#all i see is and empty cage and blood

[fragiledate]

ill literally never stop thinking about how will graham already saw the world like hannibal. he said murder was "the ugliest thing in the world" thats a visual thing ouuuuhh they were meant for eachother

#do NAWT get me started on the its beautiful ill never get over it #that . was sex #he basically asked him for marriage #like #dont tell me about the cliff fall i need them in a cage stuck wuth eachother and i hope when i come back #all i see is and empty cage and blood #me soup #god i love this damned show #hannibal

[tojipie]

I'm a huge fan of your work and I would love to see a dilf!toji fan fiction where you accidentally walk in on him changing and it goes a bit further while megumi's home🙏🙏🙏

part 1 here

shaking crying and throwing up as the kids say

warnings: dilf!toji x reader, nsfw, almost getting caught, age gap

────────────────────────

“think that’s it for tonight.” megumi mumbles, turning the newly painted mound of clay to the side to gauge your shared work.

it goes without saying that you and your closest friend had spent the weeks leading up to the deadline planning, but not actually doing your final sculpting project, leading to an equally desperate and passive aggressive all-nighter.

you both of you were absolutely caked in paint, but the satisfaction of finally being done was well worth it. you stand up for the first time in over 4 hours, hissing at they way your back protests.

your feet tingle as blood rushes down to your legs, the aches in your body becoming more apartment.

“god, what is it— like 11?” you ask, massaging your neck with the back of your hand.

megumi grabs his phone to look at the time, scratching off a smear of dried pain with a scoff.

“it’s 1 am.” he laughs, tucking the device into his pocket with a sigh. “you ubering home or do you want my dad to take you?”

you perk up at the second option, gathering yourself before you respond.

“i mean yeah i feel like that’d be a lot safer.” you say, only half lying. “is he still up?” you knew he was up, in fact you knew if you hadn’t been practically right outside his bedroom for the past 4 hours he’d be texting you right now.

your sculpting partner motions to the kitchen door with a nod of his head, wordlessly gathering his materials up. “go check, i’m going to bed.”

you laugh, gathering your things and padding out into the hall.

“nite gumi.” you tell him, hoping it wasn’t too late in the night for the both of you to get a decent nights sleep.

———

you secretly hope toji is waiting for you as you fix your makeup in the mirror, leaning down to meticulously washing the paint from your hands and arms in an attempt to look presentable.

megumi hadn’t noticed it was you in his father’s bed the last time you snuck over, taking toji’s sly suggestion to “drive his little friend home” as an ill intended joke.

he opted to drive himself to the concert instead, accepting the ridiculous $100 venue parking fee in exchange for his peace of mind.

you, on the other hand, had gotten the opportunity to wail your lungs out as loud as you needed once the house was empty, going round-for-round with the massive wall of muscle that was your best friend’s dad.

and now, here you were in his bathroom, washing up in the sink as quickly as you could before feeding yourself to the lion.

you slip into the dark hallway as quietly as you can manage, cringing at the stale creak of the bathroom door.

the house is barely lit with the dim light from the kitchen gone. you figure megumi had shut it off before going to bed, thinking you and toji had already left.

you feel your way down the corridor of rooms, silently opening the door to your destination before stopping cold in your tracks.

“you should knock ya’know.” a deep voice crones.

you yelp as you’re pulled into his bedroom, the sound muffled by a solid hand over your mouth.

“shhhhh.” toji chuckles, caging you against the door. the older man leans down to mouth at your neck, feeling you up as you catch your breath.

“you have a real volume problem, pretty girl.” he teases.

you laugh, cradling his head as it settles in the curve of your neck. his shirt is half off already, bunched around his shoulders. you must’ve caught him changing.

“what, were you waiting on me?”

“men have needs don’t they?” he says quietly, leaning in to kiss you.

thick hands settle around the curve of your waist just under your breasts and pull you backwards, leading you towards the bed.

“was—fuck—gonna text you.” toji whispers between kisses, palming your chest underneath your shirt. the older man pulls you into his lap from where he sits on the edge of the mattress, rucking your shirt above your head to mouth at the top of your breasts.

“yeah? why didn’t you?”

“knew you’d come find me.”

your cheeks burn at his admission. he was right, as embarrassing as it was you both knew how often you found yourself under him on nights like these.

and whether or not you’d begun hanging out at megumi’s just to see his dad was a question you didn’t want to address, and one that toji already knew the answer to.

you say nothing, opting to palm the man below you through his boxers while he finally undresses his top half. toned abs clench tight as you squeeze his cock through the fabric, guided only by the small sliver of moonlight bleeding from his curtains.

“harder.” he groans, bucking into your hand.

“miss me?”

“always miss you.” toji mumbles, motioning for you to stand so he can strip you of your bottoms.

you’re pulled on top of him as soon as your shorts hit the floor, leaning in to kiss him again. the older man licks into your mouth with fervor, toying with the waistline of your thin panties.

toji breaks the kiss, snapping the elastic against your hip. you flinch at the sharp sting, whimpering into his neck as he grips your ass

“you wear these for me?” he asks.

you nod, letting him slip them off. he gives them a once over, smiling as he reaches to throw them onto the night stand.

“keeping em.” he laughs, pulling himself free from the confines of his bottoms.

he’s throbbing, steadily leaking onto his own thigh with every passing second. you lean down to accept him into your mouth, pausing when he pulls you back up to him.

“just get on top of me.” he begs, grabbing hold of the backs of your thighs and reclining into the pillows.

“need it that bad?” you ask, genuinely curious. you watch as he grabs hold of his cock, lining it up with ease—practically muscle memory.

“wouldn’t need it this bad—oh fuck— if you hadn’t been busy the entire night.” he groans, complaint interrupted by the feeling of you sinking down onto him.

“could fuck me when the sun’s out, you wouldn’t have to wait all day that way.” you suggest, only half serious.

“the only thing stopping me from doing that is work, pretty girl.” toji mumbles. you gasp as he twitches inside you, sinking down all the way to watch what little composure he still has crumble.

your knees protest as you bounce on the older man’s cock, body still sore from the workload you’d dealt with earlier.

“you could’ve just—fuck— came out and said hi.” you add, noticing the way the scar on his lip contorts when he smiles.

“can’t really walk around with a hard-on.” he admits with a sleazy grin, taking one of your breasts into his mouths for good measure.

your shared moans grow louder with every thrust, the sound of skin-on-skin becoming unmistakable.

“fuck is that noise?” a sleepy voice yells from the hallway.

you freeze. pulling away from toji to gauge his reaction.

“fuck, get underneath.” he chuckles, practically pulling you off of his cock with how easily he manhandles you, making space for you to crawl into the sheets.

you’re struck with what feels like another heart attack as a knock at the door pierces the air.

“do you have another girl over?” megumi scoffs pacing behind the doorway.

“you sleepwalking or something?” toji lies, clearly not considering the consequences of getting caught.

you feel him pull the sheets over your head with a soft laugh. warm hands rubbing over your sides through the thin fabric, a sweet attempt at calming you down.

“i’m not stupid.” his son replies, kicking the foot of the door for good measure. “did you even drive my friend home?”

“she ubered, kid.” toji lies again, groping your breast over the thin sheet. you yelp at the sudden contact, earning a teasing “shhhh” from the man above you.

“fucking knew you brought someone over.” megumi sighs, trudging down the hallway with vague threats of “you’re paying for my dorm room next year.” and “can’t keep it down.”

you emerge from the covers, arms snaking around toji’s shoulders with a sigh of relief.

“what’d i tell you about that volume problem?” he laughs, lowering you onto his still hard cock with a breathy groan.

“fuck, did you get wetter or somethin?” he asks, clearly in disbelief.

“course not!” you mouth, stifling a whimper as he begins to thrust.

“i know honey.” he teases, biting the curve of your shoulder to stifle a groan. “i’m just fuckin’ with you.”

#adah’s asks #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji fluff #toji drabbles #toji hcs #toji x reader fluff #toji x fem reader #dilf toji #dilf toji x reader #dilf!toji x reader #jjk #dilf toji x reader fluff #dilf!toji #toji x reader smut #toji x fem reader smut #toji smut

[yanderenightmare]

Geto with curse reader?

Geto Suguru

TW: implied noncon, held hostage-ish, Geto uses the word monkey

gn reader

You backed up to the very far end of your cage. Holding your knees tucked tight to your chest as you shivered on whimpers and troubled breathing. Your captors, in the dozens, all lay limp on the floor – while the man who’d killed them all made ripples in the bloody pool with his sandals.

You couldn’t see his face. You couldn’t see much more than that below his waist. But you sensed it nonetheless – he wasn’t a normal man. You figured, since you only barely saw him, he wouldn't see you if you stayed silent – but naturally… if you sensed him, it was only a matter of time before he sensed you, too.

“They’re all gone now.” He said, and there wasn’t anyone else there besides you.

Still, you kept quiet. Hoping maybe he was simply talking to himself.

But then he took steps in your direction, making splashes in the blood soiling the floor, until he crouched down next to your cage. He pulled back the curtain hiding you and revealed the blood splatter decorating his smiling face.

“You don’t have to fear anymore, I won't hurt you.”

Humanlike curses aren’t normally all that feral – with exceptions, of course, but you weren’t one. As someone who’s tasted plenty of curses, he could tell your type. You weren’t violent in nature. Unlike most curses, your technique wasn’t defensive but simply protective and could only inspire carnal passion – almost like an aphrodisiac. And like a squid’s ink, it would seem you couldn’t control it either – releasing it like a mist when you were rattled.

The room went thick with it now – but weak a curse as you were, it hadn’t much of an effect on him.

Still, he found you quite cute where you sat, eyes wide, looking at him warily.

“You’re a- a sorcerer. You’ll kill me too. That’s why you’ve come, isn't it?” You whispered – as though you didn’t dare speak any louder.

He could only imagine what they’d done to you, but if your state told him anything… he’d say it wasn’t very humane. 

Monkeys are an ugly pest, not just a stain on sorcerers – but curses too, it would seem.

“I came to slaughter the pigs piled on the floor.” He corrected. “They owed me a lot of money, you see. Their fates were sealed the moment I heard they were all broke.”

It didn’t seem to ease your worry. You still looked as though you were waiting for something. Something you dreaded with every inch of your goose-bumped skin. 

“Suppose, now that they’re all dead, you’re the only one left to pay their debt.” He chuckled, but you didn’t find it very funny.

Sure, he could twist you into a ball and consume you like he does all the curses he encounters – you’d be a nice addition to his collection, and you didn’t seem like you’d taste any bad either. But still… there are other methods of coveting something – especially when they’re as pretty as you – though perhaps not in a cage. 

Either way, you didn’t seem like you’d be much trouble, and besides… he’d been meaning to get a pet to cure the loneliness of coming home to an empty temple.

He smiled, standing up.

You felt your cage lift from the ground, swaying as you were carried above the bloody bodies growing cold with death beneath you.

“Don’t worry, pretty curse. You alone will be payment enough.”

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere #jujutsu kaisen #gojo #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #yandere suguru #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto smut #suguru smut #jjk suguru #geto x you #geto x y/n #suguru #jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader

[circeyoru]

Collection of Overlords _ Part 2 = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 (here)

In a room, dark and empty, the floor below encased millions of crying and pleading souls. Yet you walked over them as one would to insects on the ground. Your eyes peeked open a bit and the voices all quiet to nothing

The rows of Knight armours and life-sized wooden figures that aligned the walls all bowed in your presence. Your feet brought you to a round red table to the farther side, on top of the table was the exact replica of the landscape of the Pride Ring

In this domain of yours was a lovely creation of yours after Lucifer took over Hell, a table for each of the Rings of Hell and one each table was the exact map of everything within the Ring. From buildings to landmarks to the portals to other Rings for the Hellborns. You had it all and saw it all with your eyes around all of Hell

Your fingers hovered over the marked territories and the duplicates of your souls’ figures placed in their respective areas. Your eyes scanned over, spotting some new figures that has appeared and some areas marked with unfamiliar colours and aura. A hand waves over the entirety of the map like a fan, domains marked in red was nearly half of the place

Whispers of souls from the bodies of your provided winged creatures known as Cages flew around you. They were of your design, with black feathered bodies and wings, similar to that of a crow or raven. But with a twist, eyes red as blood, wings of blades, metal claws, and uniquely their bodies house the souls you deemed with potential to return back to their own lives

“Sinners have been brazen.” 

“Very bold. They have stolen your land.” 

“Disrespectful. Undeserving.”

“Lazy Overlords!”

“Now, now, my Cages. They have a hard time as it is, don’t give them too much pressure.” While your tone was understanding and sweet, the coldness and disappointment in your eyes told a different story. “But I suppose they have been slacking in my absence.”

“Slacking. Slacking.” 

“How dare they. How dare.” 

“Punishment. Punishment.”

“Meeting?” 

A smile formed and your eyes closed, you turned away from the table as familiar dolls floated over to you. “Yes, it is time for a reunion.” 

A soft tune played in the radio tower. You sat in the comfortable armchair while your finger swayed from side to side with the music, you hummed a bit with your eyes closed, and one leg crossed over the other. Various pages floated in the air while a pen was writing on each of them at lightning speed

Your head tilted up a bit as something came to your knowledge. With a snap of your fingers, the paperwork all disappeared and the soft tune was gone. You hummed as you got up and faced outside, even with your eyes closed you can see all of Pentagram City that was the heart of the Pride Ring

“Alastor.”

The Radio Demon immediately appeared after the shadows rose to form his figure, he bowed with hand over his heart before placing it behind his back as he straightened up, “Yes, My Dear Liege?”

“Is Vox still challenging you to random games of his?” You remained facing the view outside of the tower’s window.

“That he is.”

After Alastor had rubbed into Vox’s face that you were avoiding Vox, the insecure Overlord was keen on challenging Alastor on battles of a playful nature to one up him as a way to prove he was superior. Though all that told you was his childishness and lack of responsibility

It had been a while since your presence was made known to the other Overlords, particularly your elite collection. Your stay in the Hazbin Hotel was passed within the group, but none dare to approach you as it was against your likeness to seek you out under information passed along. It wasn’t wise to fake or arrange a chance meeting as well, for you’d know and they don’t want to face the consequence

While you were physically absent, you were not ignorant to what goes on, especially with your collection. You thought perhaps it was time for you to formally make yourself known since they have been very well behaved even after Alastor egged them so. Good that none took the bait

It’s not your intention, however, to put such test and tease for your wonderful elites, but when the opportunity is there, you can’t resist. You let things fall and observe the results. They were very amusing with their persistence to find you yet appear as though they weren’t bothered with your absence

Though the fun’s gotta end

“Arrange a meeting of my Elites,” You turned your head to Alastor’s direction with your eyes closed, “Hmm, in 6 days, let’s do it at Camilla’s place. The Witching hour would do nicely.”

Alastor bowed once more, “Of course, as you desire. Shall I broadcast it right away?”

You gestured to his chair for him to take a seat. When he did, you placed a hand on his shoulder and your eyes opened with a glow, in turn, so did his pendant with an eye design, “Please do.”

Alastor felt power surge through his form as his tower lit up with an eerie green, he spoke into the microphone on his desk, “Let this be a broadcast to the only Elites~ A special message and invitation to the Collection of Elites from Our Beloved Liege.”

Simultaneously, in various parts of the Pride Ring, targetted individuals received their broadcast. Immediately standing at alert

Zestial threw away his teacup and saucer the moment he felt the left coat pocket glow. He carefully took out his pendant and made it hover in the air while his head bowed, awaiting for the message broadcasted through Alastor’s powers mixed with yours

Carmilla raised from her seat when her chest warmed from the pendant, she pulled it out from the charm from the chain around her neck. She brushed aside the documents she had littered around her desk and placed it down, bowing with her hair down when she realized the situation, the long await word from you

Rosie shushed her cannibals, excusing herself when his pendant warmed up with a glow. She arrived at her private room and set the pendant on the couch while she seated next to it, acting as if you were present with her

Zeezi immediately threw a punch at the demon, quickly ending the fight. She kicked away the body, wiping away the blood on her hands before taking out the pendant, and bowed her head to it with eyes closed

Vox’s eyes widened, eying the pendant when Alastor’s voice came through, he was about to dismiss it but the fact that your title was mentioned meant Alastor was speaking on your behalf. He travelled through the cameras to where the other two were lazing around with the pendant in hand, putting it on the table in front of him and which made Velvette and Valentino snap to attention

“A meeting will be held in actually 6 days, at the Wtiching Hour. The meeting place will be at Carmilla’s. Needless to say, your attendance is mandatory.” Alastor relayed all the details you told him.

However, before Alastor ended the broadcast, you spoke up near the microphone, “I look forward to your presence, everyone.”

Once the news was out, the Overlords immediately got to work

Zestial went to Carmilla’s place help her prepare to your standards and satisfactory. Preparing the room to be more elegant and dignified, different from how the usual Overlord meetings were when she hosted

When Carmilla’s daughters heard the news, they were excited as well, it has been ages since they last saw you and even longer when their household was hosting your meeting place. For it was an undeniable honour for you to pick their rundown location for something so rare and sacred

After all, this was the first meeting you’ve hosted and called the others since years, it felt even longer when it was you that gathered everyone together like this. Surely, the topics of discussion was grim and serious for such an occasion

Either way, all Overlords were going to enjoy their time in your presence. Just having you near them was a gift and for you to call them was a joyious event, one worthy of celebration

Though they were very envious that Alastor got you to himself all this time. Again, the blame would be on Vox who had been causing you such discomfortable in your own world, for all their territories were yours to begin with. You were merely gracious to share your spoils with them. Lowly sinners that rose to their current standing and ranks with your support

All looked forward and dreaded the day that was to come. The other sinners and demons felt a change in the air when the Elite Overlords were more active. It was subtle but hard to ignore when the Overlords were more on edge and easy to come to anger

Zestial appearing in the streets more, Carmilla’s demand for perfection, Rosie’s increase appetite, Zeezi’s increase violent battles, and the Vees’ desperate need to produce more results

Somehow, the nobodies Overlords heard of an Overlord meeting and planned on attending as well. Yet the moment these self-proclaimed souls planned on doing so, knight armours and wooden figurines took a hold of them and the shadows devoured them without mercy

Alastor set down a plate of food in front of you, noticing the small smile on your face even when your eyes were closed. “Does something amuse you so, My Liege?”

You chuckled, “Oh, nothing much. Merely some souls begging for a good torment.”

Alastor felt his smile grow, understanding the implication. He so loved your sadistic nature to those unworthy, for he done the same. “I see. As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

Your eyelids fluttered open a hinch, “Believe me when I say, I am.”

Note: Okay, I lied. There's more to write than I thought. In my defense, there wasn't much idea, but then it flooded when I started. So there's part 3 where the Overlords are meeting the Collector~

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203

#Circe's Nighty Writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #alastor fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel overlord #Collection of Overlords #hazbin hotel rosie #rosie hazbin hotel #overlords #hazbin #zestial #carmilla hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel zestial #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla #carmilla x reader #hazbin carmilla #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vees

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter five | part one | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Coriolanus is his own warning, elitism

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Sejanus Plinth finds his soulmate in one of the tributes

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 i was so afraid to write this, but here it goes anyways, make sure to give me y'all feedback! the chapter is divided in two parts, this is part one!

beta read by the AMAZING @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation

Coriolanus Snow didn't sleep a wink, it was perhaps at six that he managed to finish the backup proposal. He was dissatisfied with it. it wasn't nearly as good as his original ideas, but it would have to make do if you turned about to be a snake.

In someplace in his heart, he knew that you wouldn't take credit for his work. But he also knew better than to believe his heart over his mind. Being foolish and lovesick gets you nowhere.

After an undeserving cold shower and a meal of potatoes and (expired) milk with grandma’am and Tigris. He draped himself in the Academy uniform and went to the Capitol Zoo as there was time before classes began.

He ignored the aching of his legs as he arrived, he ignored the jealousy that brewed when he saw Sejanus get out of his fancy car, arriving a few minutes later Coryo had.

Sejanus was carrying a bag, the weight of it heavy as it was filled with food Coriolanus had instructed him to bring. Despite the fact that he could have sneaked food from the cafeteria solely for his tribute, he felt Dean's eyes on him more than ever. He refused to be labeled as a thief.

Sejanus greeted him with a grin and Coriolanus replied with his greeting. He ignored the way his stomach seemed to contract with the need for more food. He refused to cave in. He and Sejanus walked side by side towards the cage, the blood outside was cleaned but the blood of the district ten girl seemed to be rotting in the confinement of the cage. Filling the surrounding area with a pungent smell that made Coryo want to hurl and empty his stomach.

He bit the inside of his cheek to control the urge. Sejanus went to the other side to find his tribute, Marcus, a district two boy who was his ex-classmate. It was pathetic to Snow that after so many years Sejanus still thought of himself as district scum despite being right.

He greets Lucy Gray with a smile on his face. Lucy, with her southern accent, replied, “I am sorry about your friend.” Coriolanus shrugged it off. Arachne was never his friend, but no need to disrespect the death. “Thank you,” he replied politely, as he handed her the sandwich from the cage.

Coriolanus looks at Jessup, district twelve boy, your tribute. He had a nasty bite on his neck. Lucy Gray sees him eyeing the wound and she begins to explain,

“He kept the bats away from me on the train. So I could get some sleep, he was bitten.”

Coriolanus nodded in response, it looked like Jessup was out before the game even began. One dead, twenty-three to go. He hides the flash of joy he feels in his chest and says, “He seems like a good person.”

“He is,” Lucy Gray emphasized, “He doesn't deserve to be here and neither do I.”

Coriolanus didn't want to get into the moral argument so he stayed quiet, thankfully not even a whole minute passed as Sejanus strutted towards them, his shoulders down, his expression defeated.

It took everything in Coriolanus not to smirk at the kick-down puppy.

Sejanus came to him, his eyes glossed with sadness, “Marcus turned the other tributes against me. They aren't taking the food.”

Sejanus Plinth turned to Lucy Gray, “You… Can you help? They might eat if you give it to them.”

Lucy Gray nodded and Coriolanus felt irritated that Sejanus wasn't asking Coryo for permission first, it was his songbird after all. But he didn't say anything and watched the interaction unfold.

That's when the most unexpected thing happened. Sejanus Plinth lets out a sob as he catches the sight of Lucy Gray's wrist, the black ink on her skin, her soulmate number. Coriolanus Snow sees the recognition Sejanus has in his eyes as he looks at the date.

He knows the number.

Sejanus Plinth and Lucy Gray are soulmates.

Coryo got over his shock quickly when he realized the irony of the situation. A mentor and tribute. Both are from the districts but have vastly different lives. A songbird and a boy Coriolanus Snow wished could sew his mouth shut.

Fitting.

He could barely manage the smile off his face but then he remembered you and his burnt wrist. The smirk turned grim, and he was glad that he was not the only one sharing the misery despite it being with Sejanus. Now Sej knew what it felt like, let him suffer, let's see if daddy's money works here.

He tuned out as Sejanus and Lucy Gray talked. Lucy Gray doesn't cry but Sejanus has enough tears for both and Coriolanus wants to scoff. But instead, he puts a hand on Sejanus' shoulder and gives him what he thinks is a comforting squeeze.

“We have to go,” he said, his eyes flashing to Lucy, hoping she was more rational than her counterpart. “There are classes to attend.” Coriolanus Snow refuses to be late and has that on his record. Unfortunately, he can't voice that reason out. “We have to go,” Snow insisted to Sejanus.

“Go,” the songbird encourages, taking Sejanus's hand in hers. She gives him an awkward but genuine smile, not meant for the TV. Something special. “I'll be here,” she joked and it worked horribly as more sobs seemed to wreck the Plinth boy.

Coriolanus gives a pitiful stare to Lucy before dragging the boy out of the zoo and shoving him into the car. He barks the order to drive and relishes briefly at how the driver had flinched. Sejanus continues to cry and despise Snow feels the urge to knock him out. He doesn't. Instead, he runs his thumb over the raised flesh on his wrist and redirects his thoughts to you and yesterday (he refuses to acknowledge the sin he committed at night)

Yesterday was refreshing. Nice company (though his mind didn't seem to want to admit that). Full stomach. And despite the panic attack, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed you. Spending moments with you was rare throughout the years, it took Coriolanus a long time not to retch whenever he saw you. It was better now, he was mature, nothing like the eight-year-old but with the same thoughts nonetheless.

Despite everything you're not worthy of being his soulmate.

Sejanus managed to control himself, picking his pieces up and licking his wounds as they got closer to the academy. As they reached the gates, Coriolanus' hand reached to open the door. Sejanus' voice stopped him.

“Make sure she wins, Coriolanus. Please”

“I will try my best,” was all Snow said in return. Before Coriolanus is fully out of the car, he turns to Sejanus and says, “Buy a guitar for your girl.”

His songbird. Coryo's songbird. His soulmate. Snows’ Victor.

“And keep it a secret, Sejanus.”

He can't let the Plinth boy take the glory when she wins.

NEXT PART

#character x reader #x you #x reader #x female reader #fem reader #scenario #president coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader smut #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x you #snow x reader #tom blyth #dystopian fiction #thg tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #thg x reader #thg series #thg fanfiction

[adventuringblind]

Entitled To You (3.6K words)

Norstaptri x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: An incident with Lance sends the boys into a frenzy. She just wants to do what she loves.

Warnings: Explicit depictions of r@pe, injury descriptions, panic attacks, Oscar plots a murder, Lando throws hands, Car crashes, Author doesn't know legal stuff, Head trauma and blood.

Notes: This one is a request from @Lily234566 I know this wasn't the original pairing but I was struggling to fit the Ferrari boys in there so I had to scale it back... I'm sorry and I hope you still like it! T_T

Side Note: Sorry to the Lance girlies reading this. AND obligatory message of I don't know these people and this is purely FICTION! HEAD THE TAGS! DONT LIKE THEN DONT READ!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

“Max!” She peeks her head into his driver's room. The bright beaming smile she receives in return after their 1-2 nearly kills her. “They want me for a media thing, apparently.” HIs smile drops into a pout. The sad puppy eyes might convince her to stay. 

“Again? Don’t they know we have plans!

“No, and why would they care anyway?” She looks him up and down and whines because he’s standing in front of her with no shirt on. “Just - I’ll meet you guys back at the room. It’s something to do with being a female in F1… again.”

“I’m starting to think they have nothing else to talk about.” 

She shrugs as she walks out of the hospitality, waving to Christian on her way by. The goal is to get past the Mclaren garage without seeing Lando because otherwise she is not going to the interview. His pout is worse (better?) than Max’s. 

To her pleasant surprise, Laura is the one conducting the interview. “I’m sorry about this being last minute! They said they wanted you to do it with someone else next week and I offered to do it now.” 

The interview passes with ease and thankfully doesn’t take long at all. The banter in-between is also entertaining. 

She’s exhausted when they finish. Ready to go back to the hotel and fall into bed with her boys. Hopefully They’ve ordered food - and dessert. 

The paddock is nearly empty as she makes her way through. Maybe, had she been paying more attention and not focussed on her aching body, she would’ve caught on to the footsteps behind her. 

They are heavy, she assumes possibly a mechanic still packing up to continue on their way to the next circuit. That’s what she still thinks when the hand on her bicep yanks her around the corner. 

If she weren’t as exhausted, then fighting would’ve been a possibility. However, that seems out of the cards as he pins her against the nearest wall. Her forehead hitting the surface hard enough to make her dizzy. 

“Not so confident now, huh?” 

The fuck- “Lance? What are you?-” He slams her head again and cages her body against his own. She flails, only to be slammed again. “Would you stop doing that please?” 

“Not after that stupid stunt you pulled today on track.”

“You mean the one where you showed you don’t know what brakes are?-” Again, her head is sent into the hard surface. She can feel her nose starting to bleed. “Must you?!” She decided to shut up when he does it again and everything starts to go fuzzy. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of her fireproofs. The cold evening air hits her bare skin and she panics more than before. Her head is too cloudy to fully comprehend what’s happening. 

“I feel like I'm entitled to a bit of compensation after that stunt.” 

“You’re entitled to nothing. You took yourself out!” She hisses through gritted teeth. Still, Lance continues to get her clothes lower. And slams her head again harder - you know - because she wasn’t disoriented enough already.

“Would you shut up?” She doesn’t say anything this time. Her mouth feels numb and her ears are ringing. Her exposed lower half is met with the bare hands of someone she doesn't want touching her. 

It's - well - it hurts. He's groping at her thighs, ass, even her tits which she isn't sure how he's managing. His hands are everywhere they shouldn't be. 

And then nothing. 

A vague awareness of what's happening seeps through her veins and invades her senses. She tries to scream. Attempts despite the sheer pain of the snap of hips she didn't ask for. 

His finger beat her to it. A hand encloses around her throat and cuts off her oxygen. The black spots dance around her vision. She wants them to stop moving; they are making her dizzy. Or was she already dizzy? 

“See, it's not so bad. Don't you feel less guilty for ruining my race now?” No, she doesn't. She wasn't guilty before. 

She blacks out. 

~~~♡~~~

Waking up with sore limbs and a killer headache is not how she pictured this night going. She tries to yell for help, but a mere creaky rasp escapes. 

When did she lose her voice? The thought makes her panic more. The sob she lets out hurts more than there is sound. 

Her face and hair is sticky. At least Lance had done her the courtesy of not finishing inside of her. 

Still - what the fuck even happened? The fragmented memory is trying to come back to her slowly. Each small piece remembered is another broken cry. 

She can't move. 

It's dark again. 

~~~♡~~~

The anxiety between the three boys is certainly not something they are used to. Oscar can pinpoint the exact moment Lando started overthinking and Max had to bear hug him so he didn't pace a hole into the cement of the parking lot. 

The fourth seat in their car remains empty and their messages have gone unanswered. It's getting more concerning with each passing minute. 

“Max, she always responds.” 

“I know Lando.” 

“She always calls if she's going to be longer.” 

“Lando?”

“Yes?”

“Would you feel better if we went and looked around for her?” 

The Brit nods his head in a fashion that might give him whiplash. It's better seeing him feel helpful then sit helplessly. Though Oscar can't help but agree with Max's original point. that they should wait there at the car just in case since that's where they were supposed to meet. 

Granted, it's only been twenty minutes. It's still long enough to be murdered. 

They Methodically peer around corners and wave at the mechanics who give them skeptical looks. They were supposed to be out for post race celebrations by now. 

Oscar freezes when he sees it. The human shaped lump lying on the ground. He rushes over with long strides. The closer he gets, the more familiar the person on the ground becomes. 

“Max! Lando! I found her!” The other two boys come sprinting in his direction. He's on the ground trying to clear her hair from her face only for it to get stuck in the sticky substance coating her features. 

“What the fuck?” 

Her fireproofs are still on, but it's obvious what happened. The handprints on her neck, the blood trickling down the sides of her face. “We need to bring her to a hospital.” 

Max hoists her up in his arms. Mainly because Lando is on the brink of tears and struggling to breathe through his panic. He loves deeply and with his heart on his sleeve. Oscar just hopes he can keep the Brit calm until they find more help. 

“Can we at least clean her up?” Lando pleads with him. Big Hazel eyes brimming with tears. 

It's always a struggle to tell him no. “We can't, not if it can help us figure out who did it.” The tears start right after that. 

“So that’s what happened then? Someone really-” Oscar has to maneuver the puddle of tears that is his boyfriend into the passenger seat of their rental car. Max tosses him the keys, opting to be with her in the back and keep her comfortable. 

The tricky drive to emergency is more because Oscar is too far in his own thoughts to pay attention to the traffic lights. He can hear Max moving her around, attempting to put pressure where blood still flows freely. 

Oscar doesn’t bother with parking. He pulls off into some empty area and helps Max shoulder her weight inside the doors while Lando runs ahead to find help. 

It’s fast after that. They take her away and start patching her up while the three of them are forced to sit in the waiting room. Oscar and Lando are left to their own devices while Max paces about on the phone with Christian. 

He feels like a knife is being driven through his chest each time his mind tries to come up with what could’ve happened. Who would do something like this? Unfortunately, a lot of people. The question is more of who could’ve done it and gotten away. Someone with access to the paddock this late. Security, perhaps? Maybe even a sleazy mechanic? A driver wouldn’t make any sense… right?

“When will they let us see her?”

“When she wakes up, most likely.”

He’s not sure when he falls asleep. The exhaustion finally hit him like a truck despite his persistence. He’s awoken by Max’s constant shaking and aggressive whispering of his name. 

“-She’s asking for us.” 

He’s up faster than Lando when Jon threatens an ice bath. They follow the nurse down the halls with an uneasy anticipation. They creep inside the sterile room and find her staring at the wall. 

Lando doesn’t hesitate to move further into the room. Always having been more in touch with his emotions then the other two boys. “Hey love, can I come closer?” 

She looks at him. The bandages plastered over the sides of her head and around her face now visible to them. She returns Lando’s gaze with glassy eyes. It’s damn near shocking when she tries to pull things off her body in a desperate attempt to reach for Lando. 

Lando gets to her before she can get everything off, specifically the IV, and catch her arms. Oscar and Max finally pull themselves together and manage to get her to lay back down with some coaxing. 

She’s shaking violently. Her grip on Lando’s arm is sure to leave bruises. “Who - who f-found me?”  

“We did, schat. We got worried when you didn’t respond.” Max drags the two chairs in the room closer and pulls Oscar down into one.  Lando, against all odds, manages to wriggle his way into bed with her. 

“I know who it was. I - well - does anyone else know?” 

“Just Christian and us.” Oscar can feel the fight Max is putting up to not ask her more questions. The way he’s grounding himself with a hand on Oscars knee instead. 

“You don’t have to tell us.” He attempts to reassure. Maybe calm her mind by giving her an option. “Just know we’re here, alright?” 

“I don’t want it to be a big story. It’s already going to be since I can’t be in the car for the next four weeks. Oh fuck - everyone is gonna know-” Lando hushes her; gets her to somehow hold him tighter.

“Christian said it’s up to you, whatever happens.” Max nods at her encouragingly. “We go at your pace.” 

“They did a rape kit. They’ll know who it is. It was all over so it couldn’t have been hard to get DNA - oh fuck” 

Her heart rate picks up. The nurses rush in. They send her back to sleep. 

~~~♡~~~

Max wants to know who it was who touched her. The rage simmering underneath her skin is almost too much to keep contained. 

On the more fortunate side, they were allowed to stay since she wouldn’t let go of Lando. Then when he did have to get up, they rotated. 

The doctors and nurses learned to approach her like she’s a scared animal. The heavy footsteps seem to set her off and there is now a sticky note on the door saying to tiptoe when entering. It’s endearing to see her doctors and nurses trying so hard not to startle her. But seeing as they’ve now had several incidents where she’s panicked, they are taking more caution. 

Oscar and Lando have meandered away in search of food. Max opted to stay put and made the promise to bring him back cheat foods. He’s too stressed to not eat something of comfort. 

Her physio is supposed to come by today with the stuff she left at the track and get an update from the doctors themselves instead of Max’s botched attempts at repeating back. It will also be nice to see her comfortable, as the one blanket that travels with her everywhere will also be dropped off. 

“Max?” He tightens his hold to show he’s listening. “It’s not fair… You, Lando, and Oscar make a mistake on track and nobody does that to you. I - It wasn’t my fault.” 

The thing is, Max is smarter than people give him credit for. The only incident on track was with Lance. An incident that was his own fault. “He’s at fault, not you. None of this is your fault.”

“They are going to say I was asking for it or something.” 

“In those fireproofs? The only ones asking for it are me and Oscar… for obvious reasons.” He chuckles proudly at his little self compliment. 

It also manages to get her to crack something of a half smile. “Are you complimenting your own ass?” 

“And what if I am?” 

She doesn’t eat anything despite it being sat in front of her. Soft foods are the only thing she’ll be eating. Her throat, albeit not as bad as it could've been (thank you F1), is still damaged and needs to rest as much as possible. 

They had to keep her for observation due to where the head wounds had been. It’s been a rough thirty-six hours, but they are managing.

Despite the hectic situation, Max has come to learn that the female lying in the hospital bed is a better person then the rest of them. Oscar was detailing a full proof murder plan while she was telling him not to make it a bigger deal then it is. To which Oscar politely put his ten step plan with four contingencies down and told her that it’s ‘what he had coming to him’. 

Max has not had to stop someone from assassinating a rival before, but Oscar seems like a reasonable guy. “Death is too good for him.” 

“Mm, you’re right, I’ll just make sure he doesn’t die then and can’t see my face.” 

“Or, we make his life a series of inconveniences! I feel like daddy’s money could get him good therapy. It can’t solve every minor problem.” Lando has a gleam in his eyes. 

Him and Oscar start pouring over ideas once more. The girl simply shakes her head and goes back to eyeing her pudding like it’s assaulted her. “I don’t want to leave here, Max.”

“Why not? I’d assume you want to go home? Sleep in a comfortable bed?”

“Out there, they can get to us. Here is safe.” 

He considers how to reassure her. Only, there is nothing he can think of. The truth is that outside of this hospital room, there is no guarantee they won’t run into trouble. 

“I can’t promise that we'll never have something bad happen again. But-” He looks to the McLaren duo brainstorming ways to make the Aston Martin garage regret existing. “We’ll be there for each other. We’re here for you. When you want us and when you need us, yes?” 

“Pinky swear?” She extends her pink to him. 

Max accepts and curls his pinks around hers. “Pinky swear.” 

~~~♡~~~

It’s not fair really, that they had to leave to go do things. Lando would prefer he at least stayed with her so she isn’t alone. Alas, they are preparing for her discharge and he had to run around getting things together for their trip back to Monaco.

He comes back to a partially opened door and smiles at the other two boys being able to get back before him. Then again, as he gets closer he can hear the angry tone. One that Max uses when he’s pissed off about something. 

Lando panics and rushes inside. Only to be met with the sight of the last person he wants around right now. 

Now - he wouldn’t say he’s prone to violence. Lando prefers to keep the peace when it comes to conflict unless he’s trying to piss someone off on purpose to get a reaction. This is not one of those times. 

Lando’s knuckles collide with the Canadian’s jaw faster than he can fully become aware of what he’s doing. Lance stumbles backward and holds his jaw, glaring at Lando like he’s the one in the wrong here. 

“Get out!” 

“We were just talking-” 

“I said. Get. Out.” He’s seething. The thudding in his chest becoming louder with each second Lance remains in this room. 

He’s not prone to violence. 

Really, he’s not. 

Yet the second crack of knuckles into Lance's chin gives him some sick satisfaction. Isn’t there something about equilibrium? Can he pin this on restoring the balance or something? Regardless, he isn’t going to dent the fact that it feels good. 

The nurses come running and start asking questions. Max and Oscar have to drag Lando away kicking and screaming. 

Worse is when they try to tell him that there are pictures out on social media. Christian has been calling Max non-stop. Oscar has been dealing with Zak. Their relationship isn’t a secret and neither is their current location.  

“They're sending us a different car to see if we can’t get out discreetly.” 

“What happened with Lance, Lan? Are you alright?”

Everyone is panting. Their eyes trained on the door. “I punched him. I restored the equal-brey-um… thing.” 

“Equilibrium.” 

“Yeah that!” 

He’s not sure how they get on the plane. He’s still amped up about the whole punching thing and running purely off adrenaline. 

They’ve been sitting in silence, mulling over their options. Creating statements they can put out. It’s hectic and they keep trashing them because nothing fits. 

The female has been apathetic. The last thing she wanted was for this to get out and now it has. Seemingly everything is flashing before her eyes. Her career will be gone soon enough, so what’s even the point? 

“Don’t post anything. We don’t have an obligation to confirm or deny the rumors. If anything, we can say that you were just driving me to the hospital and being good friends or whatever.” She won’t look at them. Still - Lando can hear how upset she is, the waiver in her voice. “I’m going to be kicked out anyway.” 

“Christian said-”

“Damn what Christian said! He knows this isn’t going to get any better and if I say who it was then Daddy’s Money is just going to pay his way through.” She's hyperventilating now. Her body collapses against her seat and Oscar makes an effort to get her to lean against him. “It’s not fair!”

lando Can’t help but share her feelings.

~~~♡~~~

She stays holed up in the Redbull garage the next weekend. The appearance is hard, people want to ask her questions. Her boys had been caught in the middle of the riptide and haven’t come back to shore yet. 

At least she’s here. She’s trying her hardest to look stronger than she is. On the inside things are falling apart. 

The team knows to give her space and not ask about the ordeal. She takes refuge in Max’s room when things are too much and the other drivers keep their distance. 

They know it was one of them. She’d been adamant on not saying who it was, but it’s obvious there are sixteen who it could have been, given her partners insistence that none of them go near her garage for the time being.  

She just wants this whole thing to blow over. She wants to lay in bed with her lovers and not flinch when they go to touch her. 

She knows, however, that until she deals with things that healing can’t happen like it should. Or at least, that’s what her therapist says. The one she is now required to see. 

Things get worse when she’s back in the car. Her media duties are limited so she can focus on driving and ‘listening to her body’ as her physio likes to say. 

She can’t hear her body over the sound of her mind going staticy as Lance closes in on her. The catalyst for everything. She panics and ends up in the wall. Not the worst crash ever, but certainly hurts her pride more than it has already.

The thing is, it keeps happening. Even as she’s able to let her boys back in. As her podium finishes start to come back. Her fireproofs (which they’d gotten her all new ones) start to feel comfortable again and she doesn’t feel the need to be out of them the second the race is done. Still, Lance is using this to his advantage. 

Finally, after he almost killed her on track (again), she’s had enough.

The trial goes better than she thought it would. Despite the money differences, Lance won’t be able to race anymore. It’s not some grand spectacle either, just an announcement like usual. It’s more the closure she needed versus the publicized drama it could have been. 

She wins the next race. 

“If I ever see him again, it will be too soon.” 

“It’s been over a year now, Lan. I’m getting better.” There is a genuine smile on her face. The car awaits to take them back to the hotel. It was here that it happened. She almost considered not racing because of it.

“Lando got a taste of blood and now he’s feinding for it.” Max has a comforting hand around her waist. A grounding presence. 

“I mean, I never threw away my murder plot…” 

“You’re a genius Oscar!”

She shakes her head. It’s not like any of this has been easy. It never is. Still - her boys are here and they’ve been so patient. 

“There’s her smile.” They all beam at her. 

She smiles back.

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[juiles]

Sticking out sucks.

Summary: You are taken in by the Avengers at 13 and the first four months are hell until after one fateful mission, Wanda and Natasha really step up the moment you need parent figures the most.

Age: 13

Warnings: blood, gunshot wounds, broken bones, fever, fever haze, hydra, red room, a little mean Nat but she comes back quick, asshole Tony mentioned, surgery drugs

Important questions!!!

Type: angst, hurt/comfort

Here is the masterlist!!

Here is the request form!!

pic credit to the amazing jaylerdoodles

———————————————————————-

I sat in a daze, my world tilting just slightly as i listened to Steve ramble about something after a rough mission. Tony had messed up but somehow got everyone else to believe it had been me. Now here i sat, staring at the table, my hands folded, placed there. I gently picked at the skin around my thumb.

This is how it’s been for 4 months. 4 months of someone messing up on a mission and then me getting blamed as the youngest member. 4 months ago, Steve rescued me from a Hydra cage at 13. I’ve spent half my life being raised by Dreykov to be a perfect widow but at 8, Hydra got a hold of me. Turned me into the perfect weapon. Years of abuse and torture makes you older than you are. Something that Natasha and Wanda don’t like. They’ve never liked me.

I squirmed in my seat, wanting to escape the yelling. As soon as he let us all go, i stood from my chair and made my way up to my room concealing a limp. As soon as my door closed behind me, I grabbed the first aid kit i kept under my bed and changed out of my dirty, bloody suit and into a tank and bike shorts. The gauze on my thigh was already bright red, despite only being on for a couple of hours.

Slowly I peeled it back and winced at the gaping bullet hole. I fished around gently pulling the bullet out, knowing it was a very shallow wound, i gave it a few stitches and wrapped it up tight with a sterile gauze and some ointment. Looking down, I sighed and gently got up. I cleaned the blood off my leg and took a look out my door, creaking it open slightly. It seemed empty and the bucket and mop i would need to clean the blood up is only a few feet away. I glanced down at my bandaged leg then back at the bucket that i could see. Using my powers would only alert Wanda so I slipped out of my room.

I limped over to the bucket and grabbed it, accidentally knocking over the mop in the process. I flinched and whipped around to run back to my room but with the bullet wound, a concussion and a few broken ribs, I got dizzy and instead of running to my room, i fell face first on to the floor, i managed to catch myself before i could hurt myself but at the same time i heard a bedroom door open and could basically feel Natasha rolling her eyes at me as Wanda gasped.

“Don’t baby her Wands.” She cooly said to the girl standing beside her. “She tripped after waking us up. She’ll be fine.” I winced as I crawled up the wall. I looked over my shoulder to see them standing in their bedroom, Natasha leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, Wanda holding one of her arms, her face twisted slightly in concern.

“Why is there blood on your leg y/n?” I heard a small whisper before i glanced down at my leg and winced seeing blood streaming from the gunshot wound, the stitches must have opened when i fell.

“It-it’s nothing…” I muttered and tried to mask my limp to make my way back to my room but was stopped by a red wisp. I glanced back over my shoulder to see Wanda stalking towards me, I flinched out of habit when she got to me. She turned me around by grabbing both my shoulders and a gasp echoed around the hallway when she saw the red gauze, the blood trickling down my leg.

“Y/n! It’s clearly not nothing!” I took a glance up at her and almost immediately melted when I saw the look of pure fear and care in her eyes but pulled myself together. “It is! I’ll just stitch it up and then clean up my mess.”

“Baby you’re not stitching anything up. You and I are heading down to see Bruce to get you checked over.” I froze and turned properly to face her. “Since when do you care?!” I snapped making her flinch slightly before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before looking back at me. “I’ve always cared love. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to show you it but I can’t let you do this on your own.” I sucked in my breath and closed my eyes.

“I didn’t do it… Tony wasn’t paying attention and I had to jump in front of him. He knocked the switch over, I’m sorry… i’m sorry…” I could feel my chest tighten and i tried to push Wanda’s arms off me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Wanda simply pulled me closer in her arms and slid down the wall, pulling my head to lay flat against her chest so I could hear her heartbeat. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Natasha crouching down in front of me or feel her hands rubbing my back until my chest started to loosen and the knot in my throat slowly released, i gasped in breaths which merely just cause me to sob harder due to the broken ribs. “Baby breath. Take a deep breath. Come on baby. Follow my breathing okay?”

I could feel myself calm down slightly as I listened to Wanda’s heart beat, feeling her fingers massaging my scalp while Natasha drew shapes on my back lightly. My eyes slowly drooped as my fingers tangled into her sleep shirt. “No baby. You can’t sleep yet. Stay with us okay?” I groaned sleepily and fluttered my eyes open to look up at her with a slight pout on my face. “I’m sleepy…” I muttered sniffling slightly.

“I know sweet girl but Wanda is right. I’m going to pick you up and we’re gonna bring you down to Bruce okay?” Natasha murmured shifting me into her arms, making me look up at her. I smiled sleepily before breaking into a coughing fit. “I feel gross…” I felt a cool hand on my forehead before Wanda cooed. “Oh darling you’ve got a fever… you’re sick too…”

“You look like me Natty…” I mumbled staring at her green eyes. “I wish you could be my mama… but you don’t like me… i’m sorry for whatever i did…”

“Darling… you did nothing wrong and I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you did… but i’m here now okay?” She said placing me on the bed, Bruce walking up next to us. I smiled slightly up at her giggling slightly. “Okay mama…” I muttered, to out of it to even realize what i had said.

Wanda’s POV

Both Natasha and i struggled to understand why a 13 year old needed to be on the team. She’s way too young. We haven’t treated her the best, hoping she would quit. Keep her safe. That was until today.

When i heard the bang on the floor in the hallway, i got up and opened the door leaning into Natasha. I watched y/n scramble to get up and i saw the blood trickling down from a bandage wrapped around her leg. I gasped, instantly frowning when Natasha scoffed.

Honestly the next few minutes were a haze, the next thing I knew Nat had a fever hazed y/n in her arms and I was checking her forehead. “Oh darling you’ve got a fever… you’re sick too…”

“You look like me Natty…” Y/n mumbled slightly staring up at the woman. “I wish you could be my mama… but you don’t like me…” My heart shattered at that, we had been so awful to this little girl that she thought we didn’t like her. Her little pout breaking my heart more. “I’m sorry for whatever i did…”

“Darling… you did nothing wrong and I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you did… but i’m here now okay?” Natasha said through her tears as she brushed the hair out of y/n’s face. “Okay mama…” She mumbled before she fell asleep. Bruce quickly shuffled us out of the room. Natasha plopped down in a chair in the waiting room with wide eyes filled with tears. “Natty?”

“She called me mama… she- god i messed up Wandz… she’s so young… she doesn’t deserve any of this…” Natasha broke down, i quickly pulled her into my arms as she buried her face into the crook of my neck.

“We’ll talk to her when she’s more awake… for now shen she gets out of surgery she’s going to need us to support her… she’s got a gunshot wound to her leg, some broken ribs, a concussion and a nasty flu.” Natasha stiffened. “She got shot… how did none of us notice?” I muttered as Natasha sat up slightly and cupped my cheeks. “We were stupid but we’ll do better Wandz.”

We both looked up when the door opened. “She’s fine. She’s awake and still a little loopy.” Bruce said with a small smile. “She called me Brucey.” He chuckled slightly. “She’s sleepy but asking for her ‘guardian angels’ by the way.”

We all let out a soft chuckle and Nat and I made our way into the room to see y/n trying to rip the IV out of her arm. “No baby…” I mumbled taking her hands into mine. “You need to keep them in for now okay?” I looked at her face and her big green eyes looked up at me, brimmed with tears.

“I don’t like it…” She mumbled. I cooed kissing her knuckles gently. “I know but it’ll help you get better okay?” A small whimper came out of her mouth before she turned to Natasha.

“Mama… hi…” She giggled sleepily up at Natasha who smiled softly and she brushed her fingers over the girls cheek bone. “Hi detka… you aren’t going to remember any of this tomorrow huh? Well i’ll soak it in while i can hmm?” She asked softly sitting next to the girl.

“Mama don’t leave…” Natasha chuckled.

“I’m not detka…” Y/n scooted over slightly looking up at Nat with the biggest puppy dog eyes I had ever seen. “Mama cuddle…?” Natasha hesitated, making the girls eyes water. “Mama…?”

Natasha instantly laid down next to the girl and pulled her small frame into her arms petting down the auburn hair. “Mamas here detka…” I sat down beside the two of them and started playing with her hair. She glanced up at me and smiled sleepily. “Hi momma…” She mumbled burying into my hand.

“Hi malyshka. It’s time to go back to sleep for a little okay?” She nodded a little and buried into Natasha, arms wrapping around mine. I chuckled and looked at Nat who stared at the girl in her arms, her eyes filled with love.

“Goodnight Detka. I love you.”

#stickingoutau #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #mcu imagine #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wandanat #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff fluff #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda marvel #wandanat x reader #wandanat x daughter!reader #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda x natasha

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Verse with tele-empath powers is getting a reboot to explore said powers? Hello, yes.

Re-verse, engage!

Covered in blood and filth, whimpering in the bottom of a cage, was a small, broken child. So small, huddled and androgynous- Dick couldn't tell if it was a male or female child. He only knew it was a child.

And that the feeling of fear and desperation- helpless, hopelss sadness, is coming from them. "Batman," he murmured into his comlink, "I think you need to see this."

"What is it?" Bruce demanded, silently ordering Tim out of the room full of bodies. Scientists that had taken their own lives.

"A kid," he answered, kneeling next to the bars. "It's gonna be okay," he said to you. "We're gonna get you out of here okay?"

Slowly an arm moves away from a face and reveals a gaunt face and hollow cheeks. Hair that had been shaved so close they've nicked your scalp... It made his heart twist. "You shouldn't let me out," you tell him.

"Why's that," he asked, keeping his tone light. Were you a Meta? An Alien? He'd seen other empty cages. Dead guards. And he felt... Well. He wasn't sure what he felt but. God it was so heavy. He wrapped his hand around the bars to keep his balance and settled in. You just looked so small.

"Monsters belong in Cages," you murmur, laying your head back down. Like holding it up was too much. Like the weight of the world was pressing down on you. "I killed them. All of them."

________________

"How is our patient?" Dick asked slipping into the medical bay of the watch Tower.

"Troubled," J'onn J'onzz answered, "but, I believe I would be too if I had had her story."

Dick nodded but, didn't ask further questions. He, Clark, Tim, and Bruce had been putting the pieces together while you healed. And what they found... well. They didn't say that you were a monster. They said that you were a little girl put in a monstrous situation.

"Thank you for sitting with her," he said, proffering a pack of oreos. "I just didn't want her to wake up totally alone when she opened her eyes." His preference would have been for Diana- but. She was who knows where. And at least J'onn could anticipate what she was thinking. And he could be patient.

"Of course. Poor creature. She yearns."

And before Dick could ask what for he was gone. And Dick pulled himself up a chair, and helped himself to a magazine, helping himself to a cosmo with a snort. "Let's see what my ideal date with Bruce Wayne is, huh? Bet he hate's all this shit. They always get it wrong."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #science experiment!reverse

[lionheartedmusings]

bear with me bc this is gonna be a bit of a long one, but i've seen folks talking about how they're excited to get the horrors back on the qsmp and while i totally agree that i miss those blood-curdling, creepy, uncanny valley sort of scenes... i think the beauty of the overall storyline (as much as it's execution can be criticised ) is that we as the audience are seeing things in a vacuum.

the qsmp storyline is a living breathing player alongside our povs, and while we're aware of that, we're also not always engaging with it. we're getting swept up in the day-to-day of it all and getting lulled into a sense of security that ultimately makes us unable to truly comprehend the horror of the last few months until we take a step back and analyze it bit by bit.

children went missing in the night, leaving only their identifiers behind on empty beds. there were no leads. people looked and looked, and found nothing. parents were mad with concern and grief, and the all-seeing, all-powerful entity that rules their lives trapped in this hamster wheel of an island has no answers.

then, the items left behind on those beds vanish too.

then, there's mind-controlling, happiness inducing drugs being pumped into people against their will. still no news of the children. people are falling apart at the seams.

people are led to a maze where a wheel is spun and everything they have left of the children of this godforsaken island is gone. burned up. what does it mean? no one knows. they have to live on.

suddenly, a game is played. a clone of a dead child shows up, leading some of them into the same maze, forcing them to walk through a maze of doors and corridors, only to find a game of dice orchestrated by an unknown entity.

new people arrive, bearing witness to the hopeless, grim, sad reality of everyone who was already there. there's hope — there's always hope — but my god the pain is overwhelming.

there's clues, but there's not. the government keeping them trapped here against their will still has no answers, nothing to point them in the right direction.

faceless bears go missing.

faceless bodies show up on the streets. bloodied. dead. eaten.

suddenly, there's thunder and lightning and oh! oh, their children! of course they'll get on the train, that's where the children are!

but they're hijacked. stolen. once again, their autonomy is stripped entirely as another entity with power they cannot comprehend forces them to split into factions and compete for... something. their children's lives are on the line and they maim and kill those they call family because they fear they have no choice.

everyone went through hell — purgatory was a bad title for what they went through. it was hell, with no salvation in sight.

when all is said and done, when all the murder and backstabbing is over, they see their children through glass they cannot break. one escapes because chance said so, and the rest are left behind as the ceiling collapses on them.

the world is ending and their salvation is one singular boat a thousand blocks away. lovers can't say goodbye, friends run for their lives together, a father and a son dash desperately with no hope in sight. some stay behind, through choice or chance.

the government official that has made their life hell returns the children to them, and brings some new ones. those new children get carted off to new parents without option (again) and suddenly everything's supposed to be fine! nevermind your friends are gone! nothing to see here!

behind the scenes, the all-seeing all-knowing government is breaking apart, there's something far more horrifying and twisted at play in the background... but it's nothing the islanders can help with. nothing they can do. they have to live on and pretend their golden cage is fine and dandy bc at the end of the day, it's their only option.

one-eyed creatures show up demanding something "of theirs" back and bc humanity is strong, one islander refuses to hand someone kind and innocent off to them.

it dooms them, as their humanity has every single time.

now, they're under attack and they can barely defend themselves despite months of prep and having amazing gear — again, they try their hardest but everything is stacked against them. they fight, and fight, but their children are on the line and that's their main concern.

every fight? there's bodies littering the ground and panicked screams. explosions. chainsaws revving, and worry, and it's a war ten times a week.

a child loses a life, and now it's personal, but what can they do? no one listens to them, no one has ever listened to them.

and in the middle of all of this? their family is still gone, trapped in a wasteland, or missing, or... dead.

there was no funeral for q!maxo bc there's no stopping to smell the roses on quesadilla island, not really. where's slime? where's pol? where's the people who they haven't seen yet? gone, yes, but they don't have time to stop and worry about them. they don't have time to mourn losses and grieve their dead.

luffy, who came to try and help their friends, was stolen and hurt.

those eyeball workers? they were people once, maybe good people. maybe the best people we never got to meet, but they got shifted and changed into something monstrous and out of their control.

my point being: the story that the qsmp is telling is innately horrifying. it's not just creepy — it's twisted, and tragic, and absolutely terrifying. it's about loss of agency and running on an endless hamster wheel of someone else's making, and how you just sort of... live with it after a while.

and i think that's really fucking cool, because like these characters we too get used to the tragedy of life, little by little, and forget to see the whole thing from a bird's eye view (pun intended).

#qsmp #long post #siudghiusdfg THIS IS OVER 1K WORDS SOMEONE SAVE ME

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

Pick Your Romance Starter- Dark Fae Addition

Plot/Story: Oh no, you've fallen into the Fae Realm through a circle of mushrooms. How convenient, I mean inconvenient! And look, there's some hot Fae men wanting you're attention...how so very clique. But they're not all flowers and sunshine. That would be too damn easy, wouldn't it?

Warnings: Dark Fae, slight non-con touch, blood, 10k words

Notes: The dry-spell has finally worn off and I present to you a little morsel of writing.

Poll is 'here' (Patreon) and here (Tumblr)to choose which character is written for first!

Poll has been finished! Hezirus got the pick. Here is another poll to choose what type of spicey story you want with him.

This is all based on a world built together with a friend. The characters are OCs of mine we play with and use in our stories together. And for your amusement, and torture for my friend, I have started a series where you pick which one I write for first.

This will be a heavy female x male character story. I apologize to my MxM and FxF readers. But I do plan on making these three fuck eventually. Just because it's fun. 

And by all means, give me ideas and feedback. I crave the attention!

Enjoy!

The sharp iron-like smell filled your senses and you felt yourself falling. The warm night air turned bitterly cold and the light from the street disappeared into a wall of black. You blinked. The wind whooshing around you was as loud as a hurricane; before your feet slammed onto stone and you stumbled into something hard and cold. And everything went unnaturally quiet.

You opened your eyes. Blinking rapidly to remove the haziness from your vision as you reached out, calling for your friend. It was dark. Too dark for your eyes just yet.

Your fingers found the cold bars of something circling you. Your hand followed it until you pushed away and stood on your own two feet. Swaying a little, the alcohol still affected your body even as the adrenaline coursed through you.

Finally, after some more blinking and squinting into the dark, your eyes adjusted. And horror filled your stomach as you looked around you.

You were in a cage. An iron cage in the center of a dark room. The floor, the pillars, the walls, all made from gray, smoothed stone. Dust layered the ground like a blanket around your small prison. And thick, but empty, cobwebs lined the corners of the room.

It didn’t look like anyone had been in here for…a very long time.

Your eyes caught the faintest touch of blue light on the floor and you looked down. Finding a glowing ring of sigils carved into the floor, fully encircling your cage. And everytime you moved, the strange letters pulsed with energy and that sharp smell filled your nose once more.

Something in you whispered that it was the same diameter of the mushroom circle you had jumped into… And with that thought, horror filled you. It had happened. It actually…worked. But not in the way you expected.

You don’t know how long you stood in that cage for, calling out into the darkness. It was long enough that the effects of tonight's drinks had worn off and the feeling of dehydration was starting to kick in.

The cold of the room settled on your skin like ice. And you tried to huddle up as much as you could, trying to preserve as much body heat as possible. But the cold iron and the freezing stone was sapping away at your warmth like a hungry beast.

Eventually, just as you started to think you’d be in this dark room forever, a door opened. One you didn’t see at the far end of the room that spilled bright, warm sunlight into the shadows. Making the twilight scatter and your eyes hurt from the blinding rays.

“Well, well, well, I thought all my little traps had been sealed off.” A velvety voice echoed from the doorway. The very sound settled on your skin like the breeze of an autumn afternoon. “What a surprise, indeed.”

Something shifted to your right but when you looked, only darkness stared back. Hiding behind a stone pillar, escaping the bright morning light.

You blinked until the sunlight stopped blinding you and the stranger approached. His boots echoed in the empty room as he closed the distance. His face silhouetted by the soft glow of the blue circle at his feet.

He was handsome. Very handsome. The type of handsome you would take a second glance at because you weren’t sure if your brain properly processed his face. His hair was a slight mess, a dark but silky tangle of blonde and deep brown. Matching a gaze that was fixed, but curious. And you felt every inch of your skin alight with a cold fire when those copper coloured eyes raked over your body. Not an inch of you was left untouched by his gaze. And it left you a little breathless when he smiled.

But your mind was racing. A voice deep within your mind was telling you to run. To hide. Get away from this man and never look back.

“What’s your name, sweet thing?” The man asked. The softest curl of a smirk twitching the corner of his lips.

But you didn’t give it. You weren’t stupid. And you remembered what happened. You jumped into a ring of mushrooms and suddenly you were falling. Even if you could blame this on a drunken dream, you still didn’t give this man your name.

When you didn’t reply, the smirk stretched fully across the stranger's face. “Ah, so you’re smart. That’s cute. I haven’t had a smart one in a long time. Come along, then. Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re exactly what I need to make up for my little blunder last night.”

The cage groaned around you and three of the metal bars slid into the ground. Allowing you a doorway to step out of your small prison and into the stream of light from the door.

The stranger didn’t look at you as he led the way out of the cold stone room. But still addressed you as you stepped out into the light. “My apologies for leaving you in that cold room all night. We had a little…accident, and I was busy until this morning.”

The man led you into a long corridor of more stone. Though the temperature was vastly more welcoming than the room, it was just as empty and just as dusty. You passed many doors like the one from where you landed. Some were left open, revealing more empty areas with a single cage. Others were closed but something dark marked the metal entryway. It looked suspiciously like old blood.

If this stranger saw you staring, he didn’t give any move to answer your unspoken questions. He led you up a spiraling staircase and a door of heavy carved wood and granite, creaked open before he touched it. Opening up into a sprawling room of many desks and shelves and cabinets.

“Clean her.” The stranger said. And from beneath the desks, dark tendrils launched towards you. Black, clawed hands wrapped around your wrists and ankles. Icy cold fingers latched onto your throat, squeezing just enough to silence the scream of fright from your lungs. Iron strength yanked you forward, making your attempts at fleeing fruitless as you were dragged towards a large basin.

More arms of shadows rose from the stone floor and you watched as steaming hot water was poured into the tub. Buckets of water manifesting from darkness and then disappearing when dropped to the floor.

You didn’t get to take a breath before you were lifted and then dumped into the basin. Hot water burned your skin and drenched your clothes. You gasped for air, but a cold hand slammed your head back under the water and you felt harsh bristles scrape over your bare skin. Something sweet smelling poured onto your hair as your head was yanked back out of the water for a brief moment

You coughed and spluttered, barely getting a breath in before you were dunked back into the water.

Your clothes were torn away. Despite your best effort to keep them against your skin, the material ripped apart under the strength of these shadowy limps. You wrapped your arms around your chest, obscuring the man’s beautiful gaze from seeing too much.

His smile was too sweet. Too wide as you were finally released and you turned your back to him. Your skin burned from the brush and soap. Your hair felt silky and smelled like a field of freshly bloomed flowers. But you were completely bare in front of him.

“That’s much better.” The man said. Leaning against a desk nearby. His molten gaze took in every inch of you before he waved his hand and a shadow presented him with a dress. “Wear this. It suits you much better than…whatever else you were wearing.”

When you didn’t get out of the tub, the man sighed and rolled his eyes. Then he turned around so he was leaning against the desk with his palms on the surface of the table. “I won’t look. Go on, try it on.”

You hesitated. But already the water was starting to get cold and you couldn’t sit in here forever. Curled up and shivering. You sighed heavily and carefully slipped out of the water.

Another shadow appeared beside you with a towel. But it didn’t allow you to take it. Instead, it dried you off, harshly rubbing the soft material against your body until your skin felt sore from the material. But dry.

You grumbled a curse towards the man and snatched the dress from the floating shadow.

Surprisingly, the man kept his word and didn’t turn around. Until you were in the dress and staring down at yourself in horror.

The material was thin…extremely thin… You might as well stand in front of him naked without the gentle glimmer of the sparkly dress. And it was very tight. You could see every curve of your breasts and hips, down to your thighs before the dress spilled out around your feet like a bronze ink spill. The only saving grace to this material was that it darkened around your chest and lower center. Refusing to give a full, clean picture of your body that was hidden beneath the dress.

It didn’t stop the perked peaks of your nipples from the cold air. And the stranger hummed a low sound in his throat as he adjusted the sleeve of the dress and picked at some imaginary lint on your waist.

“Much, much better.” The man said. He started to circle you. His eyes scraped over your body as you stood frozen under his gaze. He picked at the dress and the shadows appeared with trinkets and jeweled chains. Your wrists were wrapped in silk and your neck was decorated by a thin, delicate silver chain with topaz stones resting warmly against your neck. A belt of lace loosely circled your hips and your cheeks were assaulted by a dusting of red. Giving you a small blush before cold hands grabbed your face and the man stepped closer.

His forefinger lengthened, growing a black claw that came to a dangerously pointed tip. And you tried to yank yourself away from him but the shadows held you firmly in place. You could only watch in growing horror as the dark talon descended towards your eye…and cautiously drew a line along your upper lashes. Then the man delicately did the same on the other. Giving you a perfect dark eye-liner flick.

The man then stood back. His other hand held your chin as he tilted your face back and forth, admiring the touches he did to you. The shadows relaxed when you did. And you allowed this stranger to do what he wished with your face.

“What’s your name?” You asked him. Finding this close proximity with the handsome face was filling your chest with sharp flutters. You could see the finer details. The sharp, pointed ears. The tattoos under the collar of his shirt and the dusting of gold along his face. Perhaps a decorative choice?

“Jackal Borcalas, Royal Archivist and Spy Master of the Wilds” His smile was predatory. Proud. Cocky. As if the widening of your eyes gave him a sense of smugness. “But Jackal is fine, sweet thing. And yours?”

He said it so casually you almost willingly gave it to him. Like carrying on a normal conversation. But you clapped your mouth shut and glared up at Jackal. Rewarding yourself with a laugh from the Spy Master.

“Ah, well, you can’t blame a man for trying.” Jackal said, shrugging. Then his hands moved from your face down to your body. Adjusting chains and bracelets and anything else the shadows had placed on you.

But you found his hand barely touched you. His fingers brushed over your hips but didn’t linger for too long. The pads of his fingers glossed over your perked nipples but his eyes didn’t stray any longer than they needed. His attention was too focused on his task that you doubted he even knew where he was touching.

“Gorgeous.” Jackal purred. And despite the hungry look in his eyes, you sensed the genuine compliment behind his words. Or was that just a…Fae thing to get you comfortable around him. “Now, a few things before I throw you to the wolves.”

You felt the blood drain from your face with his words. And that wicked smile returned, alongside the cold touch of shadows as they wrapped around your legs and started moving them. You felt like a doll on strings, puppeteered after Jackal as he turned and exited the room.

Your captor led you into more corridors and halls. Many stone steps and coloured glass windows that bathed you in greens and golds and bronze. You didn’t get to look around. The shadows had you transfixed on watching Jackal’s back as he walked through…wherever you were.

“If you want to live through the day, you will follow these rules to the absolute letter. Do not look directly into his eyes. He gets…crabby when you do it for too long. And keep your hands off of him unless he places them somewhere. He doesn’t like to be touched. Do not turn your back on him unless he tells you to do so, and for the love of the Moon, do not touch his horns. Just…keep your hands to yourself unless you’re ordered otherwise.” Jackal said all this while he led you towards a massive metal door. The shadows relieved their hold just enough that you could finally look around you. But your gaze was transfixed on the entrance before you.

Towering above you was a grotesque, twisted display of melted weapons and armor. Swords Maces Axes Shields Any and all kinds had been liquified against the doors. You spotted helmets and chest plates carved through with spears. All dented, all worn, from battle.

“Oh, and also, for my later entertainment, keep yourself alive.” Jackal whispered, looking over your shoulder at him. “We haven’t had a human here in…centuries. So try to make your stay last a little longer than a few minutes.”

With a wave of Jackal’s hand, the war-torn doors opened with an ear-clawing sound of metal on the stone floor.

A blast of heat slammed into you as a voice as deep as thunder growled from within a dimly lit room. “What do you want, snake?” Your very bones vibrated with the voice. And a knot of fear coiled in your stomach as Jackal entered the room.

The shadows had you follow him and you entered a room that was more like a throne room. It was a vast space of furs and blankets. Blazing fires were cradled in braziers along the walls and candles flickered on hanging chandeliers made of bone and skulls. The scent of sulfur and burning meat filled your nose and you tried not to gag as you passed a body laying on the floor. Three deep gashes tore up the person’s back and blood pooled around their limp body. Their face twisted in agony and terror.

Jackal didn’t even look at it. He continued to stroll into the heated room towards a pile of furs and hides.

“I brought you a gift.” Jackal said. His voice echoing in the massive room. Mixing with the heavy breathing of something huge in front of you. The shadows didn’t let you go. They kept you firmly in place behind Jackal.

Something sniffed the air. And you felt the very air around you shift with each deep breath. You started shaking as the tiled floor trembled. The blast of heat came closer and closer. The heat in the room roared and you felt like your arms were being scorched by a blazing fire. Your ears popped and the tremble through the floor halted, but you heard the distinct sound of bare feet stepping over tile towards you.

And then Jackal stepped to the side and you were suddenly staring at a broad chest of muscle and scales.

The shadows released your head. Allowing you to look up, almost craning your neck all the way back, to meet a burning red gaze of a man. He was massive, much taller than 6ft and broad, rippling with muscle. Scars streaked across his arms and chest, giving a stark pale contrast to his dark complexion. A creature of war and battle.

But what was more terrifying was the plating of black scales that protruded from his dark skin. Horns swept out from atop his head. Splitting apart thick, shiny black hair that was braided amongst the crown of thick spikes. And his gaze was heavy. Watching. Calculating.

Jackal tsked harshly and you quickly dropped your eyes. Remembering what Jackal had said only moments before.

The man in front of you growled, a deep rumble that rippled through you like thunder. “A human?” A voice of stone sounded surprised. And you flinched when a massive hand wrapped around your waist, his fingers almost completely encircling your hips, and yanked you closer.

Black scales filled your vision as the man buried his nose into your hair. You felt him take a deep breath and the growl turned into something like a broken purr as the man laughed a cynical chuckle. “Is this your way of saying sorry, snake?” The scaled man snapped at Jackal. Releasing you before stalking over to the much smaller man.

Despite their size difference, and the display of bared teeth from the other man, Jackal remained perfectly calm. His hands resting behind his back as if he was having a casual conversation with someone.

“This is my way of mending my mistake.” Jackal replied slowly. “Hezirus will want her for himself. But I thought you should get some time with her before she’s claimed entirely. I thought it would be a nice…treat, Maahes, from me to you. From a friend.”

That word brought a snarl out of Maahes. Like he didn’t like how it sounded coming out of Jackal’s mouth. “Watch it, snake. You almost cost me my territory last night. A morsel won’t make up for that blunder.”

“Then let it be the start of my amendment to you.” Jackal titled his chin down in a submissive display. And whatever rage Maahes had, seemed to melt away. You felt the sharp tang of something hit your nose and suddenly the beast in front of you roared.

Claws raked through the marble pillar where Jackal had been standing moments before. Then you felt the shadows retreat and Jackal was standing in the doorway behind you. An amused smile across his lips

Maahes roared again, crimson eyes glowing with a surge of anger. “Keep your filthy magic out of my head!”

The doors slammed closed with a thunderous bang as Jackal laughed. Leaving you alone with a creature that was practically shaking with rage.

Your eyes swooped to the floor when the beast looked at you. You heard the click of claws as he approached. Two dark tree trunks entered your view and you realized he was standing right in front of you. He at least wasn’t naked, wearing a loose pair of dark trousers. But the thin dress did very little to make you feel protected at this moment.

“What is your name?” Maahes asked. You didn’t respond, cowering in front of him. The beast snarled and a rough grip wrapped around the underside of your jaw and forced you to look up at him. You kept your gaze from staring into the pools of rubies, looking at the scar that carved down his neck and to his collarbone. “I am not a Fairy, sweet morsel. I won’t use your name against you. What do I call you?”

You felt him lift you a little. Until you were standing on your tiptoes to stop him from choking you. “(y/n)” You managed to say. And the grip released you.

“Get me a drink, (y/n).” Your name rolled on his tongue like he was tasting you through those words. It sounded awfully sinful to hear it. And you quickly hurried over to the table by the dead body. Where an array of goblets and bottles were laid out. You choose the largest cup and fill it with an amber liquid. You had to carry it with both hands to ensure it didn’t spill and didn’t strain one arm too much. Hurrying back to Maahes, who had returned to lounge on the pile of furs. Which even his massive frame seemed to be swallowed by the vast mattress of pelts.

The beast rumbled. But it wasn’t an aggressive sound. You almost thought he sounded pleased as you carefully climbed onto the furs and offered him the wine. He took the cup from your hands. And as he pressed the wine to his lips, his free hand lashed out and took purchase of your hips before you attempted to step away.

You couldn’t fight him. The amount of strength beneath those fingers alone was enough to pull you towards him with barely any effort.

You found yourself flush against his side. His scales, rough and jagged, pushed painfully against your soft skin. And once you were positioned how he wanted, the hand moved down to cup your ass. His talons caught on the material of your dress as he squeezed hard. Making you wince a little.

“How did the snake manage to catch you?” Maahes asked. Placing his cup precariously on a position of the bed as he moved so he was on top of you. His nose scraped against your neck and you felt his teeth playfully pull at the silver chain around your throat. “Trapping humans was outlawed centuries ago. Did he say some pretty words and you were suddenly here? Or did you fall through a mirror?”

His words were surprisingly teasing for how rough his hands were on your body. The pads of his fingers were calloused and coarse, sweeping along your thighs before moving you so he could settle between your legs. He was massive above you. Obscuring the ceiling and bone chandeliers with his mass.

You explained what happened. Recalling the ring of mushrooms on the side of the walkway on your way home. The stupid decision to test fate and jump into the circle. Laughing, thinking nothing would come of it. And then accidentally said ‘we’ jumped in, and those crimson eyes pulsed intensely.

“There’s two of you?” Maahes asked. Glancing at the door as if Jackal was about to come through it again with another person. You said you didn’t see your friend in the cage and the man shrugged. Returning his mouth to the hollow of your neck. His lips sending goosebumps along your skin as his hot breath bathed along your chest.

It was a long moment of licking and hard nips along your neck before Maahes changed position. Burying his face against your breasts. Even through the dress, you could feel his mouth hungrily take in your left nipple and rake his tongue over the peak.

“No matter. I’ll feast on you first before I worry about someone else's pet.” You felt him shift against you and something huge and hard pressed against your clothed core. Then Maahes raised his mouth and a burning hot tongue seared along your neck, carrying the smell of wine and meat along your flesh, up to your cheek before your lips were harshly trapped between Maahes’.

Your struggling only seemed to amuse Maahes. As you tried to push him off and twist away from him. But just as he forced your lips open with his tongue, the doors to the room blasted open in a cold gust of wind. The flames around you simmered out under the gust and the chandeliers swung wildly above you.

Maahes growled and tore his mouth from yours. He poised above you like a beast protecting a kill. Thick arms caging you against the bed as the sound of his snarl ripped through you. You could feel the vibrations through your core, from where his covered bulge was firmly pressed against your core.

You turned your head, peering around Maahes’ arms to see a gorgeous man standing in the streaming sunlight. Like an angel, wings of bronze and gold framed his tall figure and a thick set of arms were crossed over his chest. Lines crinkled his perfect brow and long chocolate brown hair was kept away from his face by a gold crown of gnarled vines and flowers.

“Maahes,” The man said the beast’s name like a warning. But his tone was playful, teasing. “What have you got there?”

Maahes’ snarl crumbled into a softer sound. But he didn’t move from atop of you. His talons ripped into the furs as his hands turned to fists beside your body. “She’s mine.”

“Not anymore she isn’t.” The angel said. Stepping into the dark room, closer to the creature that was bent low over your frozen body. “I caught her scent on my way to breakfast. I don’t know how Jackal got her, but she’s a guest in my palace. I won’t have you break her on her first morning here.”

Soft, bronze eyes fell upon you and his smile softened. But those warning bells in your head were singing again. Even more so than they had with Jackal. “Give her to me, Maahes.” The man said, his wings opening a touch to make him seem so much bigger than he was. “I won’t ask again.”

The beast above you growled deep and threatening. You braced for something to happen. Another gust of wind. A fist. Claws. Something.

But then the heavy, hot weight of Maahes disappeared as he crawled off of you. And you scrambled off the bed to stand beside the winged man. Hiding behind him as his wing opened to protect you from Maahes’ heated gaze. “Good boy.” The crowned stranger said. A very careful smile placed over his lips. “Do not let me catch you playing with her again.”

Maahes’ gaze lowered to the furs. But you could see the tension in his body and the thick, throbbing vein that was protruding from his neck. He bowed. “Yes, Prince Hezirus.”

That seemed to be enough for the…prince. And he turned, his wing shifting to envelope you in a warm embrace against your back and guiding you out of the room.

The heavy doors slammed shut behind you both. And the wings of the prince moved to lazily return to his back. A different type of heat simmered in his gaze when the prince turned to you. A striking difference from the softness he offered you before. “Now, human, you will tell me how you got here. And why you’re…dressed the way you are.” Despite the quizzical tone, Prince Hezirus’ eyes were just as hungry and heavy as Jackal’s when you first got dressed. You instinctively tried to cover yourself but a narrowed glare from the person in front of you made you halt.

Your arms dropped to your sides as you explained everything. But this time, you kept the ‘we’ out of it. Only insinuating that you alone jumped into the very obvious Fae trap.

“But you know our customs,” The prince hummed. Tilting his head like how a dog did when it was intrigued by something. “You won’t give me your name. You even called the circle a trap. So…you knew what it was.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. The drunken stupor of a joke was now very obviously a suicide sentence. “I didn’t think it would work.” You argued. “I was…drunk.”

“Superstition has kept your people alive longer than you’d think. You should start listening to your fable stories, there’s a reason they exist.” The prince began walking and you hurried to follow. The tall man, possibly as tall as the beast on the furs, didn’t shorten his strides to let you keep up. Instead, you had to fasten your steps to almost jog alongside him.

“Where am I?” You asked. Finally looking at your surroundings. There were large paintings that covered the towering walls. The ceiling looked like marble with many hanging candles and torches to illuminate what the sun couldn’t. Massive glass windows bathed your walk with the prince in color. But at least this time you could see the shapes of beasts and battles and fields of flowers as you passed them.

It was all very beautiful.

“You’re in the Fae Wilds. My kingdom.” The prince replied. His chin tilted up with pride as he spoke. “I am Prince Hezirus of the Wilds. Son of Queen Melusine, the Lady of the Forest. You’re in my palace in the deepest forest of our kingdom. My…holiday home, I guess you would call it.”

You stalled for a moment to peek through one of the windows. Spying the grounds of the estate that sprawled out in grassy knolls and flowing creeks that sliced through lush gardens and tumbled through the gnarled roots of mountainous trees.

There were people working in the gardens and some walked the earthy paths through the estate. Someone even started flying into the branches of a nearby tree. With wings like an insect.

A soft cough from the prince made you turn. Finding him standing by the cliff of a long stairwell that led down and into the center of the palace. You quickly hurried back to his side and started descending next to him.

“It’s beautiful.” You said. Unable to keep your eyes on one thing at a time. A man walked past you both, bowing deeply to the prince before walking briskly away. His features reminded you of a rat.

“Thank you. But you will have time to see everything soon. I want you to join me for breakfast.” The prince said. And you followed him down a corridor and into a grand hall. A long table was presented before you. Its surface was chock-full of plates and bowls of food. All steaming, like the dishes had just come out of the oven.

At the end of the table sat a beautifully crafted chair of twisted roots and vines. The cushions looked as soft as clouds and a plate of sourdough bread, bathed in eggs and bacon with a drizzle of white sauce, was sitting awaiting the prince.

Hezirus waved his hand and a chair pulled itself from the table next to the prince. And Hezirus gestured for you to sit, before he flicked his hand and the chair pushed you snugly against the table. A plate was placed in front of you by an owl-faced woman and the prince seated himself in his chair.

Leaning his cheek on his fist, propped up by his elbow on the table, he watched you curiously. “Please, eat. Enjoy.”

The smells of everything laid out in front of you was maddening. Your stomach twisted in hunger and the slight hangover that had plagued you with a headache, wished for water. But you didn’t reach for any of it. And watched the prince take his gaze off you just enough to take a bite out of his egg smothered bread slice.

“So now you start to believe in your fables?” The prince asked. An amused smile twitching his lips as he chewed. “I do not need to charm you to keep you here, lovely thing. You may eat freely. This food is not poisoned and untouched by magic. Other than what is needed to prepare certain dishes.”

You still didn’t reach for anything. Not even the water. Which sat chilled in a glass pitcher in front of you. Like it was teasing you. You shook your head. “Thank you. But I’ll skip breakfast.”

The prince’s eyes flashed gold and suddenly you were reaching for the water. You tried with all your might to stop yourself from pouring a glass, but your hands worked just like they did when the shadows had hold of you.

Puppeteered.

Helpless.

You tried to cry out as your fingers brought the glass of water to your lips. But your body defied you. And you sipped cleanly, without choking, a long draught of water down your parched throat. Once you had placed the glass down you felt your body return to your control and you stood. Almost knocking the chair over as you jerked away from the table.

“Like I said, I do not need to charm you to make you stay.” The prince said. As if you had asked about the weather. So casually glossing over what he just did. “Your tales of us are true…in some sense. But we hold more power than we allowed you to believe. Please. Eat. You look like you’re about to pass out. And I won’t tell you again. You won’t like it if I have to do it myself.”

It was true. You could feel the edge of your mind falling into a dizzy spiral. And the thought of you passing out in front of him made the hunger turn to fear. You shook your head, clearing it, and sat down before your legs gave out. And begrudgingly served yourself some pancakes.

And it was the best thing you’ve ever eaten. Whether it was because of hunger, or the Fae chefs, it was delicious. Even the fruit you ate was sweet and juicy. Perfect. Also too perfect.

But if you didn’t eat, you were sure he’d probably force you too. So, you gave in. As much as the logical side of the brain was screaming at you to stop.

The prince’s gaze never left your lips as you ate. His eyes were persistently on you, even as he devoured his own breakfast and poured a cup of something that smelled strongly of coffee.

“Did Jackal explain anything to you before he shoved you into a room with a horny Drake?” The prince asked. An eyebrow raising when you told him of the rules Jackal gave you. And you added on that you were meant to be a treat, as a means of amendment from Jackal.“At least he wanted you to live through the morning. And yes, Jackal made a small mistake last night. Maahes exaggerates, it wasn’t so bad he’d lose his territory. He’s just angry he lost a bet at all. You were lucky I found you before Maahes went too far. I do enjoy it when Maahes is rough with me. But your delicate body would snap apart the moment he pulls down his pants.”

The rush of heat that exploded in your body, crawling up your neck and into your cheeks made the prince chuckle. “That’s adorable. But also very dangerous. Don’t do that around Maahes. If he gets whiff that you’re into things like him, you’ll be chained to his hips and riding his cock until your body breaks.”

You tried to argue. Maybe say something that it wasn’t arousal, but shock at the prince’s choice of words. But the prince shot you a look that silenced your rebuttal before it began. “I can smell it on you, pet. Don’t even try lying to my face. It won’t end well for you.” His words carried a threat that made your skin crawl with a chill. Even if his tone was light and teasing. Something in his gaze had your heart racing.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked. You wanted to know, so you could at least brace for whatever was about to happen to you. How many books have you read about similar scenarios? You had the hot, sexy men part ticked off. A strange, weird place in the Fae realm, checked. But this wasn’t a romance. You were just left to the mercy of a creature with scales. Given a hint at the power that could make you do anything the man in front of you wanted.

Your life very much was in danger right now.

“Hmm, I’m not sure yet.” The prince said. Leaning back in his chair as he regarded you with a critical eye. Like he was appraising a piece of art. “But I’m sure you’re asking if I’m going to kill you. Eat your bones. Turn you into a…I don’t know. What do we Fae do to humans? It’s been centuries since I’ve talked to one. But you never forget the scent.” The prince breathed in deeply and released it slowly with a long sigh. When his eyes opened, his pupils were blown wide like he was intoxicated.

“Such a delicious fragrance. It used to drive me mad in my youth. The lust. The hunger. Oh, fuck, the sex…” The prince finally looked at you again. As if suddenly remembering you were there and had asked a question. “No, dear pet, I am not going to kill you. Some of my court might try. But I’ve already ordered them that you are to be untouched. Left only for me to squeeze.”

He flashed you a smile that made his already handsome face become even more beautiful. “Anyone that tries to force themselves on you will meet my wrath. You are welcome to wander the palace. I do suggest staying as far away from Maahes as possible. And don’t go into the gardens until-”

“If I may, Hez.” The sudden voice of Jackal made you jump as he appeared by your side. Seeming to appear out of thin air as he joined you at the table. Sitting to your right. “I suggest we keep her caged until the staff and court get used to the scent of her in the estate. Already there has been enough unrest that Maahes has had his fill of Fae blood. She will be safer in the dungeons until you solidify the order for her to remain untouched.”

The prince played with the fabric of his tunic as he thought over Jackal’s words. His eyes following the line of your neck to your shoulders and then to the material that smothered your breasts into a perfect soft mound. “You make a good point, Jackal. However…because it was your trap that brought her here, she is your responsibility.”

Jackal’s jaw twinged as he glanced at you. “Hez, I cannot afford to be distracted from my work. I cannot continuously check on her in the cells-”

“Then have her in your office until you ensure she won’t be touched down there.” The prince smiled. A sense of amusement flashing over his face as he winked at you. “Jackal will take fine care of you until I have time for you, pet. Stay close to him and do what he says.”

A sharp scent ripped through your nose and you winced as your mind latched onto the words the prince spoke. An order. An order given by a Fae prince laced with…magic.

“I don’t think she’s stupid enough to try and run from me.” Jackal said. Sighing heavily as he took a sausage from one of the plates and took a bite from it. “Come on then, Lily. Time to watch me do paperwork for hours on end.”

“Lily?” Hezirus asked as Jackal stood. You felt your body follow suit. But it wasn’t anything like the cold touch of shadows or the constricting power from Hezirus. You wanted to follow Jackal. You were told to do as he said, and damn well you will do it.

“It’s not her name.” Jackal assured the prince. “She’s as lovely as a lily. So, that’s what I’ll call her.”

“Hmm, I don’t think that suits her.” Hezirus said thoughtfully. Tilting his head as he looked you up and down again.

“Well, she’s your pet. You pick a name for her.” Then Jackal smiled viciously and tapped the tip of your nose. “Or are you going to introduce yourself?”

When your glare was the only reply they got, the two men laughed and Jackal clicked his tongue. You followed him like a puppy on a leash, up many staircases and through many corridors. Until you found yourself back in the room you started in. Where the basin had now been emptied of water but the room still smelled of the shampoo in your hair.

“Sit.” Jackal ordered. And your body slumped into a wooden chair by a large desk. One that was covered in many long pieces of parchment and piles of books. A few empty ink pots were put to the side. While a stack of new ones awaited to be used. “You might want to get comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

You looked around. Attempting to get comfortable in the wooden chair next to Jackal’s desk. Much unlike the plush, armchair-like seat he possessed, the wood was hard against your ass and the surface cold to the touch.

A few minutes passed as Jackal opened a few books and arranged them to stand in small holders to keep them open. He arranged paper out in front of him and then opened a thick, leather bound book by his left hand. You tapped your fingernails against the wood of the chair. Already insane from the quiet of the room.

“Can I have a book or something?” You asked. And Jackal scoffed a laugh.

“I doubt I have anything here that you can read. It’s all documents and spellbooks; all in languages you can’t read.” Jackal waited for you to argue. But when you didn’t give a rebuttal about knowing more languages than one, he left it to rest. “If you’d like to pass the time, you’re more than welcome to pass the time on me.” The smile was playful. Menacingly teasing as he smirked at you when your cheeks flushed pink.

“You’re not going to order me to do that?” You asked scornfully. And Jackal shrugged, plucking a quill from its seat in an ink pot and started writing.

“I could. Since Hezirus gave you the order to do whatever I say. Or I could force you to do it with my servants. But it’s not as much fun when the giver uses teeth and tries drawing blood every second.” At the word ‘servants’ the shadows from beneath the desks nearby came alive and crawled over the floor towards you. You pulled your dress away from the curious clawed hands and the room filled with whispered laughter as you gasped in horror.

Jackal tsked and the shadows scattered. Returning to being nothing more than dark spots under the desks. “Now hush, I have to concentrate.”

You must have dozed off somewhere after the third hour mark of sitting and doing nothing. The room was bitterly cold now and you shifted in your seat. Trying to find a comfortable position when a touch of fire brushed over your thigh.

You jerked awake. Startling when you came face to face with Jackal. Who had turned his chair towards you and was sitting almost directly between your legs. Both of his hands were coiled around your right thigh. Molding the cool skin with his fingers so gently that it almost tickled.

“Get your hands-”

“Shush, I’m thinking.” Jackal barked back. And the harshness of his voice froze you in place. Or was it the order to do as he says? You had no idea, but you knew that you were helpless in that chair as he squeezed your leg like he was kneading dough into shape. Scraping his palm along your skin through the velvety material of your dress. You had to lean back as he lifted your calf and draped your leg over his lap. You were left completely open to him in this position. But Jackal didn’t seem to notice.

He never went any higher than your upper thigh. His eyes were distant, staring at your chest but not actually paying attention to the shape of your cleavage. It was just the last place he looked before his thoughts trailed off.

You kept quiet. At least welcoming the warmth from Jackal’s lap and touch over your chilled skin.

Any longer here and you were going to freeze. You’d even welcome the harsh treatment of the hot bath just to warm you up. The dress was useless against the breeze that blew in from the open window. And the sun was beginning to go down.

Shit…have you already been here the entire day? No wonder your back was killing you.

Jackal startled you by humming and dropping your leg from his lap. Non-delicately letting your bare foot slap against the stone and you shuffled back onto the chair. He returned to his desk and started feverishly writing something down.

You stayed silent. Kicking your leg over the other to try and savor some of the tingling warmth from Jackal’s fingers. You hated how tenderly he had touched you. Because your core kind of enjoyed the attention.

The sky outside was pitch black and somewhere in the castle, you heard distant screams. It had started some hours ago and had long since lost its pitch. But the volume was still there. Telling you of the absolute agony that was ripping through someone.

“It’s no one you know.” Jackal assured you. Seeing your worried expression. “Maahes told me that there was a second human that jumped in the trap with you. And so far, I haven’t found them. Even if someone already claimed your friend, there would be traces of her. When a Fae consumes or fucks a human there’s…changes.”

That was at least comforting. But hearing such visceral cries turned your blood cold and nausea twisted in your stomach.

They were cut off rather quickly some hours after nightfall. And you weren’t sure if the silence following it was worse or better.

Jackal leaned back in his chair and stretched. Your eyes caught a glimpse of the toned body beneath the fine black tunic. But you tore your eyes away just as Jackal glanced at you.

“You’ve been rather quiet…Oh, right, I told you to shush. You can talk now. I don’t need to think for a bit.”

“I was going to say to get your hands off me.” You snapped. Suddenly finding an urge to speak now Jackal told you so. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

“But you’re so soft and warm.” Jackal practically purred. His arms hanging over the back of his chair as he stared at you. And this time, he really stared at you. With an intensity that had you looking away and a fresh wave of heat flooding your center. And that little nibble of his bottom lip was an added unfair flare.

“You’re disgusting.” You mumbled.

“I’m sure you'll change your mind eventually.” Jackal chuckled. The molten copper turned sharp once more as he returned them to the desk full of freshly scrawled paper. “If you were literate I’d have you read these so I can rest my eyes. But you’re unfortunately not that useful.”

“I can read.” You hissed and Jackal rolled his eyes. Lowering his arms so they came to rest on the desk.

“Can you read dwarvish?” Jackal asked. Then he clicked his tongue when you huffed a curse at him and turned your head away again. “Like I said, illiterate. Shame…it would have been cute having you sit on my lap while you read this over.”

“Fuck off.”

Jackal laughed and sighed. The breath was heavy as it filled his lungs. “I better get you to your cell before I let your arousal do anymore to me. Get up, little flower. And stay close. Maahes is wandering the halls looking for a chance to drag you under him again. And Hezirus is busy ensuring the court doesn’t devour you through the night. So, I’m all you have keeping you alive until we get you to your cage.”

You stood before your mind could think of doing so. And then you were walking beside Jackal through the palace, a step behind him. “What is stopping Maahes from…getting in my..cage?” It sounded weird to say. And you dearly hoped it wasn’t going to be a cage in the middle of a room like the one you appeared in.

“Hezirus.” Jackal replied, as a matter of factly. “Our prince holds alot of power. And not even a Drake as powerful as Maahes can disobey his orders while in his own home. He’ll try to lure you to his bed chambers, or the floor, I’m sure. But as long as you keep saying ‘no’, you’ll be safe.”

“That’s all that is stopping him from…you know…”

“Words hold more power here than your world, sweet flower. And Hezirus has explicitly ordered your words are the rules to your body. So, be mindful when speaking to anyone here. It might save your life.”

You trailed alongside Jackal as he took you deeper into the palace. Down even more stairs and corridors, until he stopped outside of a steel door. You weren’t stupid. This was a dungeon, deep under the palace. You could smell bile and filth from the other locked rooms. And the air was cold and thick.

But there were no guards here. Only the flickering torches along the walls and the soft, pained whimpering of the other prisoners.

“I had your cell cleaned before I brought you down here.” Jackal said. As if his words made it all better as the door to the cell opened without him touching it. Revealing a cramped, dark room. A cot was pushed into the corner. Merely a wooden pallet with hay stuffed into the crevasses and a thin blanket covering the splintering wood.

The pillow looked thin and splotched with gray marks.

“I’m going to freeze down here.” You said. Pulling at the stretchy material of your outfit. “This is barely going to keep me warm.”

“That’s Hezirus’ problem, not mine.” Jackal replied.

Then a hard cold force slammed into you and you stumbled into the cell. The door creaked shut and you heard a lock click into place. You rushed to the door as Jackal opened the little slit, allowing you to see his copper eyes through the darkness.

“Whenever Hezirus remembers his pet is down here, I’m sure he’ll provide you with all the best luxuries your little human body needs.” Jackal said with a roll of his bright eyes. “I, however, do not have time to babysit you at every minute. So, you’ll sit down here, in the dark, like a good girl until things settle. My servants swarm this place, so you’re safe. Just don’t make too much noise. Or you’ll attract some unwanted attention. Get some sleep, little flower. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

You beat your fists against the door as the slit slid closed. Calling after Jackal in a colorful array of words and sentences. Some even got an impressed whistle out of the spy-master before you heard his boots disappear.

You retreated from the door when someone screamed from a nearby cell. The whispering laughter of shadows echoed through the darkness in response.

You went to the cot. The wood creaked under your weight as you curled up against the corner of the room. Gathering the thin blanket around you. Ignoring the itchiness from the hay and tried very hard not to think of bugs crawling in your hair or down along your arms.

You tried to stay awake. Something was moving beyond the cell door but it never came any closer. Someone would scream or start crying. Another would start begging. Only to be silenced by a harsh hiss that made your blood run cold.

You curled up tighter and closed your eyes. Hoping the sun would scatter the shadows when it rose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[ailithnight]

A fic based on this prompt by @chaoswarfare that I had originally put in the reblogs, but decided to move to its own post since I've got some ideas to continue it. No promises on this ever being a completed fic, but I'll try.

A King in Arkham

Listless eyes trace the cracks in the ceiling; their owner blinking slowly from his place, lying nearly motionless on a thin mattress supported by a metal shelf held to the wall by thick black chains. His face is blank, not sad nor angry nor despairing like so many others in this cold and lonesome place. No, his expression is empty, as though there is simply nothing to feel.

Bruises and scratches and even a couple very deep cuts litter a small body. Were anyone watching, they'd see a new one appear as if by magic across a gaunt cheek. Even as blood begins weeping from the slash, not a single emotion flits across the face. Not even a flinch.

Tomorrow, doctors will assume the patient cut himself. They will search his cell, again, and find no weapon. They will search his body and find not so much as a fingernail capable of creating the mark. They will check the security feed and find, as always, that the moment of injury glitches; one second no cut, the next fresh blood. They will try to force the patient to admit self harm, but he will remain silent.

When the door to his cell swings open with a buzz and a clang, echoed by every other cell in the building, the blank faced boy with dull eyes doesn't move. It's the 6th time this month, and the 13th since arriving 3 months ago.

When the sounds of screams and rioting grate on sensitive ears, he merely sighs, the first hint of feeling flashing across his face in the form of a minute second of frustration before blankness returns. When a pair of escaping patients rush past, one stopping to ask if he's coming, he remains unresponsive.

"Leave him! Kid never tries to escape. He's to far gone."

The kid in question feels his eyebrow twitch. He's not 'gone' anywhere, thank you very much. There's just no point. Nowhere to go. No one to help him; to understand that he's not crazy, just haunted. At least, no one who won't turn him into a monster. A horrible, world destroying, viscious monster.

Besides, Arkham's not too bad. At least it isn't a GIW lab. And his rogues have even started showing up less and less since he was sent here! Though maybe that has less to do with Arkham or Gotham and more to do with the kid's utter refusal to even defend himself.

"Now come on before Bats start showing up and put this place on lockdown."

A black form with a red head drops from above, just barely within the kid's peripheral vision. A brief moment of recognition and even something adjacent to interest flickers in blue eyes.

"Bats like me, perchance?"

.

Red Hood was assisting containment with an Arkham breakout. There had been a lot of them in the last few months and Batman was getting grey hairs trying to figure out why. No one in particular was even trying to break out. No one could be pinned for the inciting incident. Just randomly, at any point in the day, the automatic locks would spazz out and everyone would be released.

So the big bad Bat had called all hands on deck, requesting at least one vigilante be at or near Arkham at all times, hoping to at least keep most of the big fish in their cages while they tried to figure out what the hell was going on. And Jason had graciously agreed to help. So here he was, at 3am on a Saturday morning; assisting guards in keep inmates corralled; keeping any eye out for any maximum security escapees.

With none spotted so far, and the people below him literally admitting that they're giving up hope when the Bats arrive, Jason figured he might as well see if a bit of scare tactic will convince them to go back to bed willingly.

"Bats like me, perchance?" The would be escapees in front of him startle and whip around.

"Red Hood?"

"The one and only." Jason shifts to not so subtlely place a hand on his weapons. "Now why don't you 2 just go on back to your rooms and we can forget this little infraction. I won't even tell the guards to write up a discipline slip." The two inmates eye him, then his guns, then each other warily. Finally, they both raise their hands in surrender and begin walking back to their cells.

Jason permits himself a quiet chuckle, much to low to be picked up by the modulator. As he turns back to grapple up to his bird's eye view in the rafters, his eyes catch sight of the inmate who apparently doesn't try to escape. For just a moment, green swamps his vision as Red Hood registers the sight in front of him.

He almost steps in to the cell before a harsh buzz sounds and cell doors clang shut again. An intercom crackles to life announcing the effective lockdown, instructing guards to begin escorting patients back to their cells, cataloging each attempted escapee for future disciplinary measures.

Batman's voice sounds out over comms.

Not a single inmate made it past the main gate. Good job Hood.

Jason seethes for moment longer in front of the cell before biting out his question on the main channel.

What the hell is a kid doing in Arkham!?

A strangled sound makes it through the feed and Nightwing responds, strained.

What?

A KID! Can't be older than 15. In cell... 26B. Looking rather roughed up, I might add. Since why does Arkham even accept minors?

Oracle responds.

Pulling records right now.

Jason eyes the kid, who seems to be entirely unfazed by Red Hood discussing his imprisonment 8 feet away from him. Actually, unfazed is the wrong word. Apathetic is better. Entirely emotionless. Green threatens Jason's vision again as he ponders the potential reasons for the look of resigned desolation on a face so young.

Looks like he was transferred over from a psych ward in Illinois 3 months ago. Ward of the State. File says self-destructive behavior. Apparently he picks up unexplainable injuries and claims ghosts gave them to him.

That still doesn't explain why they sent him to Arkham!

Batman's voice filters back in.

Hood, pull out.

Jason has to force himself to keep his voice down.

WHAT!? I'M NOT LEAVING A KID HERE!

It's almost 4am. Red Robin is on route to relieve you.

I AM NOT LEAVING A 15 YEAR OLD IN ARKHAM!

We will be investigating this further.

15! YOU KNOW, THE SAME AGE I WAS WHEN YOU LET ME DIE IN THAT FUCKING WAREHOUSE.

Jason almost regrets the statement as he here's Dick's stuttered breath. But it seems the kid might have heard him and something about the statement seems to catch his attention.

He actually turns his head to look quizzically at Jason. The expression only lasts a couple seconds before slipping back into blank neutrality as he turns back to the ceiling.

Batman's voice grinds in his ears, an edge in his tone telling Jason that if he doesn't listen, the Bat himself will come pull Jason out.

Hood, his transfer coincides with the start of these break outs. He may be involved. We will be investigating this further, very thoroughly. If he's clean, we will be getting him out of there. But for now I need you to pull out. File your report.

The tone softens.

And get some rest.

#dp x dc #Danny Phantom in Arkham Asylum #A King in Arkham #my writing #I guess I should start a tagslist #I'll try to pull some from the original post #But it would be easiest if y'all just drop tag requests in the comments

[siriusleee]

shot through with gold

“I smashed the whole house to bits,” Johnny keeps going, turning to put the milk in the refrigerator. “Had to get Simon over here to help me put it back together. It was his idea by the way. To get the mug fixed. He said you’d be mad if it was gone when you came home.”

tags: coming back home, implied torture, capture, smut, riding, reader is afab, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of blood word count: 7.7k author's note: This was a commission by the best and brightest @gazs-blue-hat. If you'd like to commission a fic, visit my ko-fi for more information. Also, I refuse to disgrace the good country of Scotland by attempting to do the full Scottish accent. Readers call sign is Sparrow, but it's only used once.

The room is heavy with dust; small puffs cloud around Johnny’s boots as he pads across the plush carpet. The summer’s oppressive heat makes the walls sweat - you’d be worrying about the mold forming in the drywall if you could see it. But Johnny doesn’t think of the way his handprints smudge on the paint you spent weeks agonizing over or the way your perfume lingers in the still air even after all this time. 

His singular mission - to grab a few shirts he needs and leave - is the only thought he allows himself to think about, hands combing through the dressers and eyes trained downward, away from all the pictures hanging on the wall. He avoids your side of the dresser, avoids the lace that still peaks out from your top drawer. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, Johnny ignores it as he pulls the shirts he came to look for out of the dresser drawer, tucking them beneath his arm. He follows his tracks in the dust back out, eyes cast down at the carpet. The whole trip takes less than 10 minutes; he doesn’t let himself look up until he’s slamming the passenger door of Simon’s truck shut behind him. 

“Got everything?” Simon asks, shifting the truck into drive. 

Johnny sits ramrod straight in the seat, eyes avoiding Simon’s as he buckles in. 

“Yeah, got everything.”

Your fingers trace over the marks you’d carved into the soft stone wall. You’d tried to keep a tally mark of days, but time slipped by in odd increments within your cell. Some days you’d watch the sunrise from the cracks in the ceiling and after just a blink, the inky blackness of night would be seeping in. Sometimes the sun hung in the sky for months before finally falling to the full moon. No matter how hard you tried to decode the pattern,  the moment you had it everything would reset. 

The guards were in on it; they had to be. They’d bring your meals at odd times - sometimes you’d still be full from the moldy slop they shoved in between the cell bars, spilling it out onto the floor like you’re an animal in a cage, and sometimes you’d be so hungry that you could barely crawl to eat. 

It was supposed to be someone else - you were pulled for guard duty after another soldier slogged off and broke his foot doing something stupid while training. You’d finally been pulled to work with Johnny, three days away from being a full transfer to the 141 when your C.O. had appeared at the door of your bunk, new orders in hand.

A simple guard duty: get the guy to where he was supposed to be going, hand him off, and fly home. Your transfer could wait an extra forty-eight hours. But your plane was shot down somewhere over the middle of nowhere - you had told your C.O. that flying that low was a risk, but the desert was empty and the plane was old. They’d been making the flight for weeks, ferrying men back and forth with no hiccups. Your flight should have been no different. 

It should have been someone else. 

You couldn’t remember what had hit your small passenger plane: but the ground was David, and you were Goliath. You’d hit the ground beside the pilot’s head, his mouth formed in a soundless scream, and after a quick flash of black, had woken up to a bucket of water being poured across your face.

Whatever language your captives screamed at you, you didn’t know it. And if they knew any of the ones you screamed back at them: Spanish, Arabic, German, they didn’t let you in on it. You couldn’t figure out what they wanted until they’d ripped the Union Flag from the breast of your vest, a quick picture on a Polaroid camera snapped above you before you realized what they wanted.

Blood dribbled down your chin when you laughed at them: the government didn’t even pay for soldiers who got captured at war. What would they pay for your half-broken body to get shipped back in a wooden box? A simple mistake that could be written off as a plane malfunction. 

The anger had come first, feet and fists slamming into the men when they appeared at the cell doors. Nails ripped from their beds when you tried to claw at the seams in the walls.  It had cost you a few teeth and a pound of flesh. And then, when you were tired of the endless beatings and anger that went nowhere, you begged them to kill you, to do something to end the torment. By the marks on the wall, it took months before you first asked to be killed, and only weeks later for that to end, each request met with silence and a sneer. Now you lay in the corner, waiting for the few moments when they’d let you out to see the sun glinting off of the mountain ranges, the clouds threatening to storm in the distance.

Those quick trips seemed to come with less frequency as time slipped by.

You trace the tattoo on your thigh; they’d cut through it once after you kicked one of them in the chest, his ribs caving beneath your feet, but even beneath the dried viscera and matted dirt that covered your skin, you could still see Johnny’s name there.

You wonder if he’s picked a gravestone for you yet.

The two of you had talked about it, once. It was the nature of your jobs - to be prepared for everything that could come your way. Your wills were done: 75% to Johnny, 15% to your sister’s kids, and the rest to a local charity. Johnny wrote in that you were to get 100% of everything he owned, and you had chided him about it. 

“What about your mom? Your sisters?” You had asked across the steam from your cup of coffee. Johnny had shrugged, dropping the black pen onto the table with finality.

“Already taken care of, birdie.”

After that had come the talk of headstones and burial plots. Of missing bodies and cremation. You had told Johnny that whatever he thought you’d like, to pick out. You weren’t picky about it.

You wonder if the military let him put his last name on the stone.

A decidedly male voice shouts from around the corner, and you pull back into the stone wall. Seconds later, fetid food falls through the bars. The man shouts at you, pointing at the food on the ground. Lazily, you turn your head towards him, watching the way he sneers at you through the bars.

They must be getting angry then. No ransom came through after all these months. 

You bare your teeth at him.

You’d rip his throat out if you had the strength to do so anymore.

Johnny’s fingers don’t shake like they used to when he buckles the strap of his helmet, the night vision goggles weighing him down. He’s tired - exhausted. The entire convey smells of cigarettes and sweat. Heavy men in heavy gear press around him; across from him Gaz’s eyes shine terribly bright in the darkness. They press in on Johnny, forcing him back into his seat heavily. 

Price’s voice is loud in his comms, intermingling with the sounds of the Marines and the whir of the mechanics beneath his feet. Johnny can’t make out the details over the sound of the truck rumbling beneath him.

“Steady Soap?”

Gaz knows - Johnny doesn’t know how Gaz can do this kind of job with the way he fucking oozes empathy. Or sympathy. Johnny could never remember which one was which, he always had to ask you which one to use.  Gaz had been the only one who’d asked him if he was alright; Simon had lingered at the edges of rooms Johnny was in to keep an eye on him, and Price tried to give him an extended leave. Johnny had refused. 

But Gaz had been waiting until Johnny was sitting outside of some bar a group of Seals had taken them to - a celebration for a job well done months after you were gone, after Johnny's failed attempt to find you. 

“You good?” Gaz had asked, fingers twirling a cigarette he would never light.

“O’course.”

It had made Johnny feel like shit to lie to Gaz, and the same feeling washes over him as Gaz’s eyes linger on Johnny.

The warm summer air washes over them; sweat is starting to coat his lower back, his fatigues keeping him too warm. The smell of the desert, of warmed sand keeps him grounded, reminds him of where he is - what he’s doing here. 

In the glint of the moonlight, the mountaintops shine at him.

The first few missions had been difficult: he’d fought like hell to try to search for you, fuck the regulations. He’d resign if it meant finding you. The rest of the fucking government didn’t care: no one on the plane was as important as anyone else, not to the officials anyway. Johnny had done just that, his resignation had landed heavily on Price’s desk, only to land in the trashcan a moment later.

Gaz volunteered to follow Johnny, but Price had cut that off quickly. It was to be Johnny and Simon only. They had five days, a week at most before they had to be back home.

The farthest they got was the plane wreckage, a little burnt-out village miles away, and sheep that stared at them from the sides of the mountains. But he couldn’t find a trace of you or a singular person who even recognized the photo of you he kept tucked inside his gear. Even after Simon had disobeyed Price’s orders to return home now after weeks had passed. They didn’t find anything.

Johnny knew that’s why Price had volunteered the 141 for this mission - a small-time terrorist cell hiding out in a country they didn’t belong to, a small promise of the bodies of missing soldiers hidden somewhere.

It was something.

The guards are panicking; the dirt walls shake around you. You can’t guess what it could be: American pilots doing a blind bombing, Russians pretending to send help only to rain down hell on the perceived innocent. Maybe God’s here to level the land and flood it. Try again. Do something different this time.

He could start with your cell, you think, scraping at the dirt on your leg. Underneath the sun-starved skin is paler than it should be. If you ever leave, you think, the first thing you’re going to do is eat a fucking steak in the sunshine. The bones that refused to set correctly ache beneath your bruised flesh.

The sound of gunfire pierces the inescapable silence. Your captors yell, screams punctuating between the bursts of firepower. Good, maybe they’ll tear each other apart and leave you here to die in peace. 

Maybe it was a poker game gone extremely wrong. Someone asked to strip when they should have been ponying up the cash.

Smoke pops in the hallway outside, you don’t run from the white creeping in on you, just pull the rags that were your shirt over your mouth to try and keep breathing. It overtakes your cell; you watch as the smoke creeps through the cracks in the ceiling.

The sounds of war flood the small cell - the taste of blood and gunpowder in the air around you. You can taste the iron when you breathe in. It coats your tongue. You run your teeth across the chipped and broken enamel, mixing the taste of other’s blood with your own.

Someone shouts so close this time you can almost make out the words - American accent thick and heavy in your ears - and it stirs something inside of you. You try to navigate the cell through the smoke, rolling painfully off of the pallets your captors had so kindly turned into a bed for you. Crawling across the excreta and mud you try to make a sound, but you haven’t spoken in months.

Your throat is raw, and the sounds that come from you are barely human. You’ll be surprised the men even hear you, let alone notice you there on the ground. You try to pull yourself up at the bars, but the fracture in your ankle that healed up wrong weeks ago keeps you on your knees.

“Hey-” you finally croak out loud enough for one of the men to cast his eyes down at you. “Please.”

He’s so familiar, the softness in his eyes tugging at something familiar inside of you, the sharpness of his shoulders calling to you. You pull yourself up, leaning heavily on the bars and the one ankle that doesn’t scream at you, hands slipping through the bars to try to reach towards him.

His gun drops, swinging loosely on its strap as he steps towards you. His fatigues are filthy, and his nose wrinkles beneath the cloth mask covering his face. You know you smell terrible, and you want to apologize for it, but you can’t make the words come. He looks so tired as he steps towards you, hands reaching out to grip the bars between the two of you. 

“Sparrow?”

“Johnny?”

It takes days for you to make it home: IVs from field medics who barely know what they’re doing, anti-viral meds, shots, stitches. They don’t even let you take a real shower until you’ve landed at a base you barely recognize. It’s a painful process, a female nurse wiping at you gently, but still peeling away layers of skin with each pass of the washcloth, your sobs muffled by the shower. 

Johnny waits for you on the fringes of all the people that press around you, poking you, prodding you painfully until finally, you find yourself slammed into a British hospital bed.

Johnny comes in the moment they let him, hands held behind his back in a mock parade rest. You barely recognize him, his mohawk almost completely grown out and bags under his eyes. You know you don’t look much better; you’d caught sight of yourself in a mirror before they’d forced you into bed. Ruined was the only word to describe what you saw. Too thin, too broken. Too torn apart to be stitched back together. At least not without all the types of therapy a military doctor listed out to you: hydro, occupational, physical, mental.

Neither of you know what to say, so you start with the last thing the doctor told you. 

“They’re going to rebreak my ankle tomorrow,” your voice is still thin, full of isolation. You’d tested it out on everyone who’d been in to work on you, but it didn’t sound right at all. Johnny shuffles nervously where he stands, and then rushes forward to sit in the chair beside your bed. He’s moving wrong, you think, like a wind-up doll. Too slow and then all at once, too fast.

“Why?”

“I healed up wrong.”

Johnny’s hands play with the edge of the blanket that dangles off of the bed, eyes trained on the fabric. He’s not going to look at you. At the ruin you’ve become. You press yourself down harder into the thin mattress, hands tucked beneath your thighs to keep them still.

“Is it going to hurt?” 

You can’t help but smile at his question, your toes twitching beneath the blanket that feels so out of place across you. How many months had they had you? A year? No one had told you yet.

“They said I’d be fucked up on medicine. But probably, yeah."

Johnny’s hands aren’t still against the blanket, instead reaching out towards you. The movement startles you, and you jerk to the opposite side, nearly pulling your IVs out. Johnny pulls his hands back, crossing them across his chest.

“When you -” his voice breaks, just a moment before he put it back together, eyes finally meeting yours, “when you come home I’ll bring the bedroom downstairs so that you don’t have to walk far.”

You have the nagging suspicion that he changed what he was going to say at the last moment. 

"Are you going to sleep on the couch with me?" You try to tease, but your voice falls flat, unpracticed. But it still makes Johnny smile, sharp incisors digging into his chapped lips. 

"I'll sleep wherever you tell me."

The two of you are surrounded by the sounds of the hospital: the beeps of the heart rate monitors, the sounds of the nurses' quiet conversation outside of your room. You trace your hands across the blanket, grasping Johnny’s whenever your fingers collide with each other. 

For a moment, neither of you move, just languish in the feeling of each other’s skin; you’re too busy tracing Johnny’s palm to notice him pushing himself closer to you until he kisses you, softly but with a tight undercurrent of desperation, his hand tightening almost painfully on yours.

The feeling of someone touching you so gently after weeks of rage and anger nearly stops your heart. The monitor goes crazy; Johnny pulls back, just the hint of a smile on his lips.

It takes four weeks for Johnny to get the go ahead to bring you home. Each day you were in the hospital he would come for a quick chat before work,  bringing you breakfast he picked up. Every day after, he would collapse in the chair beside your bed, smelling of sweat and gunpowder. 

The smell made you recoil when he tried to kiss you, and he didn't try again after that, even after you tried to stutter out a why. But the day the doctor tells Johnny that you can go home, you awaken to Johnny outside of the hospital room, arms crossed as he speaks to the head doctor - Johnny looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him off the battlefield. 

Everyone rotates around you as if you’re not there, packing the room up, pulling your IVs out, fingers prodding and poking you until a nurse aide wheels a wheelchair into the room for you.

”Ready?” She asks, locking the brakes. She looks at you from across the room, and you know what she wants. Starting the day after they rebroke your bones, they made you get up and start walking, and you push yourself off of the bed, walkable cast heavy against the tile floor. 

Johnny’s in the room in a second, catching sight of you whenever he sees you stumbling over your cast across the room. The aide lets him push her out of the way, his hands gripping the wheelchair as you lower yourself down.

“I can walk out, you know.” You grumble at Johnny as he tosses a heavy folder into your lap.

“Hospital procedure, birdie.”

Simon’s truck is waiting for the two of you in the parking lot, Simon in the driver's seat. He throws a glance at you as Johnny helps you clamber into the backseat, crowded around by grocery bags. 

“Hello, Luv.”

“Hello, Simon. Thank you for the ride.”

Simon opens his mouth to speak, black hospital mask sliding up, but he’s cut off by Johnny clambering into the passenger seat. 

You watch Johnny from the backseat, foot propped up beside you. His hair has grown out too long, the Mohawk nearly disappeared and his beard has started to grow in. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him anything other than clean-shaven; even in the field, he'll butcher himself with a knife before he lets it grow in.

He’s thinner than he should be, too. You wonder if he’d been eating like he was supposed to.

The drive home is disorientating, Simon taking turns too sharply, too quick for your still queasy stomach. By the time Johnny helps you climb down from the truck, dropping your hands quickly when both of your feet are on the ground. 

The house is clean, too clean for Johnny to have been here alone. Like he can sense you'd skepticism, Johnny speaks from ahead of you.

“I’ve hired a cleaner,” Johnny says, holding the door open for you. “So don’t worry about anything.”

It’s odd to be back home; you trace your fingers across the knick-knacks you’d collected throughout the years, the furniture you’ve spent years picking out. You have memories of sitting here with Johnny, memories of Simon and Gaz laughing from the kitchen. But now all you feel is lost, a bottle floating in a foreign ocean.

You wander into the kitchen, fingers trailing against the wall - there are no dirty dishes in the sink, no food in the cabinets; Johnny wasn’t living here. 

The only dish you recognize is sitting on the counter, you pick it up, feeling the unfamiliar weight in your hand. 

“It’s called Kintsugi.”

The Japanese word rolls heavily off of Johnny’s tongue, your fingers pause tracing the golden lines that cut through the mug. It was your favorite, a gift from when you and Johnny had first met. The two of you met at a diner, out with mutual friends. You’d thought it was cute, the name of the diner printed across the front in vintage lettering. Johnny had swiped it for you, hiding it beneath his jacket until the two of you parted ways at your doorstep.

“What happened to it?”

“I broke it,” he admits, dropping the grocery bags onto the counter. Your fingernail can’t find any snag in the glaze, any sign that the mug has never had the golden lines cutting through it.

Johnny busies himself with unloading the bag, speaking without looking at you as he confesses.

“After you were taken, I spent weeks searching for you until Price forced me to come home. I was angry, and I smashed it.”

You can feel the frown sketched onto your face; you don’t look at Johnny as you set the mug down on the counter. 

“I smashed the whole house to bits,” Johnny keeps going, turning to put the milk in the refrigerator. “Had to get Simon over here to help me put it back together. It was his idea by the way. To get the mug fixed. He said you’d be mad if it was gone when you came home.”

You lean against the counter and watch Johnny busy himself with the groceries. 

“He was right,” you admit, feeling silly over the sadness that fills you over the broken cup, “but maybe that’s something Simon has a lot of experience with broken things ya’know.”

You and Johnny orbit each other for weeks: he’s there every day until you begin to question if he’s gotten himself fired to stay home with you. He drives you everywhere, and if he can’t, Simon waits for you just out past the front gate, no doubt on Johnny’s orders. 

“I had a lot of time off,” he says one day, elbow-deep in the laundry that he dumped between the two of you, eyes cast on the television. “Never had a reason to take it before.”

Your hands smooth the wrinkles out of one of Johnny’s shirts, fingers picking at the loose string. Today had been talk therapy, recommended by the SAS doctors. They were strict about all the requirements you had to meet if you ever wanted to go back, and laying on a shrink’s couch for two hours a week was one of them.

The graying doctor had asked you if you had spoken to Johnny about the anger that still wells up in you, the dreams you have of tearing your captives to pieces with your hands, the internal self-flagellation you went through every night when you thought about the career you’d worked so hard for, and have now lost. 

You had spent the rest of the day thinking about what he said, even when it meant not paying attention to the medical doctor’s order when they were cutting your cast off, but Johnny took in every word.

You almost say something then, tossing Johnny’s shirt onto his pile, but the wrong words come out.

“You need a haircut.”

“Yeah?” Johnny’s hands still around a pair of your shorts, you feel him watching you in his peripheral vision. “You want to cut it?”

Of course, you did; you spend more moments than not thinking about how his hair must feel like long if it’s still soft. But every time the two of you tried to touch each other, the other pulled away. 

So when Johnny takes your hand, and pulls you up the stairs, you let him - hand heavy and warm in your own.

Johnny lowers himself onto the closed toilet seat; you feel unsteady as you approach him, clippers in hand, and you’re not sure if it’s from the closeness or the weight of your cast being removed. 

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?” You ask again; since you’d come home your fingers had been a kind of clumsy they’d never been before. 

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Johnny keeps his eyes trained on you, fingers tapping against the tight denim stretched across his jeans.

“I can scalp you bald,” you admit, switching the clippers on, “and then you’d look like a Q-Ball for eight weeks.”

“I’ll be the best damn Q-Ball anyone’s ever seen,” Johnny says, beard twitching as he smirks at you. If he notices the way your fingers tremble when you take his jaw in your hand, he doesn’t say anything. 

His eyes close at the feeling of the clippers cutting through his hair, no doubt the feeling of the weight being removed was comfortable for him.

“You didn’t do this while I was - while I was gone?”

Your therapist says you shouldn’t shy away from calling your kidnapping what it was, but you still can’t form the words in front of Johnny.

He hums at your words, never opening his eyes as he speaks.

“I don’t let anyone else touch my hair, birdie.”

“What about your beard?”

Johnny snorts, eyes meeting yours as you maneuver his head to the side. 

“You don’t like it?”

You like the way he feels against your skin, you want to tell him. But you can’t make the words form, can’t spit them out. Johnny watches you chew on them for a moment before he lets out a sigh. His hair is scattered on the floor around the two of you, more than you’d thought he’d had. 

You swap the guards to shorten his mohawk, pressing yourself in between Johnny’s knees so that you can reach the nape of his neck.

His hands wrap around your thighs, light and warm against the skin that peeks out beneath the shorts you hadn’t taken off since you’d left your cast removal this morning. 

Your skin is on fire at his touch, you try to ignore it as you clean up his neck; Johnny buries his face in your shirt, breath warm against your stomach. His fingers trace light patterns on your thigh and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep the clippers from straying.

His fingers trace the scar that covers his name, and you jump back like you’ve been shocked. Your back hits the wall, knocking the decorative towels you’d spent days choosing to the floor. Johnny’s hands linger in the air between the two of you as you try to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you pant out with a heavy swallow. 

Johnny pushes himself up, eyes watching you like you’re a wild animal ready to run. 

He reaches out and brushes some of his fallen hair from your shoulders, electrifying your skin again. His touch is hesitant as he traces up your shoulder, fingers cupping the back of your neck.

He’s fire as he presses himself against you, lips brushing over yours just quick enough to light something up inside of you before pulling away with an apology. He loosens the clippers from your hands and shoos you out with a promise he’ll clean the hair up himself.

A storm rages outside, threatening to cut the power at any moment. You watch it throw around tree limbs and leaves through the front window. Behind you, the television casts soft shadows on the walls.

“Still pouring out there?” Johnny asks from his spot on the couch. Your answer is the curtain falling back into place. You pad back to your spot beside Johnny; he holds the blanket up for you to slip underneath.

His bare leg rubs against yours, but his hands stay firmly in his lap. He hadn’t tried to touch you since that day in the bathroom - even when he dropped you off at therapy, you’d wait for him to stretch across and kiss you, but he’d just send you off with a wave. 

You knew it was partially your fault: you couldn’t get the words out to explain how much you wanted him to touch you, how sorry you were for every jerk away. Every time you tried to tell him how much you wanted him, the words curled into your throat and refused to budge. You had even asked earlier for him to take a shower with you, to no avail. 

The movie - some family flick Johnny picked because it didn’t have any violence, you know - cast shadows across Johnny’s face. His stubble is starting to come in again; you reach out and trace your finger across the five o’clock shadow creeping onto his jawline.

Johnny doesn’t take his eyes away from the television screen, but he leans his face into your touch. Your fingers trace upwards, lacing through the Mohawk you’d trimmed just two weeks ago. Johnny nearly purrs when you tug on his hair, pulling him down so that he’s lying across your lap.

You have to take it slow, you know or you and Johnny both might break apart. So you just settle beneath him, fingers tracing patterns onto his scalp, eyes trained on the television, but not really watching. 

“I don’t think I’m going to go back,” you whisper, voice nearly drowned out by the storm outside. Johnny rolls, doing his best not to dig painfully into your thigh to look up at you.

“To work?”

You nod, still refusing to look at him. 

“I talked about it with the therapist today; I just - I think it would be best if I just cashed in my retirement. I’ve got a lot saved up: hazard pay and all that. The corporal offered me a job as a trainer. So I could still be around."

Johnny’s hand reaches up to grab your wrist, forcing you to look at him. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you don’t like that. He’s always your open book. You try to keep your heart rate steady at the feeling of him tracing patterns on your wrist. 

“I’m sorry, birdie.”

And you know he’s not just apologizing for your ruined career, for the nearly year you’d spent locked away in some disgusting cell, for the still broken teeth in your mouth, or the screws that hold most of you together now. He’s still apologizing for not being able to find you earlier, to be there months earlier. 

“It’s not your fault Johnny - I should have told them no. I should have been smart enough to just tell my commanding that I couldn’t do it. I should have-“

Hot tears start to fall; Johnny pushes himself up, fingers brushing them away gently. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he pulls you into his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin, and pulling you so tight you think you might break beneath his touch. And you would let yourself shatter beneath him, if it meant he could put you back together, shot through with gold. 

Johnny lets you cry on his shoulder until the fabric of his shirt is soaking wet; after a while, the smell of him, the softness of the way he caresses your back,and the feeling of his jean-clad thigh between your own stirs something else inside of you. You need something else, something more desperate, something to push away the feelings of failure. Of the fear that still lingers in you of heights, and darkness, and men who smell of sweat and gunpowder. 

So when you kiss him, softly, Johnny doesn’t push you away like he can feel how much you need him to touch you. Even as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, you don’t break the kiss. It stays superficial, and soft, neither of you breaking apart or deepening it. You expect him to carry you to the spare bed he brought downstairs for you, but instead, he cradles you up the stairs, hands gripping your thighs so tight you know there will be a thumb-shaped bruise there tomorrow. 

Johnny doesn’t stumble as he carries you. 

In the bedroom the two of you shared before you were lost, Johnny collapses on the bed, his smell enveloping you, hands never leaving you. He buries his nose in the soft skin of your neck, breathing in the smell of you. 

“Are you here with me birdie?”

Johnny’s voice is muffled on your skin, his hands pausing at the hem of your shirt. 

“I’m here Johnny.”

You rest your hands on his biceps and feel the way his heart is in your own chest. His weight presses down around you, the mattress sinking down beneath the two of you. The wind rolls in through the window, gooseflesh erupting on your skin where Johnny isn’t touching.

Johnny’s hands don’t move from the hem of your shirt until you slide your own down to his wrists, a bravery you hadn’t felt in weeks taking over you.

“Please, Johnny.”

Johnny shifts, knees spreading your own apart, but he still doesn’t touch your bare skin until you tug on his wrists, trying to slide them underneath your shirt, instead, he traces your arms - the area you know he thinks is safe. 

The feeling of his calloused hands on your soft skin makes you shiver; Johnny presses a kiss to your pulse point. You know he can feel the way your heartbeat picks up quickly, and he bites down on the sensitive skin lightly. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way you buck your hips upward into his. 

“Birdie.” It’s a warning and a promise rolled into one, and it makes you press your knees together, trying to slow yourself down. 

You let your own hands start exploring Johnny. Once, you’d had his skin memorized - every scar and freckle committed to your own memory. But there are new scars there you’ve never seen before, new wrinkles at the corner of his eyes he didn’t have before. 

It’s like the first time again, both of you exploring each other slowly. Johnny pauses every time you make a noise, eyes searching your face to make sure you’re alright. You push him away just long enough to pull his shirt off of him, hands instantly reaching out to pull him back down. His own hands slide your shorts down until you can kick them across the room.

Johnny kisses you, full of the same desperation he’d had that day at the hospital. Your teeth click together as the two of you suddenly move frantically, hands grasping at each other. Johnny shakes as you run your nails down his back, pushing until he realizes what you want.

Johnny rolls, hands still wrapped around your waist until you’re on top of him. The thin material of your panties is already wet; you can feel it when you grind down on him. The rough material of his blue jeans has enough friction to send lighting bolts through you.

“Is that what you want birdie?” Johnny’s voice is low and rough in his throat; his hands rest lightly on your hips as you grind down. Your hands reach back to rest on his thighs, more leverage for you to move. 

You can’t answer him, already biting down on the moans that start to build in the back of your throat. Johnny’s grip tights as you speed up; you can feel his erection pressing tightly against his zipper as you grind faster. 

You feel yourself start to tremble, hands moving to brace yourself against Johnny’s chest. He wraps one hand around your wrist, the other still at your waist; you can’t look away from the hungry glint in his eye. 

Outside the storm lashes, the cool air rolling in across you and Johnny. 

“Let it out,” he whispers, voice ragged and panting. He’s bucking his own hips in time with your grinding; he’s holding back - you know he doesn’t want to scare you, so you loosen the knot inside of you, moaning loud enough that a blush starts to creep up your chest. At the sound, Johnny bucks up harder. 

You can’t help the way you come undone, nails digging into Johnny’s chest, leaving half moons on the sensitive skin. Johnny lets you ride him until the waves of your orgasm finish rolling over you, his hands not leaving you until you finally still, thighs shaking on each side of him. You can feel your drenched underwear, feel yourself soaking into his blue jeans. 

Johnny is so hard beneath you, a red flush across his chest. Outside the storm rages harder, and the lights flicker momentarily. Johnny pushes himself up onto one elbow, the hand that has refused to move up your shirt sliding up just an inch. His fingers play with the edge of your underwear, the lace snagging on his callouses.

“Why don’t you want to touch me?” You can barely hear yourself over the rain lashing against the window; Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, and he pushes himself up until he’s sitting up, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep from falling backward. 

“I want to touch you,” he tries to reassure you, hands tracing patterns across the back of your shirt. But you shrug his hands off, catching his wrists in your hands before he can fully withdraw away.

“You won’t touch me beneath my shirt,” you slide his hands down to the bare skin of your thighs, moving them until the hem of your shirt falls over his fingertips. “You wouldn’t take a shower with me.”

Johnny chews on his lips, they’re too chapped, you think. The silence stretches in the sound of the storm, and the flickering lights. Before Johnny can speak lightning and thunder crash outside, and the house goes dark - the sound of the electricity powering down cutting him off. Neither of you moves in the sudden blackness. 

“I’m not broken, Johnny.” You don’t want to sound so pathetic, but you do. 

“I know you’re not, hen.”

“Then why am I having to beg, Johnny?”

Johnny’s hand slips up so that he’s holding your hips beneath your shirt. 

“I’m not going to hurt you too.”

It’s a tough confession for him to make, you know. He’d done his best not to talk about the whole ordeal, he never asked what you went through. This was his way of keeping you away from it.

You roll your hips across his again, and his breath catches in his throat. 

“Please Johnny; you’re not going to hurt me.”

You don’t know if it’s the whine in your voice or the way you trace your fingers across the hard plane of his chest, or if Johnny is just as tired of holding back as you - but he rolls you over, gentle and quick until his chest his pressed against yours, his mouth finding the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. 

You’re horribly out of practice, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, getting stuck when Johnny pulls your shirt over your head, but he doesn’t let his lips leave you; your teeth clip together as Johnny deepens the kiss he refuses to let end until your gasping for breath beneath him.

It’s electric in the best and worst ways - Johnny’s calloused fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, pushing them further down each time.

The current running through you makes it difficult to breathe; you can’t even warn Johnny, can’t beg him to slow down what you were just begging him to speed up. But there has never been anyone who’s known you the same way Johnny has, and when his hands slow you know he can feel that it’s too much. Just for a moment.

“Still with me?”

“Still here.”

Johnny’s hands don’t speed up, but he doesn’t slow either - pressing open-mouth kisses down your neck, between your breasts, across the planes of your stomach until he finally stops at the edge of your underwear. He darts his tongue out to lick the sensitive skin peeking out above the hem, and the feeling makes you gasp out, hips pressing harder into the mattress. His fingertips brush just over the wetness you’ve soaked through and you grind your teeth together, painfully. 

“Too much?”

Yes.

Too much for you at this moment; you’re not sure if your body will hold together if Johnny even tries to eat you out, tries to stretch you with his fingers, you can hardly keep together at the feeling of him touching you anywhere after so many months of nothing but dirt, and maggots, and feverish longing for-

You didn’t notice Johnny crawling back up your body until he presses a soft kiss on your temple, fingers wiping away your hair that’s plastered with sweat there. 

Johnny’s whispering in your ear: how much he missed you, how he had thought about you every day, how he’d tried to scorch the earth to look for you; he pulls you until you’re back on top of him. You can feel how hard he is, how wet you are as you grind down against the hard planes of his lower stomach, searching for him.

Johnny’s hands squeeze at your hips, shifting the both of you until you feel the tip of him catch against you; a shudder rolls through you both, but Johnny doesn’t move. Every muscle in his body is pulled taunt, pulled against fucking into you at a frenetic pace. You recognize the set of his jaw, the way his hands wrap around your forearms. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you control him.

You wait for just a heartbeat before pressing down onto him; your vision whites out from the almost uncomfortable stretch of him as you sink down slowly. You can’t remember the last time the two of you were here, the last time the two of you fucked. Johnny’s nails dig into the underside of your forearm, yours into his chest until you finally reach the hilt.

You hold there for a moment, feeling the way he fills you up - so much so that you don’t think there’s room for anything else besides Johnny - there never has been.  You can’t even think between the feeling of Johnny filling you up and the feeling of not trying to cum so fast. Finally, when your heartbeat slows incrementally, you rock yourself against him, slowly, using his chest as leverage.

Beneath you Johnny is coming undone; he’s biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood, so you trace your fingertips across his bottom lip. His lips part beneath your touch, and he takes your pointer finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around it.

The feeling makes your hips move faster, stuttering against him. Johnny moans, muffled around your finger. The sound is horribly erotic in the darkness, and it spurs something inside of you to move your hips faster, rougher against Johnny. But he doesn’t move beneath you, still holding himself back. The sound of skin on skin, of how wet you are for him drown out the storm.

Johnny’s hands are everywhere: in your hair, cupping the supple flesh of your ass, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thick fingers; one hand sneaks across the flesh of your hip, dipping between the two of you to circle your clit. The feeling makes you crumple against him; Johnny takes the opportunity to roll you over, pressing you into the mattress.

Johnny presses one of your knees up, hooking it over his elbow so that he can fuck into you, still gentle even when he’s deeper than you think he’s ever been before, his other hand still circling your clit, slowly enough to keep you from falling apart, but fast enough to bring you to the edge. 

His pace grows rougher; you claw at him, drawing red welts across his skin, but Johnny doesn’t slow down. You keep your eyes closed tightly, back arched to try and get him in deeper, to get more.

“Look at me.”

Johnny’s voice is rough, a gentle command you have to follow. His eyes never leave yours, even when his pace increases, the finger on your clit still rubbing tight circles until-

Until you’re breaking apart, shattering beneath him. Your orgasm makes you arch, back nearly leaving the mattress. Johnny’s hands move to cup your face, pulling himself down until he can kiss you as you ride through your orgasm, gasping in his own mouth. Your nails draw thick red welts across his back, but Johnny doesn’t stop pounding into you, your moans drowned out by the way he kisses you.

Not long after, Johnny’s pace starts to stutter, his lips never leaving yours until he plunges in deeper than he had before, and you can feel his warm release spill out inside of you. 

Even when he’s completely spent, Johnny doesn’t pull out of you, instead fucking into you once, twice, three more times until you know you can’t take anymore, hands pressing on his chest to push him away.

Johnny’s fingers smooth your twitching thighs as he pulls away. In the darkness, you can just see his outline as he shifts between your legs, but he doesn’t move from there.

He caresses you until you are finally still and your panting finally slows. His fingers trace across the cracks you can still feel, stitching you back together, shot through with gold.

“Still here?”

“Still here.”

#my fics #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod soap x reader #cod imagines #cod smut #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #cod x reader #johnny mactavish

[aanoia]

I Don't Know Who You're Talking About

Remus Lupin x reader words; 2817 warnings; angst, blood, sad, murder, the usual part two this is so cutesy (NOT!) I wrote this on my phone in the car so if there's any mistakes thats my excuse. Also Y/m/n stands for your/marauders/nickname because ofc you're a Marauder and of course you're an animagus. like duh.

“Remus, it's a full moon tonight, you can't go. We can't risk that.” I persisted, staring holes into the back of the boy's head.

He turned around angrily, “Why does it even matter, Y/n?” He yelled, and a drop of spit flew from his lips. “After everything that's happened, you're gonna stop me from going to that traitors trial?”

“If you're gonna act like this, yes! I am going to stop you.” I yelled back, taking a step towards him as my voice softened. “And we don't know if Sirius was framed or not, he's our best friend. Do you really think he'd do something like this?”

Remus shook his head, his shoulders dropping, “I think it doesn't matter, because James and Lily are dead. And Peter! Someone needs to be punished for it, and all the signs point to him.”

I frowned, “I don't think he did it.”

“Well, you think wrong.” Remus said, turning back around and walking out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

“Remus, I swear to Merlin, if you apparate to the Ministry-” I was cut off by the loud cracking noise of apparition. He didn't even grab his coat.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I said coolly as I sat next to Remus. He shook his head, anger radiating from his skin.

“You're ridiculous.” He muttered and I scoffed. 

“There's no way you're taking your frustration out on me, right now.” I flashed a smile at a woman I recognized from Hogwarts, she smiled back sadly. I focused in on the middle of the room, where an empty cage was being rolled out. 

“I can't even talk to you. You’re so annoying.” Remus stood up but was stopped as a new cage was rolled in. I gently pulled him back down as we stared at Sirius. He was caged and muzzled like a dog. 

Remus squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. Sirius’ clothes were torn, his usual fancy jacket he stole from his mother covered in dirt and blood. He looked around the room frantically, eyes wide and tears streaming down his cheeks. He made eye contact with me and placed his hands on the bars, silently begging me to believe that he didn't do this, he could never. 

I gave him a look of worry as the Minister cleared his throat, “Sirius Black, son of Orion and Walburga Black, you are here today under the accusation of working with He Who Must Not Be Named and the murder of twelve muggles, one witch, Lily Potter, and two wizards, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. How do you plead?”

The moment the muzzle was off his mouth he answered hastily. “Not guilty!” Sirius screamed, his voice shaky and broken. He shook in his cage, “I didn't do it, please! I would never hurt my frie-”

“Silence!” Crouch demanded, holding his hand up, his ring glinted in the candlelight. “We need not hear more.” He scribbled on a piece of parchment and handed it to the boy standing next to him. The boy studied the paper.

He nodded, “Of course, sir.” He left the room quickly.

There were quiet whispers floating around the room, speculating what the young boy could possibly be searching for. 

“Now, because there seems to be a lack of witnesses, which I am sure is just how you wanted it to be, unfortunately we cannot blindly believe that you are innocent.” The boy came back into the room, holding a small vial of clear liquid.

“Veritaserum.” Remus mumbled and I nodded. 

“It's a good idea.” I whispered.

The vial was brought up to Sirius’ lips, who drank it willingly, thankful to finally have a good alibi. 

“I will ask you plain and simply, did you reveal the hidden location of James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord, resulting in them being murdered and their son orphaned?”

Sirius shook his head, “I did not.” My shoulders relaxed as it felt as if a weight had been lifted. Remus still looked at him coldly, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Did you murder that group of muggles, and your own friend, Peter Pettigrew, leaving behind only his finger?”

“No, I did not.”

The room was silent as Crouch thought. They glanced between the man behind bars and the one upon a podium, his stare belittling. He glanced at the empty bottle on his desk, and back to Sirius before whispering to a man beside him. 

I glanced at Sirius who was already looking at us. He gave me a small smile and I returned it. 

“It is probable.” The man said quietly, but still in earshot. 

Crouch nodded and banged his hammer, “It has been decided. The Veritaserum that was given to was a flake. So, under Mr. Barty Crouch, Minister of Magic, you plead guilty, and are sentenced to life in Azkaban.”

Some people cheered, others let out yells of protest. Remus slipped away, walking out of the room angrily. 

“No, that's rubbish.” I yelled as he began to be rolled away. He screamed in fear, going crazy inside of the cage.

I stood up and pushed past people, carefully jumping down to the floor and below the Minister. The room silenced again and the cage stopped dragging across the floor. Everyone had their eyes on me. 

“Let me talk to him.”

Crouch looked amused, “Miss-”

“It is only a custom. Tradition, even. You must allow me a word with Sirius Black before you send him off. It's in the books.”

Crouch glanced at the book as the boy flipped to the pages. He sighed as he read the words, telling him that it was indeed allowed for loved ones to speak with the person before they are sent off. 

“I'm afraid he cannot be out of his cage, it is not up for discu-”

“I can talk through the bars, can I not?”

“Fine. Follow them.”

I followed them out quietly, ignoring the angry stares I got from people, even the spit that they shot at me, landing right in front of my feet. Once we were in the hall, the men stood to the side and I walked up the cage hastily, putting my hands on the bars.

“Sirius, I'm going to ask you this once, and only once, and I need you to tell me the truth. Whatever you say, I will believe you. Did you or did you not kill James and Lily?”

Sirius looked me straight in the eyes, desperate, “Y/n, please, I would never.”

“It's a yes or no question.”

“No. I didn't.” 

I paused, before grabbing his hand through the bars, “I believe you. It's okay, I'll figure this out.”

His eyes filled with tears again and being this close I could see the heavy bags below his eyes. His hair was a ratty mess and his skin was blemished and dirty. 

“Did you know she was pregnant?” Sirius asked and my eyes widened.

“She was?”

“Yeah. They were going to tell us all on Christmas, but James let it slip to me.”

I took a deep breath, “Oh my.”

There was a moment of silence between us, neither daring to break the quiet atmosphere.

“Does Remus hate me?” He whispered and my heart broke. 

“I don't know.” I answered honestly and he nodded, his eyes averting to the bottom of the cage.

“I didn't kill them. I'd never. He was my best friend, my brother.” Sirius began sobbing. “I've already lost him, and Lily. I've lost my godson. And now Remus. I can’t lose you, Y/n/n, I can’t.” he cut himself off with a gasp.

“It's time to go.” One of the men said, beginning to drag him away.

“I can’t lose you!” Sirius yelled as he was dragged away. 

“You won’t.” I whispered before I looked up at the man as he was dragged away, “Sirius! I love you!”

He smiled sadly, “I love you too, Y/m/n!”

I rubbed my hands together quickly as I walked up to the front door. I placed my hand on the freezing knob and opened it, silently cursing myself for not locking it before I left.

It was half an hour until sundown, so I immediately apparated home to help prepare Remus - and myself - for the night. It was probably going to be one of the hardest he's ever experienced, and I felt terrible for him. 

“Remus?” I called out, only to get no response. I furrowed my brows taking my jacket off slowly, “Baby, I know you're mad but I still want to help you tonight.” Still, nothing.

I set down my bag and slipped off my shoes before quietly walking to the bedroom.

“Rem?” I asked softly, pushing open the door and expecting to see him sitting on the bed, head between his hands as he cried softly.

But he wasn't. In fact the room seemed to be the same as it was before I left. The bathroom was dark and empty. No sign of Remus anywhere.

I walked to the kitchen, hoping to find him sipping from a mug of tea while staring out the window, like he usually is. But there was nothing.

I slipped on my coat and threw on my shoes, ignoring my bag as I quickly left the house. I pulled out the flip phone Remus had insisted on us getting.

“For easier communication.” He’d say.

I struggled to work the muggle device, but managed to send a quick ‘where r u?!’ text. At this point, the sun was beginning its descent and the full moon shone brightly.

I paused for a moment, thinking of any possible place he could be. 

“The Shrieking Shack.” I said quietly to myself, immediately apparating to the raggedy house. 

However, just like our own, it was also completely empty, save for one man. 

“Professor Dumbledore?” I asked quietly. The older man turned around and smiled gently. I didn't fail to notice the tears he wiped from his cheeks.

“Ah, Miss L/n, or is it Lupin, yet?” Dumdledore asked.

I shook my head, “Not yet, no. But speaking of the man, has he been here?”

Dumbledore looked around, “No, I'm afraid not.” He glanced out of the window, at the light in the darkening sky. “It is a full moon tonight, isn't it?”

I stood beside him with a sigh, “That it is.”

“And the night of Sirius’ trial as well, what unfortunate timing.”

“I'd have to agree.”

“You cannot find him?”

I turned around and leaned against the window sill, “No. We were fighting, before the trial. It's been rough for everyone and we took it out on each other.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Ah, it happens. I suppose, however, you should spend less time with this old man, and more time finding who I would assume to be a werewolf by now.”

I opened my mouth to answer but was cut off by a loud howl. The sun had completely dipped below the horizon, and the werewolves were born. 

“Well, it seems you'd be correct.”

“Was that him?” Dumbledore asked.

I shook my head, “No, his howl is deeper. I assume that was a female.”

“Ah.”

I shifted my feet, feeling awkward. “Uhm, I'm gonna go look for him.”

“Take a blanket.” Dumdledore said, handing me a brown bundle of cloth.

“Thank you.”

“Go.”

I nodded and pushed open the door. I sighed at the heavy snowfall, looking into the distant trees. It was going to be a long night.

The tears started as the sun made an appearance again. The weight of everything finally hitting and pressure built behind my eyes.

“Remus, please, where are you?” I called out, my voice hoarse and salty tears slipped into my mouth. I wiped the running snot from my upper lip, my shoulders shaking.

I passed a tree and the bright color of red caught my eye. A blood trail. I followed it eagerly, a small sob leaving my lips and I clutched tightly onto the blanket. It led behind a rock, where my heart broke.

Remus lay there, naked and in a fetal position. He had long cuts all along his body and the snow around him was trained red. He shivered in the snow and his lips were blue.

He glanced at me weakly, sadness filling his eyes. “Y/n.” He whispered, his voice almost non existent. 

I snapped out my daze and grabbed onto him, quickly pulling him to his feet and wrapping the blanket around him. He clutched onto me and cried, I cried with him. 

I apparated to the house silently and he fell to his knees, I followed him, holding him in the kneeling position. 

“It’s okay.” I whispered, biting back my own tears as he sobbed. “It’s okay.”

He cried, “It’s not!”

“Remus, let me clean you.” I said softly, wiping my tears after a few long moments. 

“Okay.” He whispered, staring ahead blankly. 

It was quiet, again, as I cleaned and bandaged. A few times he'd cry again, and I'd let him, figuring it was better to continue what I'm doing. I led him to bed and closed the curtains so the sun didn't shine through. 

“Do you feel better?” I asked quietly once I got into bed.

“I'm not sure I feel much of anything, right now.” Remus said, facing his back towards me.

I looked at him sadly and turned over, closing my eyes and finally letting sleep overtake me.

When I woke up the bed was empty. I sighed, assuming he was in the kitchen or living room. I used the bathroom and walked out of the bedroom. I walked out into the living room.

“Remus?” I asked. He wasn't there. I looked into the kitchen and he wasn't to be seen. The deja vu of the night before was prominent. “Are you serious?”

A note sat neatly on the fridge. I glanced at the magnet, it was a picture of Remus and I smiling wide, faces pressed against each other. We got it from a muggle - or no-maj - vendor when we visited america. I noticed the second one we had was gone. I shook my head and took the note from beneath the magnet. 

I immediately recognized the handwriting as Remus’. I stared at the letter, the one assigned to me. The last letter of my name was splotchy, stained with a tear. 

I gently tore open the letter.

Dear Y/n,

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm so sorry for what I'm doing.

I am so scared. With James, Lily, and Peter dead, and Sirius in Azkaban, I just don't know what to do.

You mean the world to me. You're perfect, beautiful, intelligent, witty, talented, you're everything good and nothing bad. At this point you are the world for me.

 Which is why I have to do this. I can't drag you down to darkness with me, I'd never forgive myself. I know this will hurt you, it's hurting me too, but I also know you can get through this. 

I want you to be happy, and I think that's impossible if I’m in your life. So I'm taking the liberty to leave it. My stuff will be magically transported once I find a place to stay, keep the house, you deserve it more than I do.

I love you more than life itself. 

with the deepest of regrets,

Remus

P.S. you are worth EVERYTHING! don't ever settle for the bare minimum.

I dropped the letter and stared out of the window. The snow fell gently, piling up on the ground. It felt rather similar to the quiet tears dripping down my face. In the span of four weeks, I had lost everyone important to me. I didn't realize I had any tears left to cry.

I suppose I'll have to get a dog to keep me company now. 

“Welcome, Professor L/n.” Dumbledore greeted.

I smiled at the group of teachers that came to welcome me. “Thank you, I appreciate all of you. Especially you, Minnie.” I said with a wink and Professor McGonagall laughed wetly, wiping a stray tear from her eye.

“Okay okay, let's not suffocate her on her first day. Dinner is in an hour, I trust you to find your room.” Dumbledore said and I nodded as the teachers dispersed.

“Severus.” I called out and the man stopped in his tracks. I walked over as he turned around and pulled him into a tight hug. He looked at me weirdly once I pulled away. “I know you loved her too.”

He knew exactly who I was talking about, “I have no idea who you're talking about.”

“I know you don't.” I smiled and began walking towards my room. 

“I’m sorry about Lupin.” He said and I paused. 

“I have no idea who you're talking about.”

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[shadowdaddies]

With Her Own Wings

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's mate wishes that she could have wings like his, and goes to dangerous lengths to acquire them.

Based on this ask.💜

A/N: I had TOO much fun with this. One of my favorite fics I’ve written

warnings: kinda spooky, mentions of blood, allusions to sex

Azriel’s fingers laced through yours as the pair of you lazed through the quiet evening streets of Velaris. A sparrow soared across the watercolor horizon like a paintbrush against the canvas sky.

Azriel tracked your gaze, noting how it followed the bird. A small smile graced his lips, hazel eyes twinkling in the setting sun as his wings twitched behind him. 

“I wish you knew what it feels like,” Azriel sighed, his eyes out of focus, as though he were imagining flying high above the city, rather than walking through it with you. It was a conversation you’d had repeatedly, his words echoing through your mind every time he took to the skies - how inadequate you were, bound to the ground. 

Guilt panged your chest as you watched Azriel, his heart racing within his own chest at the mere thought of flying. But he was tied to a wingless mate. You were someone who brought him into your own cage instead of setting him free. 

“You should go,” you nodded towards the warm-hued clouds in the distance. “Enjoy an evening flight. I can walk home,” you forced yourself to say, flashing him a practiced smile.

Azriel’s eyes lit up, wings flaring in reaction before he looked to you. His smile disappeared, wrenching your heart as his expression turned sympathetic. “No, love. I won’t leave you,” he whispered, his disappointment clear. “You could come with me. You know I like to fly with you in my arms as well,” he offered.

The ache in your chest was unbearable at this point. You knew Azriel loved to fly by himself, testing how fast he could soar, flipping and diving through the wind. All the things that made him feel free, at peace. All the things he couldn’t do with you in his arms. 

Knowing that Azriel meant what he said - he wouldn’t leave you - you agreed to let him fly you up to the house. The air was crisp up high, the wind against your cheeks clearing your head of the worries it held. You sighed, sending a childish wish to the Mother that you too could fly, one day.

Azriel arose early the next day, waking you with a kiss goodbye as he set off for a mission. You laid in bed, watching his wings spread wide before jumping from the balcony, your heart straining as you watched your mate diminish into a spot on the horizon.

Thoughts began to spiral, and you kicked off the covers with an irritated huff as you forced yourself from bed, forced yourself from journeying further into your self-loathing. Trudging down the stairs, you turned into the kitchen to find an amused Cassian studying you.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted, raising his cup to you in a mock-toast. Flipping him off, you pulled out a chair at the table, burying your head in your hands, feeling the press of your palms against your closed eyelids.

Cassian softened at your display, setting down his cup as he reached a hand, gently pulling your arm away. “What’s wrong? Tell me how I can help.”

Cassian’s hazel gaze was so genuinely tender, you felt the burden slightly lift as you looked at your friend. A wry chuckle left your lips, and you sighed, leaning back against the chair. “It’s nothing, Cass. Nothing to be done... Unless you know of a good wizard around here.”

His head tilted slightly, brows raised at your strange comment, but Cassian decided not to pry, instead going along with the joke. “Mmm, no wizards I’m afraid. If it’s a potion you’re looking for, maybe try the Weaver’s Cottage. I went in there with Az once now that it’s empty...”

The general’s head turned to see the intrigue on your face, suddenly alight with interest. “No,” he scolded, pointing a finger at you. “I know that look. I’m serious, don’t go there. That place has a darkness that will never go away,” he muttered, a shudder working through him at the recollection.

You rolled your eyes, giving your best effort at nonchalance as you scoffed. “Cass, I wouldn’t dream of it. I just wanted to hear more about what scared the might Lord of Bloodshed. Good to keep in mind,” you teased with a wink. 

That appeared to satisfy Cassian, the male returning the gesture you’d given him earlier. Your friend mussed your hair, muttering about Azriel leaving him alone for training as he left you sitting at the counter, devious ideas eddying in your mind. With a smirk, you hopped up from your chair, headed upstairs to get dressed. 

An hour later, you’d winnowed your way to the forest’s edge, a shallow tree line separating you from the clearing where the Weaver’s Cottage stood. Smoke no longer rose from the chimney and no light shone in the window. The dust and cobwebs weren’t new, but you slipped on your gloves, nose scrunched as you brushed away the silken strands that webbed the front porch steps. 

Looking down, you watched the cobwebs shake from your hand, falling to the dusty deck when the door creaked open. Your breath hitched, eyes widening as you watched the door slowly open for you, a light flickering on across the room.

Swallowing thickly, you crept forward, breaths shallow as you crossed the threshold. Floorboards creaked beneath you, dust flying as a rat scurried across the top of your boots. With a squeal, you jumped back towards the door just to feel it close behind you.

The light on the far side of the room grew brighter, cluttered artifacts coming into view. 

“So skittish for one that hopes to learn to fly,” a silken voice sounded from the dark. As your eyes adjusted to the lack of light, you saw the blurry outline of a female, the edges of her form hazy and semi-translucent. 

Keeping a hand on the dagger sheathed at your thigh, you crossed further into the room, curiosity winning over your better senses at the sight of spell books and herbs lining her table. “Who are you?” you questioned, voice wavering more than you would have liked.

A cackle left her lips, the young woman twirling long black hair through her iridescent fingertips. “There’s that boldness I was expecting. You aught to be more careful dearest, about entering someone’s home uninvited. They say that curiosity killed the cat - imagine what it would do to a little bird like you.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as the realization dawned on you. This witch knew that you were coming, and she had prepared for you. “I didn’t expect anyone to live here. I had been told the home was empty,” you admitted, hoping to quell any offense she might have taken to your invasion.

A scratchy hum sounded from her chest, amusement flickering in green glowing eyes as you shifted on your feet. “It clearly is not empty,” she drawled, moving her hands in a flourish as she gestured to the hoards of both trinkets and treasure that enveloped the space. “I do hope that you don’t rush into all of your decisions the way you rushed in here, dearest, or you may not like what the future holds.”

You opened your mouth to ask her to elaborate when she stood abruptly, gliding across the floor to the table laden with books and herbs, and one singular vial of liquid that she held in her long, nimble fingers. You could see the purple potion through her hand, its contents shimmering in the dim light, drawing you closer. 

“Ah, ah,” she crooned at you, lips spreading into a wide, wicked smile that revealed rotted teeth. Just as your gaze flicked to the bone, it turned to a pearly white, as dazzling and unsettling as the rest of her appearance. “Such a foolish girl. So easily drawn to the potion she seeks. But have you not considered the price to pay?”

Your mouth was watering, vision only able to focus on the vial in her hands. You barely processed her words, eyes still glued to the bottle as you murmured, “a payment? What do you want?”

You didn’t see the sly grin of the witch, a spider who’d caught a fly in her web. “What will I take? I would just like a little lock of your hair. As for what the wings will take, it matters what you are willing to give.”

You didn’t hesitate, dazed as the potion swirled in front of you. Thirsty, you were so thirsty. “I will give whatever it takes to make my mate happy,” you breathed. 

“Very well then,” she snapped, handing you the vial. Her cold arm swept through your skin, sending a chill down your spine as she pulled away. You heard a snip as she cut your hair, and you eagerly uncorked the vial, downing the contents in one go.

The moment you finished drinking, clarity returned to your senses. That was too easy. What could she want from you, truly? You turned to ask, but words couldn’t form in your mouth, vision began to fade as colors grew more vibrant. The witch leaned in, ice-cold hands tucking a parchment into your palm.

“To give you a fighting chance. Go now, pet. You don’t have long,” she whispered, a high-pitched cackle echoing in your mind as you stumbled towards the door. You fell to your knees, crawling on weak limbs towards the entrance. “Oh, little bird. So naive,” she cooed, just as the door burst open.

The light burned your eyes, the outline of an Illyrian standing tall in the doorway the last thing that you saw, cedar the last that you smelled before you awoke again.

Eyes fluttered open to find yourself in your room, Azriel hunched in a chair next to you as he pored over a parchment in his hand. A shadow curled his ear, and hazel eyes flicked to you.

“My head hurts,” you grumbled, hand reaching up to try to stop the pounding against your skull. 

“You are lucky that’s all that hurts,” Azriel said, hurt of his own flashing across his expression.

“You are mad.” You stated. It felt dumb to say, but you couldn’t stop yourself. “You look very handsome, even when you are angry. I love you and I don’t want you to be mad.” The words continued to spew, Azriel’s expression changing from shocked to appraising as you spoke.

He looked down at the parchment. “I guess that is the truth part,” he sighed, running a hand through his onyx waves.

“What truth part? What are you reading? I want to see it. I don’t like when you keep things from me,” you babbled.

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his hands clenching at your words. “You don’t like it when I keep things from you? What the Hel is this?” He thrust the parchment at you, and you read:

The wings that you seek will be yours to keep,

But beware as follows, for nothing comes free:

For one to paint the sky as the winged might fly,

From them new colors will bloom like a light in fog’s gloom.

To truly grow wings, be true to oneself.

Truths may be drawn easily, like books from a shelf.

If one wishes to fly, they shall see from bird’s eye.

But prepare for a scare as you float through the air.

So long as one can endure the challenges that be,

Their wings shall grow freely, they will branch like a tree.

Your cheeks turned red, memories from the cottage flooding back to you. 

“Well, what is it?” Azriel demanded.

You bit your tongue until the metallic taste of blood coated your mouth, but the words forced their way out. “I want wings. Cassian said the Weaver might have something to help and I knew that it was stupid but I went and then this witch gave me a potion to help me grow wings. Please don’t be mad, I can’t bear upsetting you anymore,” you pled, salty tears falling down your cheeks.

Azriel’s featured softened, a scarred hand coming to cup your face as he kissed the tears away. “Hey, my love. It’s alright. I am glad that you are safe. But why would you do this? Why do you want wings?” 

You sniffled, holding his hand against your cheek as you leaned into his comforting warmth. “I see how disappointed you are, that I can’t fly with you. I see how happy you are when you are flying. You always said that you wish I knew what it feels like, and I’m tired, Azriel. Tired of weighing you down. I want to lift you up,” you admitted, the corners of your eyes stinging from crying.

“You do not bring me down. You keep me grounded. And you lift me to new heights - you challenge me in new ways, you bring me more joy than I have ever felt. You are perfect as you are,” Azriel promised, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sighed, looking down at the parchment as you noticed your skin begin to change color, turning a ghostly white. “Well, as I am seems to be changing, so I hope you mean that,” you said, holding up your hand to show Azriel as the skin turned as translucent as the witch’s. 

Starting at your fingertips, the skin turned pink, then orange, followed by yellow and purple. It was as though the sky was being painted across your body, your skin turning watercolor shades of sunset. 

You turned to Azriel in horror, only to see him biting back laughter. At his expression, you couldn’t fight the smile that appeared on your lips, and Azriel followed it belly-aching laughter, bent over the bed as he turned red in the face.

“Well, that would be the ‘For one to paint the sky as the winged might fly, from them new colors will bloom like a light in fog’s gloom’ it seems. Very pretty, I must say,” he purred, bringing your purple hand to his lips as he pressed hot kisses to your skin. 

“Oh Cauldron, what else will that witch put me through?” you huffed out loud, collapsing back onto the pillows. Something jabbed your shoulders, and you hissed as you turned to the mattress to find the offender, but nothing was there. 

You took in Azriel’s expression. His jaw hung open, the Illyrian warrior frozen in shock as he stared at you. Finally, he brought a hand to your back, and you gasped at the feeling. He was touching you, but it felt like something attached to your shoulder, sensitive as his fingers traced it before stopping at the fabric of your nightgown.

“Az, is it...?” you couldn’t manage the words. Azriel simply nodded, too stunned to speak. “I guess I’m growing wings,” you said, and you couldn’t stop the excited giggle that escaped you at the proclamation. 

Your mate gave you a soft smile, hazel eyes twinkling in appreciation of your joy. Your stomach rumbled, skin changing back to its normal hue as you swung your legs over the side of the bed.

“Let’s go get you some food,” Azriel murmured, draping an arm around your waist as you ventured down to the kitchen. No sooner had you sat down than Cassian stumbled through the door, gaping at the wings growing on your back. 

“Oh my gods, you did it,” he breathed. His brow furrowed, mouth turned down as he practically ran towards you. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “You are okay, right?” 

You bit your lip, turning to Azriel who was still laughing as he focused his attention on the stove. “It seems as though the worst has pass-“ 

No sooner had the words left your lips than you began to ascend in the air. Like a puppet on a string, you were pulled up by an invisible force as you looked down at Cassian and Azriel from where you were caught against the ceiling.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Cassian murmured, the smirk on his lips disappearing as Azriel smacked the back of his head. You looked down, panicking as you yanked the fabric of your nightgown to cover as much as you were able.

Azriel groaned, removing his shirt as he tossed it up to you, the clothing longer than your dress when you put it on. 

“We forgot about the ‘If one wishes to fly, they shall see from bird’s eye. But prepare for a scare as you float through the air.’” Azriel mumbled, rubbing his temples as he and Cassian looked up at you. 

“How are you going to make that work for dinner and drinks at Rita’s later?” Cassian mused, arching a smug brow at you.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you realized that tonight was family dinner, and you were going to Rita’s to celebrate Mor and Emerie’s anniversary. “It shouldn’t last that long,” Azriel answered resolutely, drawing you from your thoughts.

You nodded down at him in agreement, some relief washing over you as you realized that you still had hours until you needed to leave. 

“Do you think you could help me get down from here?” You asked, groaning as your head thunked against the ceiling for the third time.

“I have an idea,” Cassian muttered, turning on his heel as he went back through the door towards the training ring. He returned moments later, rope in hand, as he tossed an end up to you. “Tie that to your ankle,” he instructed you. You followed his orders, letting out a surprised yelp when he tugged you back down to where you were almost to the ground. 

The general bent down, looping the rope around Azriel’s ankle when Az stopped him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“If I tie your ankles together, then she won’t float away,” Cassian answered, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Azriel sighed, waving his hand resignedly for Cassian to continue.

The half of your body that was tied to Azriel remained grounded, the other half slipping upwards consistently, awkwardly pushing you into your mate’s body. 

“We can make this work for a little while, right?” you looked to Azriel.

A small laugh left him, the shadowsinger shaking his head as he pressed a kiss to yours. “Like I said, I am with you. No matter what color you are, or how much you try to float away.” 

Hours passed, Azriel sitting with his legs crossed awkwardly on top of yours to keep you seated on the couch. Your back itched and ached from the wings that were growing shockingly quickly, the size of an Illyrian child’s at this point. 

Azriel looked pointedly at you, saying the words you knew were coming. “We have to get ready for dinner.”

Half an hour later, you found yourself hobbling down the streets of Velaris, ankle bound to Azriel’s as Cassian snickered at your other side, holding you down. 

“This is humiliating,” you grumbled, your fledgling wings twitching in anger behind you as the Illyrians kept you looped through their arms. 

“I think the punishment fits the crime,” Cassian retorted breezily, wincing as your elbow met his ribs. 

“I didn’t commit any crime,” Azriel muttered, his cheeks turning bright red as you arrived in front of the restaurant. The rest of your family was already seated, their faces in various stages of shock and amusement as they took in the sight before them. 

“What the Hel did you do, girl?” Amren questioned, sipping her wine as she eyed the wings on your back. You told them the embarrassing tale, knowing that you would never live this down, but had already concluded that this was worth it.

Azriel held you tight, his body pressed firmly against yours as you danced at Rita’s. Through the evening, he discovered the preferred way of keeping you grounded was by holding you flush to his chest, which the two of you had fun with when you got home that night.

You woke the next morning with Azriel’s wing draped across you, and you smiled before opening your eyes to see Azriel was asleep on the other side of the bed, his wings draped across himself. You startled, gasping as you sat up in bed, a slight new weight on your back sending you flopping into the mattress.

Azriel mumbled sleepily as he awoke, rubbing his eyes as he turned to you. Your mate choked on his words, eyes bulging as he took in the sight of your wings, larger than his as they spanned the entire length of the bed. 

“Oh, my gods,” he gasped, his hand instinctively reaching out to feel the thin membrane that was now apart of you. 

A small gasp left your lips, followed by a moan at the pleasurable feeling. “Cauldron, I know why you wished I had these now,” you whispered, dizzy from pleasure as you grinned up at Azriel.

He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Good morning. How do some flying lessons sound?”

#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar azriel #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar reader fic #azriel x reader fluff #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #cassian #azriel fanfic #azriel angst #acotar fluff #acotar angst #azriel x reader angst #azriel fluff #acotar azriel x reader #azriel acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar reader imagine

[vioartemis]

Friends? (Part 2)

(Wednesday Addams x fem! reader)

Summary: Your friendship with Wednesday takes another turn after one of your night visits doesn't go as planned. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 Warnings: erm blood, werewolf attack (not described) a/n: I guess a part 3 is going to be written (I wanted to try something longer but woah maybe it's a little too long) (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

After that night, Wednesday and you started texting, mostly exchanging about poisonous plants and outcasts. Her texts were well written, good punctuation, good grammar… Really in her style.

The average person would probably not particularly appreciate the way she texts -and talks- but you knew she wasn’t just that. You knew she wasn’t just the cold goth girl without a heart everyone seemed to believe she was.

You loved her personality and enjoyed her company.

Hence why you spent most of your nights in her and Enid’s dorm, or sometimes in the Nightshade’s library when no one else was there. The books they had in there were just amazing. You spent hours reading them, utterly fascinated, with Wednesday sat at the opposite side of the room.

Despite all her efforts, the raven couldn’t seem to be able to concentrate on her own reading; her eyes were glued on you. She had never seen someone so passionate while reading.

The way you were biting your lip when reading, feeling the pages under your thumb, turning the pages carefully not to tear them…

Even though she had said she only tolerated your presence, Enid could see she was looking forward to your visits. The blonde knew her roommate liked you more than she wanted to admit.

One night Wednesday even took you to the greenhouse to show you some of the plants you told her you would love to see.

For the first time since she met Enid, she really enjoyed spending time with someone. You were interesting. Not glued to a phone 24/7, not hating on others because they’re different.

You were a normie, but an outcast amongst the normies. In a sense you were just like her.

This night was another night out for you. You were on your bike, on your way to Nevermore.

Wednesday was waiting for you in her dorm. She had something she wanted to show you, which she was sure you would like.

She turned to her roommate’s side, about to ask her something, only to find her side empty. The raven frowned.

“Thing, where’s Enid?”

Thing tapped on the desk.

The raven’s eyes widened slightly.

Wednesday rushed to her phone. She forgot the full moon. And even if the werewolves were supposed to be locked away during this night, but accidents happen -already happened before.

For the first time since she gave you her number, she called you. No answer. She tried again. Still nothing.

She swore under her breath, and tried again.

“Wednesday?”

“You have to go home.”

“What? Why? I didn’t even get to see y-”

“Y/n. Listen to me. It’s the full moon, it’s not safe.”

“I’m already under your balcony! I just can’t go bac- Wait, aren’t the werewolves supposed to be locked up?”

“Sometimes the cages break. I’m serious, Y/n. You have to-”

She could hear a growl on your side, and heavy breathing.

“Y/n? Y/n!”

She burst out of her dorm and ran to Yoko’s, hoping to find Divina or Bianca there. She banged on the door, still on the phone with you.

She heard you swear, then a noise she couldn’t identify, and the call ended.

“Wednesday-”

“Y/n’s in danger. I need your help. … Please.”

The three girls knew it wasn’t very Wednesday like to plead; the situation must be serious.

Wednesday explained the situation to the girls while they were going down to where you were. The raven hopped they wouldn’t find you. It would mean you were safe.

Sadly, a few meters away from the gate, an inanimate form drew her attention.

You were laying on the grass, blood all over you.

The raven was frozen in place. It reminded her of when she brought Enid to the Gate’s house the year prior. It reminded her when Eugene got attacked in the woods while she was at the Rave’N.

She was responsible. If you died she would be responsible. You would never get to finish your studies on outcasts. You would never get to experiment with Aconitum, or Nightshade, or every other plant you wanted to experiment on. Because of her.

“Wednesday!”

Bianca was holding her by her shoulders.

“She’s alive. But we have to do something quickly.”

The girls carried you to the botanical class. They didn’t have enough time to drive you to the hospital, they had to use what they had.

Bianca and Wednesday were looking through all the plants around them, trying to find the right ones to use, while Yoko and Divina stayed by your side, trying to stop the bleeding.

After what felt like an eternity to the raven, they finally found something that could work.

“Are you sure-”

“No. But that’s all that we have” Bianca said

They prepared the plants, so they had a liquid, before taking a nearby syringe. Once everything was ready, they went back to you.

“Do you want to do it?” the siren asked the raven

She didn’t answer, and just took the syringe. She took a deep breath, noticing her hands were slightly shaking, before injecting you the liquid. She looked at you, eyes full of worry.

It wasn’t 100% sure to work. But it had to. You just couldn’t die like that.

A minute passed. Nothing happened.

Wednesday took your hand in hers, holding it tightly.

“If you die, I will kill you.”

The other girls looked at each other, concerned.

“Wednesday…”

“No. She’s going to wake up. We just have to wait.”

She didn’t really know if she was trying to convince them, or herself.

You were part of her life now, she was used to talking to you every day, to seeing you almost every night… She couldn’t lose you. She liked you.

“Guys”

Wednesday’s eyes moved from your face to your wounds as Yoko pointed toward them. Your cuts were healing! The blood was like absorbed back by your body, leaving deep cuts and coagulated blood. You would have scars, but you were alive.

She let go of your hand to wipe some tears she hadn’t noticed had rolled down her cheeks.

“I’ll stitch her back up. … Thank you.”

The other girls gave the raven a little smile, relieved you were okay, and knowing how much it had cost Wednesday to ask for their help.

Thanks to the girls’ help, Wednesday could bring you back to her dorm and lay you on her bed.

While she was stitching you up, she couldn’t help but take a closer look at your wounds; she didn’t know exactly how the plants they used worked, but she was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to make the blood coagulate so fast. Maybe a sort of mutation happened.

Her pale hands were still tainted with your blood when you opened your eyes. You groaned as you tried to sit up, catching Wednesday’s attention.

“What are you doing?” she asked while she forced you to lay down as gently as she could “You’re hurt. Don’t move.”

She grabbed a bottle of pills and a glass of water, and brought them to you.

“Take that, it’s painkillers.”

You nodded and took the medicine with her help.

“… I’m sorry”

“What? Why?” you asked, surprised by her sudden apology

“I put you in danger, I’m sorry.”

She had learnt from her mistakes -from her fight with Enid after they got attacked at the Gate’s house. Even if she would never admit it, she didn’t want to lose you.

“It’s not your fault, I should have listened when you told me to go home…”

“… You shouldn’t stay close to me. All I ever do is destroy everything.”

You sat up, ignoring the pain, and grabbed her hand.

“That’s not true. Like I said, it’s not your fault. And I’m alive!” you looked directly in her dark eyes “I’m not leaving you. I like you. Maybe even a little more than I should…” your grip on her hand loosened a bit “Anyways, my point is I don’t want to stop spending time with you”

She felt her cheeks heat up a little at your words and at the look in your eyes. With Enid, you were the only one you ever fought to stay with her even though she pushed you away. Even though she put you in danger.

She liked you a lot, but it scared her; she wasn’t familiar with this feeling. Her only experience with love was what she saw with her parents -which she had always found disgusting. But maybe, maybe, with you it wouldn’t be disgusting. If you liked her back.

Because you said you liked her ‘more than you should’, but what did that mean exactly? It could mean a lot of things. And Wednesday didn’t feel like just asking you, it would be awkward.

But if you liked her back and she didn’t do anything there was a chance you’d fall in love with someone else, believing she didn’t like you. She did like you. And the thought of anyone else having you made her crazy.

You were still holding her hand. Your warmth was comforting.

She decided it was time to make a move and intertwined her fingers with yours.

Her action surprised you, to say the least. Your gaze was fixated on your linked hands, processing what just happened. After a second, you felt your cheeks burn.

“D-do you um… Do you want to go out with me someday…? Like for a coffee, or go to the library or anything else you’d like” you asked hesitantly

“Are you suggesting a date?”

Your cheeks heat up again at her words.

“Y-yeah… I mean if you want…”

Wednesday stayed silent for a second before cracking a little smile.

“I’ll pick you up at 4 tomorrow”

[Previous part] || [Next part]

#wednesday netflix #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x fem reader #wednesday addams x reader

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Thirteen

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 2,7k

Warnings | +18, angst, blood, risk of death, Jimin is absolutely beside himself, lots of tears and guilt, kissing and promises, mention of rape, mentions of kidnapping and past abuse, mention of murder, feeling of shame, Stockholm syndrome, yandere themes, triggering content

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys ❤️ This is one of the chapters I loved writing about Dark Moon, I hope you will like it too! Always let me know what you think, I love your comments ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse, @jiminismine4ever, @btssimpjaneth, @antisocial-mochi267, @reallygenerouskoala, @velvet-stardust2002

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Chapter List - Previous - Next

Everything around him was smeared with blood and dirt, gunpowder shrouded that mansion in the open country that was teeming with Choi's men, but Jimin crushed their heads with ease, he would have eliminated them all, from first to last.

He struck the side of yet another idiot who thought he could confront him and ran toward the dungeon; Hoseok had told him that was most likely where they kept Y/N, because in checking the main rooms he had found no trace of the girl.

At his side Taehyung pinned a man by the arm and with a kick to the throat threw him lifelessly to the ground.

Even with confusion like the clash that was raging it was easy to find the room, although there were many only from one came the inhuman screams of a woman.

With icy chills on his neck he knocked down the door following a violent and desperate shove, freezing in front of that macabre sight.

Y/N was completely tied to a table with her legs shamefully spread wide open, her naked body was littered with bruises and cuts, and she was shaken by violent sobs, not to mention the blood, there was blood everywhere and the sight made Jimin lose all glimmer of reason. What the hell had they done to her?

He sprinted toward her, whose increasingly dull face was stained with terrible purplish marks and red splashes, "Y/N?!" was that his voice?

The voice so shrill and distraught, he himself did not recognize it as his own, Taehyung wordlessly observed the scene before him, he was breathless, Jimin cradled the girl's head in his arms, shaking her hair away from her face.

"Taehyung, help me!" he shouted in his direction, causing his friend to recoil, who retrieved his gun and fired accurately at each handcuff that held the young girl still bound, the skin around her wrists and ankles was now gone, the handcuffs had as if given her burns as a result of the excessive rubbing.

Jimin slowly took her in his arms, trying to figure out where the spillage of blood was coming from, and clutched the girl spasmodically to him, his face a pure picture of shock, he left her just long enough to take off his shirt and press it firmly against the girl's chest, there was only one hole, the bullet had passed through her chest and most likely got stuck inside her, he instead used his jacket to cover his nakedness, Y/N looked at him with wide, vacant eyes, as if she was no longer there but somehow still recognized Jimin's figure.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said between trembling lips, "I made you wait too long," he found himself crying, crying like a child at the miserable sight of that girl who had fought him so hard, lying in a sea of blood. She didn't even look like her anymore.

He had not protected her, he lacked air, he had not protected her.

"Jimin..." she gasped instead, reaching out a hand to the face of the man who had made her suffer so much, "Are you... fine," she sighed through the unbearable pangs of that torment. He was alive, he was well, and he was there, there with her.

Seeing him in that place, to save her, made her inexplicably emotional, even though that made no sense.

Jimin tenderly grasped her hand, kissing it and shaking his head, "Don't talk, don't waste your breath," he raised his face toward Taehyung who was looking at them with a bewildered and guilt-filled expression, "Go get help, Tae, please!"

The friend revived and nodded hastily and rushed out of the room, leaving them alone.

"You're here," sobbed the girl softly, sinking her head into the young man's bare chest, Jimin kissed her forehead trying to comfort her somehow, just imagining what had been done to her destroyed him.

"Of course I'm here, did you think I wouldn't come for you?" he asked in despair in the face of her physical and mental torment, he pressed harder on her now-primed shirt with vermilion liquid, hoping Taehyung would hurry up, "You're mine, Y/N, you mustn't forget that."

"But you hate me," was the only response he received, at which Jimin growled.

"I already told you I don't hate you!" he exclaimed bringing his lips closer to hers, "Would I hold you close to me like this if I hated you?"

Y/N slowly closed her eyes, her conscience screaming at her to stay awake, to listen to Jimin as her increasingly tired body demanded rest.

"Y/N!" he cried anxiously, pressing their lips together for a few seconds, it was a gentle touch as quick as a flap of wings, but it was enough to make her open her eyes again, "Stay with me, baby" he said in a sob.

"I've missed you" she whispered with little breath, it cost her effort in every sense to admit it aloud, but it was so, she must have been crazy for a long time now, but in Jimin's arms, she told herself, she could die with peace of mind.

"I've missed you," he repeated with a strange emotion in his eyes, he looked at her with such a gentleness that she had never noticed in her regard, it contrasted so much with those piercings that adorned his angular and massive body and gave him a dangerous air, "I won't let you go again, Y/N," he said quickly, the girl nodded slowly with a small smile, shortly afterwards her vision darkened.

Their story was strange, inconsistent. A lot had practically changed in just a year, who knew her tormentor would hold her like that? Who knew she would let him, surrendering to his grasp?

A bud had managed to bloom into a beautiful rose, nurtured by the sweet blood and bitter despair that cradled the existence of both of them.

Jimin counted every second that he spent in that house.

Y/N was almost always in bed, even two weeks after the shooting, at first he thought it had something to do with what Minho had done to her, but it wasn't just that, he knew it well.

He had promised not to let her go again, but instead he was a shadow of himself and did not dare to get too close to her. He was ashamed, not because of the desperate and frightened words he had whispered to her in that place, but because he had not been able to protect her, she had almost died and he could not find peace, he was always thinking "What if...?".

He hadn't gone to work anymore, he knew Seokjin would give him a hard time, but he couldn't do it. Every night with his heart in his throat he feared she might disappear again, that house didn't make him feel safe, not anymore.

He shrugged his shoulders closing his eyes bitterly, he had been wrong again.

Ever since he had met Y/N it seemed that the only certain thing he knew how to do was to be wrong again and again, never learning from his mistakes.

Then his ears picked up something, it was Y/N's faint voice calling him, and he jumped up from the sofa, running into her room.

"Did you call me?"

The girl was half stretched out on the bed, wearing a nightgown over the chest bandage she still had to keep for safety, she was so small and delicate that it seemed to Jimin that he was facing a tender fairy.

"I'd like to take a bath," she said shyly, avoiding his gaze.

"I don't think that's a good idea, the wound might leak more blood."

"Please... I feel dirty," she begged him with doe eyes, the man found himself sighing.

"Wait for me here."

The attitudes of both of them had changed, it was different from just tolerating each other, there was a gentleness never seen before in the way they both spoke to each other, it was pleasant and not only for Y/N, even Jimin wondered why he hadn't done it before.

He prepared her bath and then returned to her, took her effortlessly in his arms, and the young woman breathlessly admired the sensual features of his relaxed and masculine face, but adorned with wonderfully swollen lips, to be kissed countless times.

He helped her undress without taking his eyes off her body, but not out of lust.

He wanted to thoroughly scrutinize those marks that invaded her body disrespectfully over and over again, he fed on them to fuel the svisceral hatred he felt for Minho, they were still looking for him but soon they would unearth him, Jimin was sure of it.

When he accompanied her to the water the girl sighed contentedly, she made to loosen the bandages, but there too Jimin stepped in, gently removing everything and revealing the hole just above her right breast, he couldn't help himself, he reached out slightly to kiss gently that still young scar, lifted his eyes to her and found her staring at him with sympathetic blush on her cheeks.

Their new intimacy was strange; the abduction had changed something in their relationship.

He went back to soaping her body, occasionally leaving more kisses on her soft skin, kissed a spot just below her ear and slowly brushed his hand over her belly, the desire to make her feel good was there, pressing into his chest where his heart was pounding, but Y/N shivered and closed her legs instantly.

"I... sorry," she said squeezing her eyes shut to chase away the tears, but Jimin shook his head.

"Take it easy, I don't want to do anything," he tried to reassure her, going back to cleaning less intimate areas to let her know he meant what he said, that he didn't want to force her into anything, but Y/N swallowed a knot in her throat.

"No, you wanted me here to give you pleasure, I'm here for you, but I can't for the moment, not after that..." she froze trembling, remembering all too well Minho's painful and brutal thrusts, as well as Minhyun's thrashing as his boss panted on her like a pig, she covered her face in shame.

Jimin had also hurt her, but there was something different between him and Minho, she was more familiar with Jimin, she ventured to admit that ... somehow he had always attracted her?

She could not reflect objectively, but she was sure that for her Minho had simply been a horrifying and terrifying nightmare experienced with open eyes. Remembering the sadism with which he invited Minhyun to strike her and hurt her as he forced himself inside her would haunt her forever.

"There are so many reasons behind my decision to bring you here, Y/N, that was just one of many, but now it's different, you don't have to if you don't want to" the boy's sincere voice brought her back to the present, Jimin was really trying to make her understand, "And you don't know how much I regret what I did that last night, I was a monster" he said taking it out on himself and once again the girl found herself split in two.

"I... I thought you were, but after Choi Minho and his henchman...after they..." god, she couldn't even complete the sentence, "I understood who the demon was between you and him, believe me Jimin" she preferred to end the speech like that, clutching herself with embarrassment. She wasn't saying that Jimin hadn't done anything to her, but the thought that he was finally by her side calmed her down and she felt a pleasant warmth surface inside her, she was crazy and she was also accepting it.

The boy understood her shame and with a weary sigh began to lift up the light T-shirt he was wearing, the woman looked at him strangely and interestedly, his defined and luscious abs bewitched her, but Jimin pointed to the numerous piercings and dark ink lines on his arms.

"You don't have to feel ashamed of what happened to you, you were a victim, just like me."

Y/N widened her eyes in shock, what did he mean?

With indifference in his eyes, Jimin began to explain.

"In the past I met a young girl, it was night and she was coming back from an evening spent having fun with her friends, a drunk man had attacked her and I stepped in to save her.... I didn't know that my action would also doom me, I just wanted to do a good deed.... but she was part of the wealthy Choi family and was convinced that she could have it all, and by everything she meant me too, she was obsessed and I at the time was a kid committing a few petty thefts here and there, nothing too serious, but it was enough to be labeled as society's trash, no one would notice I was missing, and it was all too easy for her to convince her rich and powerful father to kidnap me and make me her prisoner," the boy's jaw tensed at those memories, "I was under that woman's power for four years, like a toy."

"Jimin, you don't have to do that," she pleaded in a broken voice.

"I don't want there to be any secrets between the two of us, Y/N," he smiled slightly, wiping away a tear from her eyes, "She used to keep me tied by one ankle at the foot of her bed, said I was her prince in a cage, at other times she would call me a dirty dog and I would pray that she would finally let me go free, but she would always burst out laughing... she didn't smoke, but she would always light a cigarette and put it out on me when she wanted to punish me or just vent about something, I was her outlet, I was instead taken to the dungeon when I behaved "badly," she would order her father's men to beat me and sometimes I wouldn't eat for days."

The girl gently brushed all those piercings, each of them hiding that kind of wound, Jimin closed his eyes under her gentle touch.

"Her cravings eventually matured and she forced me to have intercourses with her, but I never came, she blocked every sensation, she made me disgusted," he hissed, "I hated all Choi and all women looked like her to me."

He inhaled softly, wiping his sweaty forehead, something in those memories - his demons - made him react that way.

"Seokjin had some things to settle with Choi Senior and when he saw me, he asked for me as payment to settle what Choi still owed him, it was a lie, he saved me and then exterminated everyone in that house, seeing what he had managed to do only because he had wanted it that way, he convinced me to join his family, I began to have real sex with all the prostitutes who roamed the Dark Moon, the only difference being that I was the one with the upper hand now, I used them to unload my lust and I treated them badly because they reminded me of her all too well, that bitch, I could see it in their eyes the desire to use me to live a more comfortable life," he chuckled without amusement, "Then you came along and turned my world upside down, you unnerved me with your purity, you rejected me and I wanted you instead, it was frustrating, with you I wanted to do everything I had always recommended not to do with anyone and I hated myself."

"What do you mean?" she now stared at him with fascination, in front of her was a man who could finally understand her.

"Love you. I wanted, no… I want to love you."

"Jimin, I-"

"Don't answer me now," he shushed her by pressing his soft, irresistible lips to the girl's sweet ones, "Whether you love me back or not, just wait a little longer, even if it takes fifty years if necessary, just...don't ask me to give you freedom, I can't do that."

That was the love Park Jimin could and wanted to give her; passionate, tender ... possessive, selfish.

As she watched the boy leave the bathroom she found herself longing for that sick love, but one she absolutely needed to feel safe.

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