.” She remembered saying as Omadd was securing her in the isolation chamber.

“I’m so sorry…” she thought.

“Come, young one. Let me show you the truth.” She heard the deep bellow of the jungle dragons voice through her memory.

“If I had only known.” She thought. “If I was only better prepared.” She stopped to rest a moment as the midday sun beat down on her. She opened her canteen and started taking a drink when she heard footsteps in the distance. Hooved footsteps from the sound of them. She turned and could make out centaurs approaching from the direction she was travelling.

“That’s right. I remember there being a centaur camp along this route.” She placed her canteen back in its satchel and started walking towards the approaching group. As she got closer, she counted three of them. She remembered that they were seemingly friendly back during those days, but she undid the clasp on her holster as a cautionary measure.

“Look. Another sylvari.” One of them spoke.

“Another?” Ceara asked puzzled.

“Yes. Tell me, traveler. Do you need any assistance in getting through the canyon?” Another asked Ceara.

“Uh…if you are offering it, then yes. I need to get to the Uplands as fast as possible.”

The trio looked at each other, then back to her, seemingly judging her. Ceara felt uneasy.

“We’ll take you as far as the pass that leads to the desert, but no farther.”

“That’s good enough.” She replied. She climbed onto the back of one of the centaurs. After securing her things, they galloped onward towards the west.

“Well…Ventari would have just made me walk…” she said snidely under her breath. “At this rate we’ll be in the Uplands in no time.” she thought.

Time passed as the trio raced through the canyons. Ceara saw other centaurs along the route, patrolling or hunting. She couldn’t tell, nor did she really care. Her thoughts were only on one thing at the moment.

“If it is still there…if it still exists…” she hesitated at the thought of what that machine did to her and it possibly could do if another entered it. Soon the canyons started fading away, and the desert once again started looming out before her. The centaurs slowed their gait, coming to a full stop.

“This is as far as we can take you, sylvari. Your journey from here is on foot.” One spoke as she climbed off his back.

“Thank you.” She said looking up at him.

“Safe journeys.” He said to her before they turned and headed back into the canyon.

“Well, this looks somewhat familiar.” She commented as she looked out at the rolling dunes of the desert. “Time to get moving.” She thought back to the days of when she lived here before. She remembered making the trek through the desert many times and let her instincts take over, remembering landmarks along the way. She knew she was on the right path when she came across the remains of one of her steam minotaurs partially buried in the sand near a cliff wall, it’s steel carcass blasted clean by years of blowing sand.

“I remember you…” she said, kneeling down, brushing the sand away from its lifeless face. “Thanks to you, and the others, I was able to haul all my equipment into that cavern.” She stood and moved on. Cautiously making her way down the incline, approaching the cavern entrance, she found remains of asuran golems and some security turrets. They had been damaged beyond repair and left where they lay. She picked up a crystal from one of the golems.

“Inquest…” she spoke, looking at her reflection on the surface. “They must have been here studying the ley line…and someone…or something didn’t like it.” She dropped the crystal into the sand and took pause. A giant steel door of asuran design had been constructed at the mouth of the cavern, and it too had been destroyed. She cautiously stepped through into the cave, her heart racing as she was met by the cool air of the cavern. The smell of ozone filled the air, getting stronger as she descended into the cave. Energy she had not felt in a long time washed over her as the path emptied into the main room of the cavern. Its walls illuminated brightly by the river of energy that coursed through it. Ceara gasped as she stood in silence, staring at the beam of leyline energy that flowed from the far end of the cavern to the other, piercing the stone wall and flowing beyond. Her thoughts returned to that day so long ago when she first discovered it.

“Look at that. It’s beautiful.” She thought. “and it still is.” Her thoughts snapped back to the present. She looked around the immediate area, noticing more asuran tech set up in various locations. She slowly walked over to a small terminal that had been set up near the flow of energy.

“The inquest were studying it.” She spoke softly as she ran her hand down the damaged control console. “If they were here…then…” She slowly turned, her eyes gazing up at an opening at the end of the cavern. She felt anxious, as if an icy hand were slowly closing over her heart. Slowly she made her way up the small ridge, each footfall more carefully placed than the last. The ridge was lined with damaged inquest equipment as well, but one console next to the cave opening stood out in particular. It wasn’t of Inquest design. It hummed softly, sounding a periodic beep as lights flashed in time on its control surface. Her breathing labored as she neared it. She paused before reaching the threshold as she thought about what lay beyond in the cavern. Turning her gaze through the opening, she gasped, her eyes widened as she laid her eyes upon what she knew lay in the cave below: Omadd’s isolation chamber. The very machine that allowed her to view the Eternal Alchemy, that showed her secrets she wanted to know, and that allowed the jungle dragon to consume her.

“No…” she shook her head. “NO!” she screamed as she ran into the cave entrance, only to be repulsed by an invisible shield. She screamed again as she slammed herself into the field, trying to crash though it, but to no avail. The shield held fast. She turned to the console.

“No…no….it can’t be here…it has to be destroyed…” she gasped as she frantically threw switches and pressed buttons on the control panel. ‘THORNS!” she screamed, slamming her fists on the unit as nothing seemed to drop the shield. She turned and slammed her fists against the barrier.

“No…” she whimpered as she slowly dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“If I understood the stories correctly…” a voice echoed through the cavern. Ceara drew her pistol, spinning around pointing it randomly behind her.

“The last thing anyone, you of all people, should want to do is be near that machine.” The voice continued.

“Who’s there!? Show yourself! NOW!” Ceara hollered, her voice echoing through the cavern. She heard the sound of an ethereal chime that reminded her of a mesmers teleportation spell.

“I’m down here.” The voice called out. Ceara slowly peered over the edge of the ridge to see a dark colored sylvari woman in white dress looking up at her. She was holding a very odd-looking staff.

“Are you going to shoot me?” the woman asked almost playfully.

“Who are you? Why are you following me?” Ceara replied sternly.

“My name is Liathlas. And I’m not here to harm you, secondborn.” The woman shouldered her staff and started walking up the ridge. She stopped when Ceara fired a shot at her feet.

“Don’t come any closer.” Ceara barked at her. “I asked you why you are following me?” aiming her pistol at the womans face.

“I’m not following you. I am following a group of Nightmare Courtiers that are apparently travelling into the jungle. They seem to be looking for some great item of power. You just happened to catch my eye as you were travelling across the wastes and my curiosity got the better of me.”

Ceara narrowed her eyes. “Nightmare Courtiers? The last I heard Faolain had been killed in the battles against Mordremoth and the Nightmare Court fractured without her leadership.”

“Indeed. Faolian was slain, and in turn resurrected by Mordremoth as one of his champions.”

“You were my champion. My chosen one…” echoed through Ceara’s mind. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

“Are you ok?” Liathlas asked, noticing Ceara’s momentary lack of focus.

“I’m fine.” Ceara snapped at her.

“Well, anyway, as for the Court, they have indeed fractured, their top ranks warring amongst themselves for control.” Liathlas continued. “This particular group seems to have developed a plan to take control of the Court using whatever it is they are looking for in the jungle.”

“And who is this group led by?”

“A sylvari named Nafiona. A practitioner of necromancy.”

“A sylvari necromancer?”

“Yes.”

“An item of great power…” Ceara muttered. She looked at Liathlas unbelievingly. “How do I know this is all true? Maybe you’re here to kill me?”

Liathlas returned her look in disbelief, shaking her head. “I’m not here to kill you. As a matter of fact, I think we should work together, at least until we get into the jungle. There are still plenty of mordrem wandering the wastes, and they won’t waste a second to try to kill anyone that crosses their path.”

Ceara closed her eyes, breathing in deep. She knew this sylvari was right, and it would benefit her to have someone watching her back during the journey.

“Ok…” she reluctantly agreed. Sighing deeply, she slowly lowered and holstered her pistol. Liathlas cautiously walked up to her, turning her gaze to look at the device that lay inside. She looked back at Ceara, who was looking at the machine, before cutting her own eyes at Liathlas.

“I think you need to forget about that machine.” Liathlas stated looking down at Omadd’s device.

“That will be impossible. That machine-“

“Just walk away from it, secondborn.” She turned back to Ceara. “The past is gone. It can’t be changed. Just walk away from it.” Liathlas turned and started walking down the ridge.

“Feh…” Ceara sneered at her, glancing one last time at the machine that was a blessing and ultimately a curse in her life before heading down the ridge herself.

The pair travelled back through the Uplands, eventually back to the canyon that brought Ceara here. The trek was long on foot.

“Tell me, secondborn, which name do you prefer to go by now? Your birth name? Or the name you have chosen for yourself?” Liathlas asked.

Ceara pondered for a few moments. “It doesn’t really matter. Some call me by my birth name. The rest of the world now knows me as Scarlet Briar.”

“I see. Well, how about we just call you…Ceara Briar?” Liathlas giggled.

Ceara looked at her somewhat dumbfounded. “Really?”

“Well, it fits.” Liathlas grinned.

“No, we’re not doing that.” Ceara stated. “So…what’s your story?” she asked the dark hued sylvari.

“What do you mean?”

“What’s your story? A wyld hunt?”

“I didn’t have a wyld hunt. I’m not one of the lucky ones.”

“Maybe you are a lucky one for not having one.”

“And why do you say that secondborn?”

“Doesn’t it feel better not being tied to the Pale Tree? Not having to answer some call, some preordained destiny set before you?”

“I think it would be something remarkable, to have been chosen to have one.”

“That’s delusional.”

“What’s wrong secondborn? You didn’t like yours?”

Ceara’s bioluminescence flared at the thought of being tied down with a wyld hunt.

“I didn’t have one and I am very thankful I was not chosen for one!” she said sternly.

“A touchy subject, I see” Liathlas replied.

“It’s best to just let it go.” Ceara sneered.

“Now, I’m curious.”

“I don’t have one…” Ceara growled through her teeth.

“Ok…ok. There is no need to get upset. Anyway… we should make a stop by the centaur camp to stock on supplies…and maybe rest for a bit.” Liathlas suggested.

“I agree.”

“This trek will take us a while to reach the jungle. I also suggest we make stop by Camp Resolve as well.”

“Camp Resolve?” Ceara asked, pausing.

“Yes. The camp from which the Pact launched their attack on Mordremoth.”

“I’m fully aware. And they weren’t successful.”

“Sadly, no.” Liathlas sighed. “But in the end, Tyria did prevail.”

Ceara’s face dropped. “And it was because of me.” She thought to herself. “It would probably be best if we do not visit that pact camp.” She paused.

“Hmm?” Liathlas looked over her shoulder at Ceara.

“I have the feeling that I wouldn’t be wanted there.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure it would be fine.”

“I don’t think so.” Ceara muttered. “So, tell me about this Nafiona.”

Liathlas pondered a moment. “I don’t know much about her. She’s a necromancer and member of the Nightmare Court as I said. And I’ve been tasked with stopping her from finding whatever this item of power she seeks. Stories tell of her being at the Nightmare Tower in Kessex Hills during its construction.”

Ceara stopped in her tracks, looking at Liathlas. “The Nightmare tower?”

“Yes.” Liathlas turned to her. Ceara pondered a moment, remembering the giant spore plant.

“There were so many Nightmare Court there.” She paused, shaking her head lightly. “My memory from those days is fuzzy. I don’t…I don’t remember her at all. How powerful is she?”

Well, she’s a necromancer. Maybe as powerful as Trahearne was. I’m not sure.”

“So, it’s just you against this Nafiona and her slice of the Nightmare Court?”

“Well, since she’s travelling into the jungle, I was hoping to get some of the Pact to help, honestly.”

“I think the remnants of a splintered faction are beneath their worries at the moment.” Cear stated.

“You’re probably right. So, I hope you’ll help instead!” Liathlas grinned at her.

Ceara slowly looked at Liathlas. “Why do I feel like I just got played at my own game.” She sighed heavily.

The trek through the canyons was arduous on foot and took longer than Ceara had remembered. The sun was very low, the blackness of night slowly creeping across the sky. Long shadows were cast through the canyon as they continued. It wasn’t long before they were approached by a pair of patrolling centaurs who offered to escort them to the camp, which they gladly accepted. Arriving at the entrance, Ceara held her breath.

“It still smells as bad as I remember.” She thought to herself. “What was I thinking agreeing to rest here.” She slowly exhaled and tried to breathe as shallow as she could. Looking around the torch lit area, she saw a handful of other individuals. One looked like a possible merchant, other looked like wayfarers making their way through the region.

“Is there a place where we might rest for the night?” Liathlas asked a one of the centaurs.

“There is a communal structure at the far end of the camp.” He replied.

“Oh, thank you so much.” Liathlas motioned to Ceara to follow.

“Do we really have to stay here?” Ceara asked quietly, a look of disgust on her face. “The smell is terrible. I’ve been trying not to gag.”

“Would you rather stay out there in the desert in the blowing sand and wild beasts? I’m sure any mordrem that might be out there would just love to meet you.”

“That’s…that’s not funny.” Ceara hissed at her. Passing through the camp, they were approached by an aged centaur with a noticeable limp.

“You there.” He said, his voice deep. The pair stopped as he lumbered up to them, setting his gaze upon Liathlas. “What is your name?”

“My name is Liathlas!” she replied happily. “And this is Ceara.”

“And you are?” Ceara asked, almost commanding. The centaur cut his eyes at her for a moment, then back to Liathlas.

“I am Ganthar. You look familiar. The same as your kind that came here a great many years ago.”

“Oh, who was that?” Liathlas asked, her curiosity brimming.

“Her name was Wynne.” He spoke. Ceara gasp slightly at the name.

“Wynne? The firstborn?” Liathlas asked surprisingly.

“Hmm...” the centaur nodded slightly. “She was a gentle soul that visited my tribe many years ago. She was very eager to learn our ways. And very interested in Ventari.” He paused a moment. “Until more of your kind arrived. They attacked us, taking us by surprise. Slaughtered my tribe. I barely survived the assault and escaped with my life.” He told them as he narrowed his eyes at Liathlas. The two sylvari looked at each other momentarily before turning back to him. Ceara slowly placed her hand on her pistol under her cloak.

“It took me a very long time to forgive. To realize there are some amongst your kind that would see the world burn rather than to live in peace. You reminded me of her.” He continued.

“I’m sorry but I did not know her. I was born from the tree much after her. I understand that she was quite peaceful in her demeanor.” Liathlas said, looking at Ceara. Ceara stared at the sand in front of her, slowly releasing her grip on her pistol. She knew of Wynne somewhat, and knew what had happened to her.

“Secondborn, are you alright?” Liathlas asked. “You’ve fallen quite silent.”

“I’m fine. I’m just…just a little sleepy is all.”

The centaur nodded. “You should rest then. I will not take up anymore of your time this night.” He bowed his head slightly and trotted past the sylvari.

“He was rather nice, wasn’t he?” Liathlas said joyfully.

“Yes, I guess so.”

They arrived at the communal structure. A large leathery tent with makeshift beds laid out in two rows.

“Well, this looks healthy.” Ceara stated as she looked over the dimly lit area. A few other travellers were using the area as well. Liathlas made her way to the back of the structure and plopped down on a heavily worn cot.

“Just like being a newborn sapling again, living in the bottom of the Grove.” She said almost whimsically.

“Yeah, except with this terrible smell in the air.” Ceara replied to her, a tone of annoyance in her voice.

“Oh, come now, secondborn. It isn’t that bad.”

“No, it’s bad.” Ceara stated, unstrapping her rifle and leaning it against the next cot. Liathlas looked upon it, various gauges and holographic images glowing softly in the dimly lit area.

“Your rifle seems very vibrant.” She said curiousily, kneeling down waving her hand through the holograms.

“It is. And even more so when when it’s powered up.”

“Did you make it?”

“No, I did not. A pair of asura in Rata Sum constructed it. I am merely…borrowing it…until further notice.”

“Oh, I see.” Liathlas stood and sat back on her cot. “I guess we should get some rest.” She said laying down.

“I guess we should.” Ceara muttered Ceara muttered as she unlatched her shoulder pauldrons and set them beside the cot. The makeshift bedding creaked as she wrapped herself in her cloak and laid down. Staring at the roof of the structure, her thoughts drifted through the recent events of her life and the people she met. Mender Seoras, the asuran pair in Rata Sum whose names she couldn’t remember, and Ventari. She was briefly interrupted by the sound of light snoring coming from her sylvari compatriot in the cot next to her. She smiled lightly for a moment before her thoughts drifted to the Aspect that had been a part of her at one time. A piece of Mordremoth’s will fused with her own mind. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and slightly shaking her head.

“I was so foolish.” She whispered to herself as she tried to drift into sleep.

#Guild Wars 2 #GW2 #GW2 Fanfiction #Scarlet Briar #Sylvari #AU Ceara

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loki-hargreeves · 4 years

Text

Loki x Reader - Wounds

Warnings: mild gore, close description of wound cleaning, blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, sexual tension, masochism/woundplay (very subtle), implied smut Word Count: 3,7K+ Summary: Loki returns from a mission, wounded. He pretends to be fine but the reader sees through that. She offers to clean his wound and the sexual tension between the two of them grows. At some point, they can’t ignore it anymore. Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a fluffy one-shot, but @godidontevenknowwhat kind of inspired me to choose the dirtier route.

Loki was stubborn.

Perhaps it was in his secretive nature to keep his issues to himself, afraid that by asking for help he would appear weak or vulnerable. It wasn’t entirely Loki’s fault, Y/N knew that. His past was incredibly complicated, which resulted in Loki’s unusual stubbornness and unwillingness to accept other people’s aid. Trying to get close to him was like trying to boil water on an instant – impossible. It required a lot of patience and time, but in the end, it was worth it.

Today was one of the more difficult days.

Loki, who had recently joined the Avengers on several missions now that he lived on earth, returned from a dangerous mission. He claimed that he was fine, but the way he walked, avoiding putting his weight on his left foot gave it away. He was hurt and Y/N wasn’t going to let him ignore his injuries. Seeing him like that broke her heart a little bit. They had been close for months now. In her mind, they were clearly friends - if not more.

As the others stayed in the common room to discuss the mission, Loki retreated to his quarters. Y/N followed him closely, leaving the others behind. She hadn’t been on the mission as she had been busy in New York, dealing with politicians who wanted to stick their noses into the Avengers business again. It was more than just frustrating, but she didn’t want to think about it now. She was worried about Loki.

Once she found herself behind his closed door, she knocked on it three times. “Loki? It’s me, can I come in?”

She heard him sigh deeply before replying, “Come in.”

The door was surrounded by a green film of magic that turned the doorknob and opened the door to her. Y/N knew Loki possessed great magic, but it never failed to amaze her. Even something as simple as him opening and closing doors with magic was astonishing. She walked in and the door closed behind her. Loki was sitting on his bed, crouching forward as his large hand held onto his ribcage tightly. Despite how clear it was to her that he was in pain, Loki tried to act as if nothing was wrong.

“What happened?” Y/N wanted to know, walking further inside the large room carefully. The green curtains had been pulled in front of the windows, but the room was lit by candles and the ceiling light. Loki’s scent was so strong in the room that it almost made Y/N swoon, but she had a strong grip on herself. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of Loki, now did she.

“I knew you’d ask,” Loki chuckled, and his rosy lips curled into an evident smirk.

“You’re avoiding my question,” Y/N noticed that Loki didn’t continue to speak after that.

His smirk stilled and he tried to sit up straight. He couldn’t escape her watchful eye. “I might’ve stepped on an explosive-“

“Loki!” Y/N gasped, shocked to hear his opening sentence. “Are you alright?” Without giving it much thought, she rushed to his side. She took a look at him, trying to find signs of great injuries, but failed. It took her a while to recover from the initial shock. How was he still in one piece?

“I’m a god, Y/N. I’ll survive. Something as small as that explosive couldn’t possibly wipe me off the surface of Midgard,” He tried to reassure her that everything was alright.

Somehow, Y/N didn’t believe that he had escaped that without any harm whatsoever. She didn’t want him to be in pain, to suffer alone. “You’re hurt though,” She tested the waters.

Loki sighed, again. He didn’t want to lie to her out of all people. She had a funny way of finding out about the truth of most things sooner or later. Besides, being vulnerable around her wasn’t that bad. Loki had grown quite fond of her and he had to admit that he enjoyed the attention she gave him. At first, he couldn’t understand why she cared. He was almost infuriated by the affectionate words and gazes, but now he had learned to like that. Now he often found himself wanting more, but he never acted out on that wish.

Silently, he stood up from the bed, now standing close to her. She didn’t step further away from him as neither one of them minded the closeness. Loki raised his wrist, using his magic to discard himself of his heavy, battle clothes, leaving him in his emerald green robe and black pants. “The ceiling in the base collapsed and I got a splinter in my side. How unfortunate,” Loki played it off cool as he opened his robe, revealing his bare chest underneath.

At first, Y/N was taken back by the fact that Loki was slowly undressing himself right in front of her. His tones chest was only a foot away from the tip of her nose and she played with the idea of letting her hands roam over his body. Quickly, her focus shifted to the wound in his side. He had pulled out whatever had pierced his flesh, but it had left behind a nasty injury. He was still bleeding!

“Loki…” Y/N struggled to find the right words. Seeing him like that and knowing he must’ve been in pain hurt her. She wanted to make him feel better.

“Don’t worry about it. In two days, it’ll be impossible to tell it was ever there,” He explained casually.

“Well I’m not going to stand by and let you suffer for two days,” She told him. Y/N knew how to be stubborn too. “Let me at least clean it for you, okay?”

Loki narrowed his jade eyes, looking at her properly for the first time that day. He noticed that she seemed genuinely worried about him. Her eyes that were usually so full of joy and light were now glossy. Was she truly upset that he was in pain? He didn’t know what to think of it. Suddenly, Loki felt nervous. His cheeks felt warm as blood rushed to his face and he had to avoid her gaze. “If that’ll make you feel better,” He gave her his verbal permission to do what she pleased.

Thank goodness, Y/N thought as Loki surrendered to her help. “Just wait here, I’ll grab the essentials,” She told him as calmly as she could, focusing entirely on cleansing his wound.

Quickly, she turned around to go to his bathroom, knowing that there was a first-aid kit in there, somewhere. She could’ve sworn that the Avengers compound had more first-aid kits than anything else they could need. It didn’t take long until she found the little red box from the cabinet. She grabbed that along with a roll of toilet paper – If things got messy. Then she returned to Loki who was comfortably sprawled on his bed. He seemed exhausted. Poor thing.

Oh, what she’d do to rest by his side, to let her hands dance across his skin. Perhaps she could catch a kiss or two, or let her lips trace the skin of his neck…

Focus! Y/N told herself as she put the essentials on the bed and then crawled on the soft mattress herself. She sat as comfortably as she could next to Loki so that his wound was easily reached. There was dry blood surrounding it and it was beginning form a crust, but the wound itself looked painful and fresh blood coated it. To stop the bleeding, she grabbed a generous amount of cotton and pressed it on it, watching how the crimson red blood soaked the white material within seconds.

“Were you just going to let yourself bleed out for two days?” Y/N wondered as she sat there, hoping to avoid an awkward silence. It was rare between the two of them as they often found themselves lost in conversation. Somehow this moment felt different, more intimate.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” He shrugged. He couldn’t be serious.

The scars all over his torso let her believe that he was serious. Sure, he had lived much longer than any mortal and seen battles that didn’t compare to the mission he had been on. But it didn’t mean eh deserved to be in pain.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Y/N shifted the focus from the wound to the fact he was alive and considerably well. The thought of losing him, even if he was just a friend, was terrifying. It was quite unlikely due to his strength, but nothing was impossible.

Loki felt his tongue turn heavier by the second as he heard that. He appreciated her care, but he struggled to find the right words to answer her with. It had been so long since he experienced this, that someone genuinely cared about him. Most people stuck around him because he was royalty. Others tried to get closer to Thor via Loki. Y/N didn’t have any ill intentions.

“It would be unfortunate if I passed this early. I’ve still got plenty of people to piss off,” Loki joked after a brief moment of silence. When Y/N giggled in response, he felt a strange sense of pride. He liked making her laugh and listening to that sweet sound was like music to his ears.

Eventually, the bleeding stopped so Y/N removed the cotton. Before she could close the wound, she would have to clean it properly. Unless Loki wanted water soaked on his bed, he had to move to the shower. “I need you in the shower for the next part,” She explained as she gathered the dirty cotton balls into her hands so she could throw them away.

“Oh, are you joining me?” Loki teased her, hoping to shift the attention away from him to her. Besides, he thought she looked cute whenever she was flustered.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” She rolled her eyes as the two of them made their way to the bathroom, which was far more elegant that Y/N had expected. It was clearly built while keeping the resident in mind, it looked like it could belong to a palace. The shower was huge, and it had a seat in the corner, built into the wall. It was perfect.

While ignoring her heart that was beating a little too fast in her chest, Y/N made Loki sit on the shower stool. She grabbed the showerhead and made sure the water wasn’t too hot or too cold. She was happy that the water supply in the compound was clean which made it so much easier to rinse wounds. Using alcohol was unnecessary, at least when it came to a wound like this.

Carefully, she placed the showerhead over the wound and washed away the dry blood. It only took seconds for the crimson wound to change into a fleshy colour, looking better already. The blood really made everything seem worse.

“Your clothes are getting wet,” Loki stated the obvious. He could’ve easily done this himself, but he wasn’t going to argue with her.

“So are yours, smartass,” Y/N smiled, calling him that jokingly.

Although the water wasn’t even that warm, the air in the bathroom felt hotter by the second. Y/N would’ve loved to get rid of her outer layer of clothes, but she refused to do so in the shower. Besides, her clothes got wet and it stuck to her skin awkwardly, not leaving too much to the imagination.

“Once I’m done with you, you should be as good as new,” Y/N assured him happily. A dry spot of blood refused to dissolve with the water, so Y/N put her thumb over his skin, ever so carefully rubbing the blood off. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him. She noticed how her touch made Loki’s abdominal muscles tense underneath her hand, which she ignored to avoid making things strange.

“Uh…that’s great,” Loki mumbled quietly. Why did her touch make him act that way? It felt like his thoughts were racing when her hand rested on his belly.

“I think that’s good,” Y/N turned off the waterflow and placed the showerhead on its rightful place. She stood up and looked at her soaked clothes with a smile, laughing as water followed her steps, forming a wet path.

Loki did not want that water on his bed, which gave him an idea. “You can borrow my clothes until you get your own. That is, unless you like to be wet and cold,” He didn’t think about his voice of words until it was too late. Damn. He hated how he felt like a young fool around her, thinking twice over a word as simple as ‘wet’. Yet, he did, and he couldn’t help it.

“I’d appreciate that, Loki,” Y/N brushed it off and returned his kindness with a smile.

It didn’t take long until they were both in dry clothes. Loki changed his robe and put on sweatpants, something he had grown fond of during his time on Midgard. The people sure knew how to make comfortable clothes. He left his robe open and lied down on his bed again so Y/N could finish what she had started.

She was wearing one of Loki’s many, surprisingly comfortable robes. She wrapped it tightly around her body and savoured the moment. Being wrapped in the silky material that smelled so strongly of Loki felt lovely. Would he notice if she borrowed it for longer than one night?

With clean hands, she grabbed tweezers so she could pull out the tiny splinters from his wound that she noticed while she was washing it. There were only a few of them, but she was determined to get them all out of his body.

“This might hurt,” Y/N warned him as she carefully began to work on the wound again.

“Maybe I like a little pain,” Loki hinted mysteriously, unintentionally making Y/N grow nervous again. He had noticed how recently his words captured her, made her avoid eye contact and sometimes she’d play with the hem of her shirt nervously. Making her flustered was fun, but he wasn’t too harsh on her. As much fun as it was, Loki couldn’t avoid the deeper truth behind it. She wasn’t flustered for no reason and he didn’t enjoy for no reason either.

One splinter was out. Loki had barely noticed it at all.

Y/N put the bloody splinter on his chest, too lazy to get up and throw it in the bin just yet. “I don’t understand how you step on an explosive, get buried by a ceiling and walk out of that in one piece,” Y/N wanted to talk about the mission.

“That’s where magic comes in handy,” Loki explained, wiggling his fingers playfully. “Besides, the ceiling debris didn’t weigh much.”

“What happened to the enemy?” Y/N wondered as she tried to pull out the larger splinter. It was harder than she imagined at first.

“They tried to escape, but we caught them by the entrance. Thor used his- ah!” Loki suddenly moaned in pain, which interrupted whatever he was about to say. Instinctively, his hand wrapped around her wrist. Y/N had pulled the splinter out and she figured it must’ve hurt him.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she felt guilty, “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay!” Loki’s pale cheeks turned red, a rosy colour that spread to his ears as well. Was he blushing? Y/N found it much cuter than she should’ve, especially considering the situation. Her brain began to work in order to understand what happened and she concluded that he was either embarrassed or that Loki liked it.

Once her brain connected Loki with masochism, there was no turning back.

Little did she know that she was right. Loki liked that a little bit too much. He was unsure whether he should ignore what just happened or make her do it again. Her touch had been so gentle, so caring which already messed with his mind. When she insisted they would go in the shower together, Loki was almost baffled by disbelief. Seeing her in there, soaked by the warm water, on her knees right in front of him, his mind had gone to extremely sinful places.

Now this.

This made his thoughts somehow worse.

Loki hadn’t been joking when he said he liked a little bit of pain.

Their eyes met and Loki knew it was be delusional to believe they could move on as if nothing happened. His hand was still holding onto her wrist, but neither one of them was pulling away.

He cleared his throat, “It’s okay, Y/N.”

Gently, he pulled her hand back to his wound. It took every ounce of strength he had not to pull her onto his lap like he desired to do. Instead, he let go of her wrist and muttered, “Just…continue, if you’d like.”

Nervously, Y/N nodded and decided to finish this. Her hands were shaking now which made it harder to pull out the splinters. They both avoided each other’s gazes and a silence lingered around them.

It was quiet until Y/N was ready to wrap it up. “I need you to sit,” She explained while grabbing bandages from the small first-aid kit.

Loki did as he had been told and sat up. His wound already felt much better, but that wasn’t what he was focused on now. Y/N had completely taken over his mind, lurking in his every thought. He had felt strongly for her for a while now, but this intensified his feelings ten times. Her gentle touch, the intimacy of trusting her with his wound, the nervous touches… and the damn pain that she had accidentally inflicted upon him. It was so wrong, but it had felt so good.

He watched her as she placed a square piece of bandage over his wound and began to tape it down on his skin. Seeing her wrapped up in his robe made Loki feel strangely good. He felt possessive over her, but not in a delusional way. He was protective over her, he cared about her more than he dared to admit. Now she was wrapped in his scent. Anyone who saw her now could see that she wore something of his. Loki enjoyed that a lot. If he had the guts to take a risk, he’d ask her to be his as he would be hers.

He stayed quiet as she grabbed a softer bandage and rolled it around his waist a few times, scooting closer to him so she could reach around his body. They were so close now. Loki looked at her flustered face, noticing that she was nervous by judging her expression, the way her eyebrows were furrowed together.

Oh, how he wanted to grab her and kiss her. To smother her with his affection like she did with him. To show her that he cared, even though he seemed cold at times. He had fantasised about it several times before, but the urge had never been this strong before. He yearned for her. It felt like his heart tightened in his chest painfully every time they were close. He nearly lost his breath when they were like this. Loki was surprised by his own feelings. It had been so long since he last craved someone like he craved her.

“You’re all wrapped up,” Y/N was finally done with him. Gently, she patted his stomach, forgetting all about the intimacy. She was going to pull her hand away, already regretting that she touched him when it wasn’t necessary, when Loki grabbed her hand in his own. He had feared she’d pull hers away, but she didn’t.

Their eyes met, both full of questions that no words could answer. Only actions.

Fuck it, Loki thought. Their time together was too short anyway and he felt strangely confident as he did what he had wanted to for so long. Loki pulled Y/N towards him, almost making her lose her balance as she crashed against him. Her impact put pressure on his wound, but it only hurt a little bit which Loki welcomed. Their lips met roughly, and their teeth nearly clashed by the sudden force. As Loki tilted his head, the kiss got more comfortable. Their lips melted against one another and they both felt sparks igniting between them, on their lips and within their hearts.

It felt so right.

Loki tasted her and she was just as sweet as he had thought. He used his other hand to cup the side of her face, his fingertips resting against the back of her head. He felt her pulse underneath his palm, and it relieved him to know he wasn’t the only one whose heart was racing like a wild horse.

They pulled away after a moment, staring at each other curiously, almost in disbelief. Y/N couldn’t believe Loki kissed her. It felt magical. His kiss seemed to put a spell on her, or perhaps it was the burst of joy she felt when she faced him so lovingly.

“Thank you,” Loki smiled, overjoyed at the moment. He had to thank her properly for taking such good care of him.

“I couldn’t let you bleed out, now could I?” She laughed lightly and then glanced at his lips again, feeling like she needed to kiss him again more than she needed air in her lungs. So she did that, closing her eyes as their lips met again. This time it was expected and somehow even better.

Y/N got a boost of confidence from the kiss. She had a strange feeling that Loki wouldn’t mind her as she threw her leg over his lap, straddling him on his bed. Loki welcomed that, holding onto her body to keep her close. She couldn’t believe herself as she leaned her body seductively towards the dark-haired man and grabbed him by his waist, letting her hand linger above his wound. As odd as it was, he seemed to enjoy a little bit of pain. Touching him was so exciting and she wanted more. She longed for more as she felt Loki’s large hands on her body, holding her a little tighter than a friend would.

Loki didn’t want to scare her away from him, but he couldn’t control his body when she grinded her lap against his. Suddenly, his comfortable pants began to feel tight around him. Loki pulled away from the kiss, stopping himself before surely, he’d make her back away. “Y/N- you’re going to drive me mad!” He warned her seriously, yet he didn’t let go of her.

“So be it,” She shrugged, eyes darkened by lust. He was a fool if he thought she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her.

A/N: Well, well, well. You’ve made it to the end. I would appreciate your feedback! Thank you so much for reading this 💕

Reblogs > Likes

#Loki #Loki One-Shot #tw wounds #tw wound #Loki angst #Loki fluff #Implied smut #Loki x Reader #loki x You #Loki x Y/N #Loki imagine #Loki fanfiction

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diddlesanddoodles · 3 years

Text

DUMPLING ch 60

The trees were shapeless shadows against the night as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Blood pumped hard in her ears, and even with her gasping breaths, she could still hear them coming for her. Beneath her feet, she could feel their heavy footfalls as they crashed into the earth, and it was as though the very ground vibrated. Seven of her steps to one of their own, and even at a slower pace, their wider strides more than made up for the difference.

Her saving grace was the narrow gaps between the ancient trees. Additionally, her pursuers were just as hindered by the dark as she was. If she used her fire, she would reveal herself and her advantage would be lost. As it stood, she was not in a good position to face off against a large group of bloodthirsty giants.

She was lucky before, she doubted any chance at a repeat performance. The others had not expected their fellow to fall as easily as he did.

As Thrist fled with Jae, Nenani had turned to face the marauding group that attacked them and left Andy dead. The giant with the dagger had rushed her. His enormous frame had been cast in deep shadows against the stark white of her flames. He barreled towards her, dagger raised and shining. The blade was nearly as long as she was tall, glittering with the white and blue of her fire.

Nenani ran to one of the closer trees, whipping a vine back and upward towards the giant as he drew closer. Instinct rather than real calculation drove her. But it had been a lucky strike, with the end of her vine catching the edge of the giant’s jaw just as he passed. It curled around the back of his neck, and the thorns snagged into his flesh and began to slice as the vine pulled taught. The whites of his eyes grew large as he fell forward, dropping his dagger to reach for his neck as he fell. Nenani made it to the shelter of the tree just as he slammed into the earth, and the shock of it nearly threw her off her feet.

But Nenani did not bother to look back to gauge how devastating her hit had been. Instead, she ran onward, using his fellows’ momentary confusion and shock to her advantage. She had the barest head start before they began to follow after her. The height of their hubris was diminished, but not altogether extinguished.

And now they were angry.

“I thought you said you knew how to fight fire mages!” demanded one of them.

“I do!” snapped someone else. “Killed three during the war, but I never saw one do anything like that!”

“Then what fucking good are you?”

“Just shut up! New magic or not, it’s a damn child!”

“Go tell that to Baeu!”

“Sooner rather than later the little bitch is gonna lose steam,” snarled another giant. “And when we do catch her, I’m gonna pull each of her fucking limbs off one by one. And then peel her skin off.”

……………….

She was growing tired and slow, with her legs becoming clunky and dumb with fatigue. She found herself tripping over small twigs and mud holes until at last, she had to stop. Her lungs were on fire, and no amount of air seemed enough to satisfy them. Nenani huddled miserably under the heavy brush of a bush at the base of a small cluster of yearling trees. Their leaves were still thick and green, but their points were hard and thorn-like, gripping at her hair and dress and stabbing her hands and legs as she scrambled into them to hide.

The giants were moving as one group rather than splitting up, and their enraged prattling had not ceased. Nenani waited quietly under the prickly bush until she could breathe evenly again to move to another hiding spot.

Several times she dove for the cover of a bush and waited for them to move on before running back the direction she had come, just to try and throw them off her trail. Then the giants’ voices began to draw closer again.

In the dark, Nenani moved slowly in the other direction but continued to eye the brush and trees behind her. She was sure that any moment they would come into view and spot her and the chase would begin anew. But if she could keep her steps slow, perhaps they would not hear her at all and she could put more distance between them without having to kill anyone else.

The fleeting moment of power she had felt earlier in the day now tasted putrid and bitter.

A hand slipped through the dark to rest upon her shoulder. Nenani started, nearly leaping clear out of her skin as she whirled around, arms erupting into orange flames. There stood a human boy with short cut hair and grayish-green garb regarding her and her flames with a dour expression. It took her only a moment to recognize him as the boy in the tree who they had come across earlier.

The one who said she smelled like fire.

“Oh,” Nenani said, her flames dying away. “It’s you...”

“Come with me,” he whispered. The hand resting on her shoulder gripped hard, and he bodily steered her forward. She went without a fight, more out of bewilderment than anything, and by the time she came back to her senses enough to ask him anything, they were a good distance away.

“Where did you—” she began.

“Say nothing,” he warned in a harsh whisper. “Just keep moving. The tree with the hollow there. Go to it. Inside. Hide there.”

“I can’t see very well. And there are giants...”

“They won’t find you,” he said shortly and pushed her along at a quicker pace. She could see the dim outline of a large ironwood tree, the base of it wide and dark. When they got closer, Nenani could see better that the dark area was actually the hollow itself. She felt a hard push between her shoulders and fell forward. Gracelessly, she tumbled into the patch of wet leaves and muck, grimacing as her hands fell upon the slimy debris. Turning back to the boy, she opened her mouth to berate him, but he silenced her with a hand. With his other, he traced along the edges of the hallow, and a thin iridescent sheen fell across the opening. Through it, she could see the world beyond in better light. “No one will see you if I do not wish for them to. So long as you stay inside there, the charm will shade you from prying eyes.”

Nenani took a moment to watch the swirling colors, reminded of how light and colors danced across the surface of a soap bubble. She turned her eyes to the boy.

“Are you helping me?” she asked. “Why?”

“You are a walking wildfire,” he told her.

She blinked at him and frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Left alone, you will burn my forest to the ground. I would fail in my duties to not stop that from happening,” he explained bitterly. He studied her for several moments and the severity of his expression softened. “But I also see a little of the Green Mother in you. It is very small, but it is there. Like that little boy who ate the ironwood sap. But your fire is far more a part of you than the green. Strange oddity, you are. You must have uncommon parentage.”

Though Nenani knew she should feel offended by the way he said ‘uncommon parentage’, she decided to ignore his tone.

“Our father,” Nenani answered. “He was Thorn.”

The boy gave a small nod in understanding, regarding her again with an enigmatic expression.

“I have knowledge of them. Lost cousins, we call them. So that makes us distant cousins as well I suppose,” he said at last, a spark of amusement in his eyes. He knelt down to her level. “I have never seen fire and earth merged into one being. Your magic was a wonder to behold, cousin. But there is a great imbalance in you.”

“Imbalance?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“One side is pulling you to fire. Anger and fear and destruction. Revenge and blood. The other pulls you towards the Green Mother. Kindness and love and healing. Protection and trust.”

Nenani bit hard into her lip, his words ringing truth loudly in her head.

“Do not feed the fire so willingly,” he warned. “Fire is power, yes. But it is also unwieldy and short-lived if not tended and nurtured properly. Fire is a forever hungry beast, and no matter how much you feed it, it will never be satiated. It will take all of you until you have nothing left to give. You are on a path of destruction. Your fire will consume you if you allow it.”

Nenani looked down at her hands, just barely visible in the dark. “I need to be strong. I have to save my friends. My family. I can’t just do nothing. The...the giant who rules this place...the lord here. He is an evil man. The people you put in your gardens. That is his doing. They escaped his prisons. And there are others. Many.”

The boy regarded her for a long moment. “It is not my place to interfere with the affairs of outsiders. My priority is the safety of my people and the preservation of my forest. But this false lord concerns me greatly. There are giants all over my forest tonight. Fighting one another. Killing one another. I cannot breathe without smelling their blood, and I very much wish for them all to be gone.”

Nenani got to her knees and crawled closer to the barrier.

“Lord Colem came to help us,” Nenani explained. “He wants to bring Lord Brennan to justice. If we can do that, your forest will be yours again and we can rescue the people he has prisoner. My friends are already trying to free them. Could you help? You can do magic too. You’re a mage like me. Could you help us?”

“I cannot promise you anything,” the boy said, rising back to his feet and stepping back. “But we will make sure this forest is protected. When the spell drops away, it means you are safe to leave the hallow. Until then, stay inside. Regain your strength.”

“I can’t just sit here,” she replied. She pushed a hand towards the shimmering veil, but as he fingers brushed against it, her hand stopped as though pressing against glass. “What?”

“You should practice patience,” he suggested. “When the danger has been dealt with, the spell will fade.”

“No!” she snapped and began to bang her hands against the barrier. “Let me out!”

The boy tapped it with a finger. “You are a child who has wandered too far from her minders. You want to fight a foe as tall as the ironwoods who would snap you into bloody little splinters.”

“I’ve already killed two of them,” she shot back. “I’m not weak. I just need rest.”

“And I am giving it to you.”

“Not like this!”

“Do not mistake brutality for strength,” he quipped. “Stay here. Rest.”

“Fine!” she said. “But please! My friends are at the big house trying to save the humans there. If you can help them, please do it.”

“I will do what I must,” the boy said after a pause. “But I make no promises.”

As he turned to leave, Nenani called out. “Wait! One more thing. What’s your name?”

The boy tilted his head around just enough that she could see one green eye. “Ezra. And you, cousin?”

“I’m Nenani,” she replied.

“Like the river,” he said, the ghost of a smile creeping along his jawline. “I will leave you to rest, cousin Nenani. And heed my words about the fire.”

With great reluctance, she looked around her and at last nodded, giving into her fatigue. “Thank you, Ezra.”

With a nod, Ezra ran to a tree and scaled up the trunk as fast and as agile as a squirrel before disappearing into the branches above. She did as Ezra had instructed her to do and waited. For what seemed like hours, she waited, and as a deeper night fell upon the forest, Nenani found the pull of sleep pulling at her more and more.

It was not until she awoke to find the first whispers of dawn brightening the sky that she realized she had fallen asleep. For the briefest of moments, she did not know where she was and thought she was back in Vhasshal. But her chilled skin pulled her back to reality with a sickening crash.

The barrier was gone and the early morning quiet. Set just outside was a bright orange leaf, and set atop it was a pile of shriveled dark things. Picking one up to examine it, Nenani realized they were dried berries. She ate them quickly and with abject relish. Only after the fact did she realize it was probably not a very wise thing for her to eat random berries.

But if Ezra wanted to kill her, he was going about it in a very roundabout way. After she had finished her meager breakfast, she crawled out from the hollow and began to walk. She let her instincts guide her but still kept her eyes and ears open for any signs or sounds of giants. After a half hour, she came upon the first of them.

The vines had no thorns, but they were as thick as ropes and of such a deep green they almost appeared black. They snaked up from the ground in great numbers, wrapping around one foot and up the leg, squeezing hard against the body. They wound across the chest and under the arms, around each bicep, down to the wrists. Wrapped tightly around the neck, Nenani did not have to wonder what it was that had ultimately done the giant in. His lips were blue and his tongue swelled out from his mouth.

The giant was entangled with the vines against a large ironwood much in the same way the humans they had found had been. But instead of being preserved in a peaceful forever sleep, the giant’s remains were more akin to a warning than anything else. She did not linger.

After a few minutes' walk, Nenani came across another much in the same state and two more close by. As she studied the last one’s face, she marveled how someone who looked so human could behave like such a monster. Lost in her own musings, she did not hear the approaching footsteps. It was not till she heard the soft squish of damp leaves that Nenani turned to face the sound. Above her she saw the mouth of a large bag descending upon her, and then all at once, everything went dark. The walls pressed in as large hands gathered her and the bag up and into the air. She flailed and kicked at the fingers that held her and cried out.

“Easy there, little thing,” said a voice. “It’s dangerous out here all alone – OW!”

The rough spun fabric was dry and brittle and caught flames in mere seconds. The owner of the giant hands at the very least had the presence of mind to not immediately drop the flaming bag and instead quickly sat the whole bundle down very quickly.

The vertigo sent Nenani’s head spinning and she was tangled up in the charred remnants as she desperately swatted and pushed her way free. Arms still aflame, she scrambled to her feet and looked up to see an unfamiliar giant. Balls of fire materialized in her palms, but the giant was already putting a good bit of distance between her and himself.

“Gods above!” he squawked, nursing his singed fingertips and staring in open shock and fear at Nenani. “Why did you do that? I was just trying to help you! I didn’t mean no harm!”

Nenani glared. “Liar. You’re trying to capture me!”

The giant’s shock was rotating towards incredulity. “You could have said you were a fire mage!”

Nenani returned his incredulous look. “Who are you?”

“I’m the fella you just burned!” he snapped.

“Do better than that,” she snapped back. “Or I’ll do worse. So who are you? What do you want?”

The giant made a face and took several large steps back. “Captain told me to do a sweep for any stragglers and that’s what I’m doing. Cripes and crackers, I think you burned my finger prints off!”

Nenani paused. “Wait. Stragglers? What sort of stragglers?”

“Human stragglers!” he replied. He wasn’t even looking at Nenani anymore, seeming far too preoccupied with assessing the damage to his fingers. He stuck one in his mouth, wincing. “A few got lost in all the chaos of last night and we’re looking for them. I thought you were one, but clearly you’re…wait.”

The giant’s eyes widened and he turned them back to Nenani, seeing her in a new light. He pulled his hurt finger from his mouth. “You...you’re a fire mage.”

Nenani raised an eyebrow and looked pointed at the still flaming balls in her palms.

“I mean,” he continued. “That means…uh, well. You aren’t...the Princess by any chance, are you?”

Nenani eyed him more seriously. “Are you with Lord Colem’s men?”

The giant nodded. “I am.”

Nenani slowly lowered her hands. “Uh, then yes. I am. The princess I mean. Nenani. My name is Nenani.”

“But...I thought the rangers took you and the prince to safety already?” he asked. “What happened?”

“We were attacked. One of the rangers, Andy, he was killed,” she explained. “I told Thrist to get Jae to safety.”

The giant regarded her as though he thought very little of her actions. “Why didn’t you just go with him?”

“I could fend the attackers off better than Thrist could,” she answered.

The giant looked down at his fingers and back at her before his eyes drifted over to one of the dead giants still strung up in Ezra’s vines. “You...you did that then?”

“No,” she replied. “That was someone else.”

The giant shook his head in disbelief and ran a hand down his face. “Well, all that doesn't matter much right now. I need to get you back to camp and be quick about it. Our scouts reported earlier last night that the line we pushed back was a distraction and two more are sweeping in on our weaker side. Probably gonna try and take manor back. Colem won’t give it up easily.”

Nenani perked up. If they had taken the manor then surely Farris and Keral’s mission would have been successful. “Do you know if they were able to get the humans out? The ones down in the kitchens?”

“Most of them were moved last night,” the giant explained. “A lot of them aren’t too keen on us though, and a few ran off the moment they were free. I was to do a sweep to try and find them before Brennan’s men come through.”

Relief swept over her and she broke into a smile. “I’m glad,” she said quietly. “They did it then...”

He regarded Nenani cautiously and held his hands up. “Now, if you promise not to burst into flames, I can escort you back to the camp. As I was saying, those bastards are supposed to be coming through this way soon. I’d imagine these fellows all strung up were a scouting party.”

Nenani opened her mouth to answer when a rustling of foliage overhead drew both their gazes upwards. Pressed between the branches, Nenani spotted green gray garb and the now-familiar face of Ezra. He looked ragged and tired, and there were several rips along his sleeves.

“They are coming,” he said. “Many. We tried to slow their march, but we do not have the numbers. My people have moved away for their safety.”

“What the...” said the giant, squinting up at the human. “Who are…?”

“How close are they?” Nenani asked with renewed anxiety. “Ezra?”

The boy looked down at her with a defeated expression. “They will be upon you soon. You must flee from here, cousin. I am sorry. I did all we could.”

Before she could ask anything else, her ears pricked up as they caught a strange sound on the wind. Like a strong gale pushing trees. Her feet could feel the faint vibrations of many moving feet. An army on the march.

Ezra looked off behind them and sneered before turning back to Nenani. “Leave now!”

BONUS ART

#Dumpling #G/T #giant tiny #fantasy giant #magic #Nenani #Ezra #tw death #tw blood

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

Deathworlder Down

AO3

based on @delimeful wibar

Warning for some disturbing imagery/body horror this chapter. Virgil’s having nightmares.

...

Fear.

Pounding, aching fear.

Shadowy figures surrounded him, discussing him in words he could almost hear, hushed voices he could almost understand, and it grated at him, it hurt his ears. He tried to cover them, but found he couldn’t move, not a muscle, his eyes were open but he couldn’t even blink, his fingers wouldn’t even twitch, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but despite his panic his breathing remained steady and even. The shadows moved closer, their whispers growing louder, echoing in his head, screaming tempests against his ear drums, and he wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop, but it just grew louder, and louder, and then it was the suited beings again, holding a scalpel, and he screamed, as his chest was sliced open, the flesh peeled away to reveal the organs beneath, his heart visible through the blood leaking from him, and he realized though he was screaming in his mind, he wasn’t making any sound, his vocal chords as paralyzed as the rest of him, and he couldn’t look away, as they started ripping out his insides, tearing him apart, the pain splintering through his being, blacking out his vision, and he tried, he tried desperately to writhe and claw and fight his way free, but couldn’t even lift his head, and he was aware of them adding new parts, shoving metal and wires and circuit boards into him, the pop and crackle of electricity against his skin shocking him, sending him into spasms that somehow defied whatever drug they’d given him, back arching at the intense, radiating heat flowing up his spine, and he finally did break free, break out of whatever drug they’d used, a keening, desperate wail shoving past his lips as he shoved himself off the table, as he snarled and clawed and bit and slashed, anything, everything, to get free, until he’d fought off the beings, his breathing ragged and uneven as he looked at the monster they’d made him, all mechanical parts and twisted limbs, broken bones and spasming muscle.

“Virgil?” Suddenly a shadow Logan was there, looking down at him, head tilted and eyes empty, hands strangely still, assessing him like the specimen he was and he shuddered, twitching uncontrollably.

“No. That isn’t Virgil.” Patton, voice hollow, and he screamed again, because his feathers were torn from his body, bent and broken nibs trickling blood down his wings, though he didn’t seem to care. “Virgil wouldn’t do this to me. And he did.” He shook his head, trying to deny it, but memories rushed back, his hands, moving against his will, the metal twisting around his bones, jerking him around like a marionette, Patton, begging, pleading, but he couldn’t stop, the single thought in his mind echoing destroy, destroy, destroy. His hands, ripping handfuls of feathers, feathers flying around the room, getting stuck in his grinning teeth, his manic laugh, his twisted soul.

“No… nonononono…” He curled tight on the ground, ignoring the fire racing through him, the intense, burning, heat, trying to make sense of this, of anything, noticing for the first time his hands were stained red, seeing Patton’s agonized face in his head, his hands on his throat, pressing down, down down-

“Virgil!” Roman’s voice rocked his world, and suddenly his eyes snapped open, hissing at the sudden brightness, too confused to understand anything, vision blurry, from tears, he realized, his breathing stuttering in and out, barely enough to keep from passing out, his throat tight, barely a pinhole of space for air to wheeze in and out of, his chest felt so tight, so constricted, and there wasn’t enough air, and he was hot, why was he so hot, the wires, the wires twisting through his veins, no, he had to get them out, they would make him hurt them, hurt Patton, he couldn’t hurt Patton!

He started scratching at himself, clawing at himself frantically, uncaring of the wetness slipping down his face, he had to stop it, he couldn’t-

Bloody feathers, crushed neck, broken wings, shattered body, he couldn’t-

Hands. Hands on him. He hissed, growled, tried to shove them away, but he was weak, so weak, he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get away, and they were stopping him, and he was going to hurt everyone, he had to let go, he had to stop himself, he was just a monster, just a toy, just a broken sack of bits and pieces that didn’t even fit together right anymore, why couldn’t they just let him stop?

“please. Please, I can’t, I can’t, I won’t, i… i…” He doubled over, curled into a ball, shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, feeling as if he was shattering into a thousand pieces, broken and stomped on and wrecked.

“kiddo. I need you to breath.” He flinched back, away from Patton, eyes wide with fear, shaking his head frantically, as he scooted away, the grip on his hands letting him go.

“n-no… no! I’ll h-hurt y-y-you they’ll m-make me h-h-hurt-“ he broke off, running out of air, all of it dedicated to keeping the spots in his vision from growing larger, from taking over and plunging him into black.

“virgil. You have never, never ever, hurt me. And they can’t hurt us, anymore. Do you remember that? We’re safe now, remember? You broke us out of there, and kept us safe. You’re safe, Virgil. We’re safe. We’re ok. We’re ok.” Patton repeated softly, using the gentle chirp of his native tongue, ruffling encouragingly when Virgil finally looked up at him, struggling for a few moments, before tentatively chirping it back.

“We’re… we’re… ok.” He echoed slowly, tongue thick in his mouth, head pounding, it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything, but he forced his mind to remember, to remember what he was missing, flashes of a slim, multi armed figure, of a bulky, scaled one, of a… a ship, and he managed a slightly larger, shaky breath.

“M-Mindscape?” He managed, and Patton nodded, eyes soft with worry.

“That’s right, kiddo. You got sick, do you remember that?” He remembered feeling not great, but that was normal. He remembered being dizzy, but that was all. He shook his head, feeling confused again, feeling slow and tired and hazy.

“That’s ok, Virgil. I just wanna help, ok? Will you let me do that?” Patton asked, taking a small step closer. “Will you let me help?” His gaze flicked to the others in the room, pulling at a dull memory, at familiarity, he knew them, knew them and they didn’t spark… fear. Not quite. But the scaled one’s gaze was sharp and angry, and the crystal one’s gaze was sharp and piercing, and both sent unease tingling down his spine. But Patton was asking, and he trusted Patton, and if Patton trusted them, then they couldn’t be bad.

“O-o-Ok.” He managed, letting out a soft sigh when Patton closed the distance between them, resting a hand on his leg, and instantly, the fight and stress drained out of him, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re gonna be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Then nothing.

…

“He's hotter, Lo.” Patton said, voice shaking, as he felt Virgil's forehead. Sweat coated his skin, and he was panting for breath, shaking, obviously in pain, not just from the lines of red up and down his arms, where he'd started clawing at himself, before Roman stopped him. “he’s getting worse."

“We need to get him to drink. He’s severely dehydrated. I… hate to suggest this, but IVs may be the best option here. I know, it will cause added emotional strain, but his body does not have the strength or resources right now to fight off this illness. And I’d rather have him be upset or afraid than… than dead.” His words caused Patton to draw in his feathers, shrinking to nearly half his normal size, and he buried his face against Virgil’s side. Roman’s scales shifted, scraping against each other as they flattened, conflicting emotions racing through him.

He didn’t like Virgil. Didn’t trust him, wouldn’t have him here, if it had been up to him, but the thought of him… dying, still sent a spike of unease through him, one he could pretend was just for Patton, who was so attached to Virgil.

“ok. If it’s the only way, ok.”

He disinfected and bandaged Virgil’s arms first, before letting Roman shift him back onto the couch, fetching the medical supplies and hooking up the bags. Finally, he was standing over Virgil with the IV line in hand. All he had to do was insert it. He found himself incredibly resistant, now, to the idea, now that he actually was doing this, mind flashing to the moments he’d seen in the vidi, the pain and agony that had accompanied nearly every experience with a needle, but this was different. This was to help.

So he swiftly located the vein on the human’s wrist, slipping the needle in and securing it with gauze and tape, relieved when Virgil did no more than moan slightly, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. He doubted the reaction would be so placid when he actually woke up to find a needle in his arm, but that was a future worry.

“Alright. That should help hydrate him, as well as give him some of the basic nutrients he is sorely lacking in, as well as some very moderate medicines. I doubt anything we have would do him any harm, but I don’t want to take chances and accidentally make things worse. Patton… you need to sleep.” He added, looking at the disheveled ampen, who shook his head.

“No, no, no! I have to stay! What if he wakes up?”

“He won’t for a few hours, at the very least, which is long enough for you to get some sleep. You haven’t slept since we found him.”

“Well neither have you! You’ve been pacing yourself silly!” He sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Alright. You’re right. If Roman stays on watch and promises to get us if anything changes, will you come rest with me?” he asked, knowing Patton wouldn’t turn down that offer, not with how rarely he was willing to offer tactile comfort, but they could both use some, right now.

“Ro? I know you don’t like him, but-"

“I’ll take care of him. I promise, Patton.” Roman swore, kneeling down so Patton could hug him, smiling as he butted against the underside of his chin, before stepping back, chirping an ampen thanks, hesitantly following Logan down the hall and into his room, Roman hearing the door slide shut.

He let out a low breath, scales flattening as he tried to calm himself, staring down at Virgil’s unconscious form.

“I don’t know what to make of you. I will never say this out loud again, but you terrify me. And I will not lose another family, to humans. But… every time you panic or lose control or lash out, it’s always at yourself. It’s always to protect Patton. You always choose to harm yourself over any of us, but you’re still a human, a death worlder, a dangerous, violent, creature.” He said, though it sounded much less convincing now, that it usually did in his arguments with Logan or his silent fuming.

Virgil moved slightly, his breath hitching, and his face creased, as if sensing Roman’s displeasure.

“no… please… m-mom…” Virgil mumbled, trying to reach out to something that wasn’t there, something only in his mind, and after a moment, Roman realized Virgil was crying, curling tighter.

He’d known Virgil had been stolen off his planet, but he’d never thought about the implications of it. He hadn’t considered that Virgil had clan, would have a mother or a father, that he’d lost everything, to aliens, without even having a chance to fight to keep it.

Roman knew how it felt, to lose everything, in the blink of an eye.

“and then you go and say something like that.” He sighed, shifting into the chair left beside the couch, hesitantly reaching out to brush back the human’s hair, mimicking the motion he’d seen Patton do countless times, to soothe or relax the human, surprised as Virgil instantly settled, a shaky breath escaping him before his body seemed to go lax once more, leaning into his touch.

“this doesn’t mean I like you. It’s only because I promised Patton.” He grumbled, not moving away, despite himself.

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