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angelwithdemonictendencies · 1 month

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i'd sigh in bliss, even while drowning, if only it was your hand holding me under; your kiss is the most violent death i've ever known.

qh43 x reader: let's take this bitter tension on the water, shall we?

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), fingering, hair pulling (have you guys seen his hair, recently?), choking (it's really been too long. too many nice guys), talking (he brings out the best in me), tears (or the worst idk), lots and lots and lots of miscommunication and tension and being kinda mean, obviously i'm forgetting things but all my usual stuff. please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: thank you for waiting, my favorites. i give you qh43 x doll (on deck). this idea has taken me a long time to flesh out, with lots of work and outlining and such, so i really hope you enjoy. i told myself it was going to be short and it ended up being 16.5k, because i have no self control. i guess i was just in the mood to write angst-filled argument after angst-filled argument, given all the sweet boy content i've been putting out recently (don't worry, that will be back soon enough). and qh43 is my go-to for the sad stuff, for the fights and kisses in the rain (literally, this time). can you tell i was listening to taylor's is it really over? way too much and thought... what if it wasn't? over, that is? obviously, none of this makes any logistical sense, you guys know this. thank you for reading anyways. let's see, what else? loving the nico slut headcanon i'm committing to. also love a good mt19 gap-tooth takeover (is he not the perfect cruise ship fling?). and luke is here, too, for all the people telling me to write for him. i'm sorry, i know the miscommunication trope is frustrating and the one-bed trope is cliche. please, for the love of god, take this as a sign to be clear with people about how you feel. life is too short. i have like one billion baby stories started right now, so we will see for which inspiration proves most fruitful. will it be golf pro cc22 x bevcart girl? geology ta js1 x classics ta? the tj17 one i've been trying to finish forever? none of the above? we'll see. pretty, pretty please, tell me what you think. go canucks (dare i say cup-bound), tell your snakes i love them. until next time. love, always).

as much as you wanted to be completely and purely excited for this little excursion, as much as you wanted this to be a truly undiluted celebration of your best friend's wedding next weekend, something was standing in your way.

"c'mon," the bride-to-be, savannah, said, standing on the pier next to you as you gazed out at the obscenely massive cruise ship, its numerous windows like the eyes of a spider, much too many and much too close together, "you've worked so hard, babe." she gave you a tight side-hug, which you returned. "you've made this whole process so easy, hm? let loose for a weekend, and then, i promise, you can go right back to being the militant maid of honor you are."

you let out a short laugh, let your shoulders settle back into place. "thanks for this weekend, sav," you said. "it's gonna be great." she was right, of course, in some ways, and wrong in others.

you had worked hard, very, very hard, because you cared about savannah, loved her like a sister, and you wanted her wedding to be one of dreams. you liked jack, her fiance, a lot, too, and you liked them together, saw how they brought out the best in each other.

it had been months of making sure everything during the planning process went over smoothly, of being there for savannah when the world felt like it was ending, when the pressure of a wedding felt like it was insurmountable.

when bridesmaids had a little too much to say about their dresses, or when family members had a little too much to say about their hotel arrangements, or when savannah herself had a little too much to say about how it just had to be perfect, you were there, mitigating the worries and stressors and potential problems.

it had been a rewarding but draining couple of months.

savannah had seen that, had appreciated you even more because of it, so her and jack had planned this mini-vacation as a thank you for both of their wedding parties. the big day was next week, so this was supposed to be a final relaxing deep breath before the inevitable whirlwind of white lace and dress shoes and pink flowers.

and it would be relaxing, you were sure of it, you wouldn't let it not be, if only because your best friend wanted it to be so adamantly. it would be a perfect weekend vacation, the perfect cruise getaway, the perfect source of pre-wedding bliss.

it would be, it would be all of these things, as long as you stayed as far away from quinn hughes as was humanly possible.

the brother of the groom, the best man, your counterpart in the wedding, whom you had been fairly successful in avoiding whenever possible, all things considered. you'd been in the same friend group for years, after all, since the end of college. years of averted glances, charged comments that you pretended to ignore, of memories that left your cheeks hot and anger hotter.

you hadn't had a major blowout with him yet, and you were confident enough in your self-control to believe you wouldn't start now. you'd never been confined on a boat with him before, though, hadn't been stuck in a room with him without an escape plan, so that would present a new challenge.

what was every day in the periphery of quinn, though, if not a new challenge? a challenge more devastatingly taxing with each passing moment?

as you and your best friend boarded the ship together, you hoped that you could postpone seeing him for as long as possible. maybe if you stayed in your room the whole weekend, you wouldn't have to see him at all. wouldn't that be fun?

savannah dropped her stuff and told you she was going to find jack, leaving you to unpack your things and enjoy some moments of silence before what would surely be a tornado of a weekend.

unfortunately, as you folded your clothes and organized them in drawers, your mind wandered, with nothing to focus on but your anxieties. your anxiety, personified, in a broad, shaggy-haired, soft-featured best man.

you sighed, as you often did when you thought of quinn, because no, it hadn't always been this way. there had been a single, lovely, dreamy night during which the two of you hadn't hated each other. quite the opposite, actually.

it felt sort of unfair that, even now, years later, he could still evoke such a visceral feeling in you, a kind of hatred you felt in your stomach, a kind of shame that rattled through your skull, a regret that set your chest ablaze. and as much as it pained you to think it, it felt sort of unfair that savannah was getting married to jack, because you had known quinn first. it had been you and quinn, first.

it had been you and quinn, both of you at the just-off-campus bar alone, waiting for your respective friends to show up. you had spotted him across the room, his pretty face made so angelic by the hazy neon light. he had spotted you too, had been so unapologetic about letting his gaze settle in the pockets of your exposed collarbones, then flickering up to meet your careful eyes slowly, heatedly.

it had been you and quinn, in a back booth, once he'd bought you a beer and motioned for you to join him, a precise but easy tilt of his head in invitation. on that waxy bench seat, as time passed, you grew much closer together than you could have made a real excuse for, until the outside of your thigh was pressed up against his, until he angled his shoulder back so you could lean your side on his chest, until there was really no question as to where the night was going to go. where it was going to end.

until he rewrote the script you'd assumed into place, too, because when you talked with him for that hour or so, drinks practically forgotten on the table, friends absolutely forgotten, he wasn't like the one-night-onlys you'd had in the past.

he was pretty, sure, almost embarrassingly so, but he spoke to you so gently, with such care, it stunned you.

when he asked you about your day, you were shocked to find completely genuineness in his gaze.

when you asked about his friends, when they were showing up, you couldn't help but feel a little endeared by his short laugh. "athletes," he told you, then, "most unreliable people on the planet, doll, swear it."

it had been you and quinn, basically melting into each other, in that booth, and it had been you and quinn, at his place, after. when you'd discovered that he tasted like something citrusy, maybe grapefruit, from whatever he'd been drinking, when you'd felt his rough hands on your face, your hips, when his voice had grown low and husky and brutal, barely pausing for even a moment when he pushed into you for the first time, so overwhelmingly deep and hard.

he'd been so gentle, yet undeniable, so tender, but he'd said things that now made you blush.

he'd been the best fuck of your life, somehow also the kind of person you'd truly, genuinely, been able to see yourself developing a relationship with. you'd thought he was a once in a lifetime kind of person.

you'd left his place early that morning to get to class, kissed his shoulder softly in goodbye while he slept soundly.

little did you know that, that next night, savannah would meet jack, who was out with quinn. as such, savannah would introduce you to jack.

"this is my brother, quinn," jack would say to you, eventually, and your eyes would soften at the sight of him as you turned.

you would open your mouth to say something along the lines of oh, we've already met, but then quinn would extend a hand to you.

"nice to meet you," he'd say, stony, cold, and you'd narrow your eyes, search his gaze for anything humorous, come up empty. surely he remembered you, right? it was almost worse to imagine that he did remember, that he just didn't want his brother to know about you. it was almost worse to imagine that he thought you were something to be hidden.

so you'd swallow a breath that felt like a forbidden pill, stare at his outstretched hand with something like disgust.

"yeah, you too," you'd bite out, your hands remaining at your sides, hoping his empty hand felt awkward enough to hurt. "really nice."

so, as much as it had been you and quinn, starry-eyed in a back booth, as much as it had been you and quinn, tangled up in each other as your eyelids grew heavy with sleep, as much as it had been you and quinn, first -

it had also been you, embarrassed and ashamed, and quinn, expressionless and indifferent.

so, what did that night really matter, however life-altering you had thought it to be? he obviously didn't feel the same way. you obviously meant nothing to him.

you had thought that to be a very disappointing end to a chapter. you were ready to move on, but, of course, savannah and jack only grew closer. of course, your friend groups merged. of course, it seemed like you couldn't go more than a few days without an especially painful reminder of exactly how much you weren't wanted, exactly how mistaken you had been.

it had been several years now, and you'd gotten a little better at hiding your feelings, sure, but you wouldn't describe your relationship with quinn as civil. certainly not amicable.

you were both known to have an especially short temper when it came to the other, to become inexplicable hot-headed in their presence. still, no one, not even savannah, you assumed not even jack, knew exactly why. they just assumed you didn't get along. that you were just completely incompatible as people, probably.

now, you took a deep breath, putting the last of your clothes away, zipping up your suitcase and stowing it under your bed. you wouldn't let him ruin this trip for you, you decided in a moment. you would be kind, and lovely, and you'd enjoy the time with your best friends. everything was going to be fine. everything was going to be perfect.

this was the mindset you were carrying with you when you finally made to join everyone else on the deck for a welcome happy hour.

you quickly spotted your group, immediately locking eyes with your other best friend, lexi, who must have just arrived.

she squealed and pulled you in for a hug. "it's been too long," she whined, and you laughed.

"i missed you," you said, and you meant it. for the longest time, it had been you, savannah, and lexi, a trio for the majority of your time at university. guys came and went (for the most part), your circle expanded into friends from classes and clubs and sororities and such, but the three of you were inseparable.

it still felt weird that you didn't get to see them every day, with all of you at different places, some working, some in school. it felt weird that the real world still spun even if you three weren't cackling on the way into a lecture, whispering about lacrosse boy when he walked into a party, whining about midterms in the dining hall. it felt weird to grow up.

"i want to hear about school," you said as you pulled away from her embrace. "tell me everything."

"what, no hug for me, eh?"

you rolled your eyes, immediately recognizing that overconfident voice as jack's best friend.

"hello, nico," you said, sugary-sweet, mustering up a smile. "how's daddy's money treating you?" you didn't like nico, not really, found that he hadn't changed at all since school.

nico wasn't like quinn, though, he never took what you said in a heavy way. he just laughed, and his eyes shone with it. "business is thriving, thanks for asking," he said.

"so humble," came quinn's grumbly voice, somewhere on the line between light-hearted fun and genuine disapproval. you wondered briefly if nico had any more luck reading quinn than you did.

"oh, that's what they say," nico responded, running a hand through his longer dark hair. "the humblest around."

you caught up with lexi about medical school, learned it was somehow even more draining than she expected.

"i wouldn't be able to tell for a second," you assured her, gesturing to your face. "you look insanely well-rested. glowing, practically."

lexi waved you off, but she looked pleased. "don't lie," she chastised, "i wake up everyday and look like i got run over by a truck."

she told you about her classes, and her classmates, and her professors, and you listened intently, always interested to hear about situations you had no experience in.

"sounds hectic," you said, finally, blowing out a breath.

"eh, you know how it is," she responded with a shrug. just then, luke, jack's younger brother, arrived, looking especially disheveled, but you knew him well enough by now to understand that was just how he looked.

he was greeted with hugs and handshakes by everyone.

"you're so big, now," you said, almost teasingly, as you pulled him in for a hug.

he swatted at you, good-naturedly. "lay off, would you?" he said, but when he smiled it was genuine. "not a baby."

you knocked your hip against his, anyways. "happy you're here," you told him.

out of all of jack's groomsmen, you supposed luke was the clear frontrunner for your favorite. nico, the narcissistic playboy, was out of the running, and so was quinn, for obvious reasons.

even without those two, though, you'd developed a soft spot for the youngest of the hugheses. he was a couple of years your junior, but surprisingly mature and well-spoken. he was into football, like you were, too, and had invited you to join his fantasy league before he even knew you that well. now, years later, he came to you for girl advice and you thought of him as the younger brother you never had.

"me, too," luke responded, his eyes alight. when you looked away from him, however, you felt another gaze on your side like a blistering burn, were barely surprised to find quinn's rocky eyes on your side, somewhere between your hip and waist.

his attention sparked something dangerously flammable inside of you, an anger that felt like being coated in lighter fluid.

if quinn had been beautiful the day you'd met him, he was devastating, now, having aged in a subtle way that only enhanced his features, made his jaw sharper, cheekbones more prominent. his hair was a soft shag of brown, curling onto his forehead, at the nape of his neck, the tops of his ears. he'd filled out a bit, too, wider in the chest, softer in the middle. if you had to describe to someone your type, you figured you'd get maybe ten seconds in before realizing you were just describing quinn.

now, his eyes met yours in a clash of flame and ancient rock, immovable and disastrous.

coward, you seemed to say without words, mean, rude, coward.

and, as always, he seemed to say absolutely nothing.

you were being kind, though, you were being lovely, so you just rolled your eyes and made to join savannah and lexi as they chatted by the bar.

the sun set over the distant sky line, making the sea ripple purple and orange as music played from the deck, as more and more people seemed to gather, as drinks flowed easier and voices grew louder.

you caught up with luke about his last year of school, listened to nico talk about his last girlfriend (who he insisted was really, truly crazy, as he had claimed about the last girl, and the one before that), asked jack about how work was going and savannah how her cats were doing. you were including everyone, you were being a wonderful maid of honor, you were being kind and lovely, all while quinn remained oddly quiet, talking only when directly addressed, every now and then looking at you with an intensity that made you dizzy.

what are you doing? you wanted to scream at him, you're not allowed to look at me!

he didn't seem to particularly care about your unspoken wishes, anyways, though you supposed he never had. he just took small sips from his fruity cocktail, and you pretended not to notice how it made his pouty lips more pink, like he was wearing a shimmery gloss. you hated yourself for the way your stomach flipped at the sight.

"so, how's your week been, q?" luke asked him, eventually, taunting him with a smile. "awfully quiet over there. what're you hiding?"

and you shouldn't have done it, it was not very lovely and kind of you, but you gave a light scoff at this. because you knew just how good quinn was a hiding things. people, even.

of course, he noticed. he seemed to notice just about everything, when it came to you, ever the perceptive observer. it was something you'd adored about him, for a night.

"what?" quinn bit out, and he wasn't looking at luke, instead looking directly at you. "got something to say, doll?"

you felt your eye twitch, only just barely, because out of all of his mannerisms and actions that drove you absolutely crazy, this one might be your least favorite. how, after all this time, he still rarely called you anything but doll.

how, now, it was said with such condescending distaste, when it had once been 'm dyin' to kiss you, doll, murmured in a bedroom doorframe. when it had once been give me one more, doll, hm? be good for me, hot against your temple.

"nothing, quinn," you said, with a smile that felt more similar to baring teeth, his name some malicious hex. "don't worry about it."

there was a brief pause charged with meaning, his slate-like eyes boring into yours.

you were the first to look away, to look down at your hand before he finally answered luke's question, went into some noncommittal explanation about work.

eventually, somehow, the conversation veered towards wedding dates.

"wait," savannah said, pausing as if having trouble understanding. "you're telling me that out of all of you, both wedding parties, the only one with a plus-one is luke? and it's not even a date?"

"mackie still counts," luke said, shrugging. "no one said we weren't allowed to bring friends."

"regardless," savannah said, exasperated. "how did this happen?"

nico grinned. "not all of us can be so easily tied down, sav," he said with a wink, to which you and lexi groaned.

"oh, what?" nico retorted, looking at the two of you, "if it really matters, i'll bring a date. hell, i'll bring four dates."

you shook your head vigorously. "do not bring four dates. please do not bring four dates."

"do not make our wedding an episode of the bachelor, nico," savannah warned. "but you guys should bring someone!" her eyes grew wide with excitement. "you could even find someone on the boat!"

lexi whistled.

"do we really want a bunch of strangers at our wedding?" jack mused, joking.

"oh, hush," savannah said, laying a hand on his forearm.

he smiled. "you're right," he conceded, "not like this lot could find dates anyways."

the only people who seemed especially opposed to jack's judgement were nico and lexi.

you just shrugged. you didn't really want to bring a date to the wedding, because you didn't have a serious boyfriend, right now, and you didn't want to invite someone you weren't serious about. you could find a date, sure, it wouldn't be too hard, but that would just be another person to entertain for a night during which you were already going to be pulled in a million different directions.

"okay, so lex and nico are going to find dates," savannah said, then turned to you, "what about you?"

"i'm good, sav," you said, plainly, cordially, with a smile that she returned. you knew that she just wanted you to be happy, and that it probably hurt her to imagine you lonely.

"or you, quinn?" savannah continued.

you fixed your eyes on him, too, as did the rest of the table. as much as you maybe shouldn't have been, you were straining to hear his answer.

"yeah, didn't you say you were thinking of bringing someone? what was her name, again?" jack asked, snapping his fingers as if trying to summon his memory.

terrible envy bubbled through your veins, thick and green, at the mention of quinn wanting someone who wasn't you. at the reminder that he was fully capable of wanting someone, he just hadn't wanted you.

quinn's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "i never told you i was thinking of bringing someone," he told his brother, sounding almost annoyed, his tone sharp.

jack's half-smile told you he knew something you didn't. "my bad," he said, "must've forgotten."

quinn's full mouth twitched to the side, almost undetectable, but of course you noticed. he looked almost angry that jack had suggested that he bring a date. there was the faintest pink across his nose, too, as if he was almost embarrassed.

something heavy settled in your chest, made your throat tight, because you knew what it was like to be embarrassed in a group. to want something so adamantly and have it go the other way in front of your eyes.

as if pulled by some magnetic force, some power fueled by history and shed tears, quinn's eyes briefly met yours, like you were the calm in some hurricane, like you tethered him to the world. for a second, you remembered just what it felt like to be his. just how consuming it was.

but you weren't his, you reminded yourself. so, of course, the anger followed, along with a bloodthirsty self-loathing at your momentary protection of him, your fleeting feelings of sympathy.

you weren't his, and yet he was looking at you now like he was begging you to do something.

"you know what, sav?" you said, although you were looking right at quinn, "changed my mind. think i'll bring a date, actually."

it was quinn's turn to scoff, which had rage rolling in your head like high tide. "yeah, right," he said. "you haven't been with someone in years, doll."

you furrowed your brow, because that just wasn't true, flat out. did quinn actually think you hadn't been with guys since you'd had him?

lexi was the one to laugh. "what're you on about, quinn?" she said. "what planet have you been living on?"

"you think i call you up as soon as i scratch another notch in my bedpost?" you asked, incredulous. "course i've been with guys."

a million emotions rumbled through his eyes like a slow-building earthquake, which made realization spark in your head.

"unless," you started, "unless you haven't been with-"

"i'll bet that you don't end the weekend with a date, then," quinn said, cutting you off as you'd gotten dangerously close to saying something incriminating, something he didn't want others to know.

it took no convincing from you to agree to his bet, even if nico and luke were nudging you on. "you're on," you said, your voice lower than you anticipated.

he hummed, ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, cocked his head in a way that made your nerves spring to life. "and what do i get when i win?"

he said the words like he knew exactly how you'd take them. in a way that made everything else fade away, for a moment, made you forget your audience of friends, made the music lull to a halt in your ears, made the massive deck of this boat feel altogether too small.

"what do you want?" you asked, almost blushed at how rough your voice sounded, promptly cleared your throat again.

his heavy gaze dropped to your mouth, making warning sirens blare in your head. making you so, so angry.

"decide the terms later," jack said, obviously done with this topic, which really only concerned you and quinn, "deal or no deal?"

quinn extended a hand to you in answer, which you stared at for a second, suddenly delirious with deja vu. remembering when he had last went looking for a handshake.

this time, though, you took it, squeezed it so tight you hoped it hurt, although he didn't even wince, held eye contact with you the entire time.

"eager to lose, eh, doll?" he asked, his eyes shining.

"you know me," you said, then, "just so eager." knowing exactly how he would take it. in a way that had his eyes glazing over, just a bit, perhaps had phantom breaths of please, quinn, give me all of it echoing in his mind.

and so your weekend getaway began with a wager.

still, you didn't want your heightening anger towards quinn to take over your vacation, so, the following day, you went about your way as you had been planning on.

you ate breakfast with lexi, explored the boat with sav and luke, finally settled down to read by the pool in the late afternoon.

the sun was bright and big in the sky, so you untied the straps of your swimsuit, so as to avoid tan lines. time passed as you flipped pages, engrossed in your book, until you felt the heat on your body like a scratchy sweater.

at some point, you felt a figure next to you, a big body with a face you couldn't see until you brought a hand up to shield your eyes.

the man blocking the sun from you was a little jarring in his beauty, you realized. handsome in a very different way than what you were usually attracted to. he had curly, curly hair, almost red in the light, a symmetrical face, a prominent gap in his two front teeth that you had the sneaking suspicion he used to his advantage.

he had you smiling up at him, nonetheless. "can i help you, handsome?" you asked.

his mouth quirked at your words as his features settled into a theatrical expression. "you're sweet, princess, but i was actually hoping to help you."

you hummed, bent one knee up until the sole of your foot rested flat on your lounge chair. "were you, now?" maybe this whole finding a wedding date business was going to be even easier than you initially thought.

the handsome stranger squatted down until his hips rested back on his heels, until he was eye level with you. like he didn't want to look down at you. like you were even lovelier head on. he raised a wide hand to one side of his mouth, as if telling you some great secret at a cafeteria lunch table. "just wanted to warn you that your straps are untied," he whispered, gesturing with his other hand to his own shoulders. his smirk told you that he knew it was intentional.

you made no move to retie them, let out a small laugh. "my knight in shining armor, hm?"

his shoulders rose and fell in a telling chuckle. "either that or i just wanted an excuse to come over here," he said. "'m matthew."

"'m flattered, matthew," you said, then gave him your own name. "you don't seem like a guy who needs an excuse, though."

his smirk grew wide. "what do i seem like, then, princess?"

you tilted your head to the side, thought for a moment. "don't know," you admitted, "got the smile of a charmer, though, give you that."

matthew appeared about to respond, but was cut off by the approach of a figure to the other side of your chair, standing at full height, looking down at you and your new acquaintance.

a figure you'd know in the dark, a presence you'd sense while unconscious. quinn drew both of your attention, but said nothing. you pursed your lips.

"what's up, man?" said matthew, maybe a little unsure, in a tone that sort of felt like he was making fun of quinn. "all good?" he didn't push back up to his full height, which you found hilarious and endearing. how he didn't seem even the tiniest bit threatened by quinn, when it was so painfully obvious that he was trying so hard to appear threatening.

you peered up at him, found his blatant discomfort and indecision especially unsettling. "what do you want, quinn?" you asked, annoyance creeping into your voice like moss on a damp rock.

"you know this guy?" matthew said, his grin that of a class clown.

"do you know this guy, doll?" quinn retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, and you rolled your eyes, set your book down beside you.

"quinn, this is matthew," you said, gesturing between the two of them. "matthew, quinn."

quinn didn't move, but matthew's smile grew taunting as he extended his hand out for a handshake.

a handshake that quinn just stared at, briefly, did not make a move to reciprocate, his gaze so solid, relentlessly cold. you could have slapped him, if you didn't have an audience.

matthew just laughed, retracted his hand, finally stood up. "well, i guess i'll be seeing you around, princess," he said, looking right at you.

"until then, matthew," you responded, an easy smile on your face.

he gave you one last charismatic smile before looking to quinn again. "you've been a treat, quinn," he said, little more than a chuckle, raising a hand in goodbye before turning and walking away.

when he was out of ear shot, you looked up at quinn, ignoring the way the sun lit up the high points of his face. "so," you began, dangling one leg off of your chair, pulling the other up to your chest. "when did you officially lose your goddamn mind?"

he scrunched his mouth to the side as if tasting something sour. "haven't gone crazy," he said, basically a grumble, "thought he was bothering you."

you laughed, genuinely, from your stomach.

"what?" he said, and it was sharp, heavy.

"babe, is this guy bothering you?" you said, imitating a comically deep masculine voice before returning to your usual tone. you retied the straps of your swimsuit, not looking at him. "get real. since when do you give a fuck about me?"

he didn't answer, just shifted on his feet slightly, which made the muscles of his thighs tense. you could feel his anger building, looming like some poisonous cloud around the two of you. he was flushed, and you had a feeling it was some lethal combination of embarrassment and fury. it made his eyes almost glow, made his shoulders clench with strain.

"jesus, don't hurt yourself," you said, eyeing the tension that radiated from his body. "not a good look on you."

this made him intimidating, somehow, made the difference in height between the two of you feel substantial, significant. "really, doll?" he said, with a bite that you could taste. history made its stinging presence known between the two of you, made the air sizzle. "don't like me like this?"

you wanted to punch him the stomach, made him hunch over, bring him to your level so he didn't feel so high and mighty. who was he, now, to hint at your history? when he had denied it so grossly before?

you were not the one in the wrong here, you remembered, he was the one who had approached you.

"no," you said, through clenched teeth, "no, quinn, i don't like you jealous."

this seemed to set his anger loose, as you had expected it to, his fists now tight at his sides. "i am not jealous," he said, slowly, almost scarily. "maybe if you weren't showing yourself off like a-"

you stood up, then, your pulse in your ears, your heart in your throat. you laid a warning hand on his chest, the closest you'd been in a long time. "oh, you aren't really about to call me a slut, are you, quinn?" you warned, like a storm siren.

his gaze shot down to your hand before returning to your unwavering eyes again.

"are you?" you pressed, with the strength of practiced patience. he still said nothing, which made you want to pound your fists on his chest, get him to say something, anything. how tired and frustrated you were of his silence. "where do you get off playing tough-guy savior, anyways?" you continued. "you've got no say in who i talk to, just because you've been celibate, apparently, which is absolutely insane-"

"'m not playing anything," was his short response, which had you fuming.

"you're no tough guy, quinn," you said, "you're a coward."

your eyes widened when his smoldered, as he brought a hand up to your face, swiped his warm thumb across your jawline. you would have smacked his hand away, you swore it, but you were lost for a moment, drowning in the touch you'd craved for longer than you cared to admit. "and you're desperate, doll," he breathed, like some terrible caress, "where does that leave us?"

his words barreled through you like a battering ram, cruel and sadistic. because what were you most ashamed of, if not seeming desperate to his indifferent? what were you questioning most, if not where that left you?

it had been you and quinn, first. could you truly say it had ever been over?

he dropped his hand from your face, leaving you cold, lacking, all over again. leaving your breath coming out a little bit short, your lips slightly parted. because as much as his words cut through you like a dagger to the chest, he said them with such softness, such warmth.

making it so painfully clear in your mind just how much you still wanted him, even if he drove you mad. even if he was exactly the reason behind so many of your fears.

"i hate you," you said, but of course you didn't mean it.

"i hate you," he said, but of course he was lying.

your body and mind were still buzzing, practically alight, that night, when sav and jack decided your whole group should go out, try the ship's nightclub on for a few hours.

and you probably would have politely declined, in any other scenario. you didn't go out that much now, not like you did in school, at least. in recent history, you'd found yourself much more attracted to a night in on the couch than a bass-boosted speaker in your ear. however, you supposed, you wouldn't be able to really relax tonight, anyways, not when your blood felt hot in your body, when your fingertips felt as if they were laced with electrical currents.

you felt almost ill with energy, crazed with some awful mixture of shame and desire and annoyance and disgust.

and you sort of hated yourself for how practically demented quinn's touch made you feel, how deranged his undivided attention made you.

it was so, so unfair, and you wished it wouldn't be true. but it was, so you figured you might as well use this energy while you had it, might as well lean heavily into this version of yourself. this version of yourself, whose emotions were blown up, heightened to a magnificent level.

this you, who felt embarrassment like rosy handcuffs around her wrists, who felt want like a leaden crown, satisfaction like a bubbly drink, displeasure like a hand around your neck. who felt danger and challenge like some intoxicating drug.

it was this you who pulled on a tight, short dress, who spent a few more minutes than usual lining and glossing your lips. maybe it wasn't the most level-headed you'd ever been, sure, but you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so utterly alive.

"holy shit," lexi said when she opened her door, found you waiting to walk down with her, "you look insane."

you smiled. "good insane or insane insane?"

lexi grabbed her small bag and shut the door behind her. "oh, please," she said, waving you off. "almost forgot that you're workin' with all that," she added, which made you laugh.

once the two of you made your way inside, you looked around for your friends, quickly spotted luke sitting at a table with sav and jack.

sav whistled at the two of you as you approached. "holy smokes," she said.

"oh, stop it," lexi teased, making to sit down next to her.

you just leaned on the side of luke's stool, knocked your shoulder into his. "past your bedtime, eh?" you joked.

he rolled his eyes, smiled. "what brings you out of your cave?" he mused. he knew how much it took for you to venture from your room.

you just shrugged. "what if i just wanted to see you?"

he gave a disbelieving shake of his head before tilting it up to look at you head on. "heard you and q had quite the blowout at the pool."

you narrowed your eyes. "wouldn't call it a blowout," you said, and you meant it, because you could have done so much worse. "who told you that, anyways?"

he scoffed. "who do you think?"

you scrunched up your face. you knew how close quinn and luke were, but, somehow, it still surprised you that he had told anyone about what had happened at the pool. it felt weird that, after refusing to acknowledge what had happened between you, he'd tell luke anything about you.

it made you wonder just how much he had disclosed, if luke knew much more than he was letting on.

"what did he tell you?" you asked, curiosity overtaking any of your discipline.

the youngest hughes just gave you a big grin, though, like he'd caught you in something. "i forget," he said, and you hit him lightly on the arm.

you turned your attention back to the table. "where's nico?" you asked, as he was the only one from the group you hadn't really seen that day. you didn't ask where quinn was, even though you really, really wanted to know. was he even here? did he stay in his room, like you had wanted to?

jack gestured vaguely. "haven't seen him since we got here."

"'s probably pretty busy," sav added, "i think the last time i saw him he was up to three wedding dates."

lexi groaned while you hid your face in luke's shoulder for a second.

you sighed, then pushed yourself out of your lean.

"where're you going?" luke asked you.

"to save the feminine population of this cruise ship from hurricane nico," you answered, before patting the top of his head and making for the bar.

the music was louder, away from the tables and closer to the dance floor, crowded with people in bold colors and daring cuts.

you leaned forward on the counter, raised a hand to catch the bartender's attention. the man with the platinum buzzcut nodded to you to signal that he'd be right there.

"how'd you escape your keeper?" a goofy voice said from beside you, and you recognized the confident tone before you even turned.

"good to see you again, matthew," you said, peering up at him with an easy smile. "and i have my ways."

"i don't doubt that, princess, i don't doubt that," he conceded, his grin revealing that gap between his front teeth.

"thanks for waiting," the bartender said, now in front of you two, adjusting his black bowtie. "to drink?"

"two of whatever she's having," matthew said.

"vodka soda, please," you clarified, opening your mouth to protest when matthew wouldn't let you pay.

"let me get this one, hm?" he asked, and he was so steady you knew he wouldn't budge.

you blew out a breath like you were annoyed, but the thought was sweet. "fine," you said, "just this once. thank you."

"anytime," was his immediately reply as the bartender dropped the two glasses in front of each of you.

"thank you," you said to the blonde, eyes searching for his name tag, "elias."

he gave a curt nod in response before being summoned by another patron.

you turned, now leaned your back against the bar counter, crossed an ankle over the other as you again looked at matthew.

"did i mention how beautiful you look?" he said, a lazy smirk on his face, telling you he'd used this line before. it brought a delighted flush to your cheeks, nonetheless.

"that one's a heater," you said, "bet it works on all the girls." you took a sip from your cold glass, found it strong and sharp.

"not all of 'em, apparently," he said, and you let out a laugh.

you chatted pleasantly with matthew for a while, your mission to find nico long forgotten.

fortunately, at some point, you were surprised to see nico himself approach the two of you where you stood, his gait as overconfident as his expression.

"who's this guy?" matthew whispered, his breath hot by your ear as he leaned down. you shivered, could feel his sly smile.

"a clown," you whispered back.

matthew hummed. "you seem to know a lot of those, eh, princess?"

and it shocked you, sort of, how part of you jumped to defend quinn. how part of you wanted to explain to matthew, however stupidly, that quinn wasn't a clown, he wasn't dumb, he wasn't like nico.

what did it matter if this almost stranger thought quinn was an idiot? hadn't he made a fool of himself just today?

"hey, nico," you said, when he was close enough. "meant to look for you." your side glance had you locking eyes with matthew again, warm and inviting. "got distracted."

"no worries at all, no worries at all," nico responded, "i've just been sent over by a certain quinn hughes to see what was going on here, but, as he should have known, i am no errand boy." he gave matthew a knowing look. "and you seem like a great guy." nico's mouth gave an impressed sort of scrunch. "good face, too."

"i like this guy much more," matthew said, elbowing you gently, although you were having a bit of a hard time focusing.

because you'd warned quinn about leaving you be, warned him that he had absolutely and completely forfeited any opinion to be had about your life. and yet, just hours later, apparently, he hadn't learned his lesson.

"where is he?" you bit out, and you had a feeling your smile looked menacing. at least menacing enough to make nico do a double take. "eh, over there," he said, motioning over to the dance floor.

sure enough, your eyes caught on quinn's broad figure, practically indistinguishable from the one close to him, the girl he was dancing with. you rolled your eyes, turned to matthew with sympathy.

he seemed to be anticipating your words, if his slightly disappointed sigh was anything to go by. "well, the keeper calls," he joked, and his easy-going smile made you feel almost sick.

because here was this lovely person, right in front of you, so obvious about his attraction to you. and yet, you were walking away from him. the very thought made anger thrum within you.

"i'm sorry," you said, and it was genuine.

matthew gave a one-shouldered shrug. "don't be," he said, "i'm lucky i even got to see you in that dress." he winked at you before turning to walk away.

you were silent for a moment, blinking.

nico, who'd you'd forgotten had even been there, blew out a breath. "hell," he said, shaking his head, "that guy was a smoke."

"how many dates are you at?" you said, your eyeline still firmly on quinn, on the beautiful blonde girl he was dancing with. you stirred your halfway empty drink.

nico shrugged. "lost track," he said, "why? wanna borrow one?"

"maybe later," you said, then pushed yourself from the counter and began to make your way across the room.

the walk felt much longer than it was, as if a chasm had opened up between you and quinn, jagged rocks lining the walls, some treacherous river running through your legs, drenching your heels.

the walk felt longer than it was, but then you were in front of quinn, and the beautiful girl.

you tapped her on the shoulder, first. "could you move to the side for a second, babe?" you asked, completely apologetic. "don't wanna ruin your dress."

her features scrunched in confusion, but she stepped to the side, as you'd asked. you shot her a grateful look before turning to face quinn, meeting his eye.

you were almost shocked to find warmth, there, so unlike the stony coldness you'd expected from him.

still, you just gave him a facetious smile, short, snarky, before tossing the remnants of your drink at him.

it hit him square in the face, better aimed than you could have hoped. liquid dripped from the strong slope of his nose, down his jaw, soaking his white button down near the collar.

the blonde gasped, brought a hand to her mouth in shock.

you turned briefly to her. "'m sorry for the interruption," you said, genuinely. "you look gorgeous."

as quinn ran a slow hand down his face, wiping alcohol from his forehead, cheeks, you hummed and began to walk away, your stride satisfied as you made for the exit.

you dropped your glass on a table, walked through the doorway, onto the deck of the ship, the darkness of the night, sudden quiet a welcomed change of pace.

you had only just taken a breath when you felt a grip on your wrist, firm but not painful.

"just fuck off, won't you, quinn?" you said, just about done for the night. he just pulled you aside, boxed you against the railing on the deck, the noise of the sea in harmony with the faded beat of the club's mix.

you were so, so, done. you hadn't really wanted to come out, anyways, and then, when you were finally having a good time, he had to go and ruin it, send nico over to check in on you, like you needed some kind of babysitter.

he scoffed, a sound that felt beautiful in your ears, somehow. "think you can just walk away, after a stunt like that?" he said the words like they meant something deeper than just their surface meaning, but you couldn't, for the life of you, figure it out.

you blew out a breath, met his gaze directly.

you probably should have known by now that if there was one word to describe quinn, it was unfair.

unfair, how, drenched in a drink you tossed at him, he still looked this pretty. his hair damp, evident that he had run his hands through it. his features almost enhanced by the liquid that shone on them, his shirt practically sheer, now, drawing attention to his broad chest, corded shoulders. unfair.

maybe you had been wrong. maybe you couldn't handle this weekend. you'd been able to escape him before, for years, always had an easy out during gatherings with friends, always had something else to focus on.

he was everywhere here. he was unavoidable. he was inside your head, whispering in your ear. he was a phantom grapefruit taste on your tongue.

here, you were basically back in his bed, two years ago, back in that bar booth. here, you were surrounded by him.

"you sent nico to spy on me," you said, each word pronounced perfectly clear. you clenched your fists tight as if to restrain them. "how many times do i need to tell you, quinn? who i fuck is none of your business!"

he let out a noise that was half-growl. "you wanted him?" he asked, low and loaded, so painfully so it made your stomach drop.

"what does it matter?" you said. "i can't even speak to someone on this boat, apparently, without you breathing down my neck!"

"it matters," was his reply, spoken so softly, with a cutting bite. "it matters, doll."

you narrowed your eyes, searched his face for some clue. droplets of liquid still clung to his lashes, making his gaze impossibly beautiful.

"it shouldn't," you said, careful. "i'm desperate, remember?" your eyes widened in false despair. "don't you remember, quinn?"

his gaze dropped momentarily to your mouth, hung there just long enough for you to notice. "i remember," he said, so gently it shocked you. like he wasn't just talking about today.

the sea air suddenly felt hot, despite the windy chill. you were acutely aware of how close he was to you, his arms on either side of your waist, boxing you against the railing, his bent knee just barely grazing yours. the warmth of him like a radiator, the smell of him overwhelming.

"enough with the overprotective act," you demanded, willing any shake from your voice. "it has to stop, quinn, i can't do it."

"you can't do it?" he asked, calculated, incredulous. "you can't do it?"

you let out an exasperated huff. "what are you saying?" you pleaded. "jesus, fuck, quinn, all you do is stare and stare and stare and say nothing!"

"what am i supposed to say?" he said, gesturing vaguely around. "what could i ever say to you?"

"maybe try something true!" you said. "give that a shot!" your volume was much too loud, and there were probably people around, but you didn't really care, couldn't even register their presence. as always, with him, no one else seemed to matter, to even exist.

you could feel his chest rise and fall against yours for a moment, a pause so thick it almost felt suffocating. "it hurts to look at you," he said, finally.

and it would have been mean, would have been some cheap shot at calling you ugly, if his voice hadn't broken halfway through. if it hadn't seemed to be the hurt that was really the point.

his arms at your sides felt like something scandalous.

"and yet all you do is stare," you said, almost drowsily. "must be doin' a whole lot of hurting, over there."

something that felt like truth rose and fell between the two of you, light as the salty breeze, dark as the deep water below.

"does it hurt, now?" you breathed, your face so close to his as you peered up at him through your lashes.

his exhale felt like a million words, all jumbled up, offered up to you on a silver platter. he looked almost haggard. "so much, doll," he practically whined, and you wanted to taste his confession on your tongue, wanted to know what his honesty felt like on your lips. if it would feel the same as it did those years ago, if it would feel better.

you raised a careful, delicate hand to his damp face, brushed your fingertips along his hairline, slowly, almost mesmerized. he looked so beautiful, then, the faint light of the deck in contrast with the night making his face angelic in a terrible sort of way. "tell me you hate me," you said, little more than a whisper.

he gave an almost undetectable shake of his head, a rogue lock of hair curling into his face. "i can't," he said, soft, pulled into a trance by your ghost of a touch.

his full lips were so close to yours, and you angled your head slightly to made room for him, wanted all of him just so badly-

"no!" came a loud protesting voice that you immediately recognized as savannah. "do not throw her overboard!"

the two of you bolted apart from each other, a few feet between you, now. your pulse was still a pounding thud in your head, though, your body a sack of candy conversation hearts in all of its deliriousness.

you supposed it would look fairly suspicious, quinn so close to you, his hands so close to you, against the railing of the ship. maybe it did look like he was going to toss you over the edge. you could have laughed at how ridiculous the reality was.

savannah now stood in front of the two of you. you couldn't look at quinn, deathly afraid of what you would find if you did.

"what the hell was that, in there?" savannah demanded, gesturing wildly to where she had come from. she fixed her eyes on you. "since when are you a drink-thrower?"

you mumbled something like since a few minutes ago, i guess.

she huffed, turned to quinn. "and i hear you're sending nico on errands to do your dirty work for you?"

quinn looked at his feet, shifted his weight slightly. "wouldn't call it dirty work," he grumbled.

your best friend took a deep breath. "i understand that you guys don't really get along," she said, evenly.

quinn's gaze shot to you for a second, but you didn't return his attentive stare. you have no idea, you wanted to tell savannah.

"and i guess i should have known better than to trap you guys on a boat for a weekend, but you're adults! and the wedding is in less than a week," she continued, not angry but obviously frustrated. "i'm the one who's supposed to have a meltdown on wedding day, okay? not you two."

"sorry, sav," you said, and you felt bad, really.

she waved her hand. "it's my fault, too," she said, "just, i don't know, sleep this off and tomorrow you'll be able to get off this boat. think we're docking for a few hours, or something."

you sighed, snuck one last look at quinn like a last bite of a shared dessert. evidence of emotion just barely hid under his casual mask, evidence of being affected by you.

"i'll do better, okay?" you said, just to savannah, as you passed her, pulled her in for a quick hug in apology. "i promise."

she hugged you back. "i know it's not just you," she whispered into you ear. "and i trust you."

you nodded, squeezed her a last time before making the trek back up to your room. you passed jack, waiting just off to the side, keeping an eye on savannah, presumably.

"goodnight," you said to him, giving him a feeble wave.

he offered you a smile. "don't tell him i said this," he whispered, "that was one of the best things i've seen in my life."

you rolled your eyes at him as he bid you a returning goodnight.

you spotted lexi, sitting at a table just outside of the club entrance, your eyes widening when you recognized the blonde in her lap as the girl quinn had been dancing with. you smiled, slightly. they looked lost in conversation. they looked good together.

as you turned the corner to the stairwell, you almost jumped, then brought a hand to your heart, let out an alarmed exhale before recognizing nico, making out with a girl against the stair railing in an almost violent way.

you tried to squeeze past the two of them, eventually giving him a light shove. "move, nico," you whisper-yelled at him.

when you finally got past him and up the stairs, you were only a few steps from your door, finally closing yourself back into your room, exhaling a heavy breath, slipping off your heels.

you didn't quite make it to your bed, instead opting to fold a leg underneath you on the floor, lean back against the side of the mattress.

you weren't really sure why you suddenly felt that undeniable pressure on your waterline, that heat at the edges of your face that signaled coming tears.

the breeze through your window was a calming chill as you ran your palms up and down your thighs, trying to bring your breathing back to normal.

it felt like your heart was ten times its normal size, like it was so heavy it was sinking down into your stomach, like an anchor into the ocean waves.

your mind was a flurried rainstorm of quinn's hand on your wrist, his arms by your sides, his chest through his button down. his parted lips, so close to yours, his eyes, so unlike the fixed iciness you'd grown used to from him.

tell me you hate me, you'd asked him, practically begged him, your tone a sinful sort of plea.

i can't, he'd answered, like your request for the truth was some binding promise, like your pure want was some altar-laid sacrifice.

you went to sleep that night jittery, dreamed of slate eyes and stolen touches, glances that meant something stark.

of course, the next day, the last full day of the cruise, your energy had not dissipated. it left you just as uncertain and edgy as ever, because now, you wondered what quinn would do when he saw you.

more probable than not, you knew, he would do nothing. he would probably pretend like, just last night, he hadn't been about to kiss you, like he hadn't confessed to something monumental.

he would probably revert right back to staring, staring, staring, and nothing more. he might even revert back to hating you, for all you knew.

and then there was the part of you, a scary, maybe delusional part of you, that believed that maybe last night had changed something. that maybe he would do more than just look, that maybe you'd do more than just fight, that maybe this time would be different.

oh, how you wanted it to be different.

it had been you and quinn, first. how you wanted it to be you and quinn, now.

at the very least, you thought, as you got ready to leave, you'd have a way out, this time. you were finally getting off the boat, going to the beach for a few hours.

if he got to be too much, you could just walk away, this time, like you had grown used to in the past.

it was this positive outlook that you clung to as you made your way off of the boat, meeting up with luke on the stairs.

"and where were you last night?" you asked, after greeting him, raising a questioning brow.

he gave a playful eye roll. "no where as exciting as you," he said, teasing. "almost getting tossed overboard, and all."

you smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "i did not almost get thrown overboard," you clarified, "i was having a civilized discussion with your brother."

luke hummed. "were you?" he asked, "not quite what i heard."

"when did you become such a gossip, hm?" you pestered, stepping off onto the dock, exhaling with slight relief at the feeling of solid ground underneath your feet.

he shrugged. "people tell me stuff," he said, simply. he didn't have to clarify who people were.

you narrowed your eyes. "how much stuff?"

luke met your gaze, and there was an understanding there that scared you. "enough," he said.

you looked at your feet as you stepped onto the sand, found it warm, calming. "oh, great," you mumbled. you could only imagine what quinn must have said about you. how desperate and deluded you were, how you had gotten so attached to him after a single night, how you'd suddenly grown so malicious towards him as soon as he didn't return your feelings. your head hung, just a bit, because you hated to think that luke, someone you trusted and cared about so much, would think this of you, just from hearing it from quinn. "shocked that you even hang out with me, then, honestly."

you could feel luke's gaze on you like the sun. he cleared his throat, making you look up at him. "think, uh," he began, scratching the back of his neck in a nervous sort of habit. "think maybe you should just talk to him."

you laughed, spotting savannah and jack setting up an umbrella further down the beach. "because that's worked so well for us," you joked, but your heart jumped in your throat. because, oh, how easy it felt to refer to yourself and quinn as an us.

luke just shrugged. "it's worked better than the alternative," he said, putting his towel down before making to help jack with beach chairs.

his words stuck with you, suspended in your mind, for a moment, because he was right. you realized, however painfully, that you would prefer a screaming match with quinn by the pool to silent staring across the room at a gathering with your friends.

you'd take an excruciating argument with him over feigned, false civility any day of the week.

there you stood, your feet in the sand, looking out at the water, and you finally understood that you'd take all of the ugly, all of the hurt, all of the cold, if only it'd give you all of him.

"uh, you good?" sav said, giving you a confused look as she registered your quiet stillness.

you shook yourself from your mind, smiled at her. "all good," you said, and it was true.

lexi joined with the blonde from the night before in tow, whom she announced as erin.

you gave erin a guilty smile when you introduced yourself. "sorry again about last night," you said.

erin waved you off. "don't worry about it," she said, "that was the most dramatic night out i've had in forever."

she set up her towel next to you and lexi, and you quickly found how easy she was to talk to.

nico ambled his way down, at some point, eyes hidden behind massive sunglasses, a baseball cap on his head, a giant hoodie on despite the heat.

jack laughed when he got close enough. "the feds onto you, or something?" he said, referring to nico's ridiculous getup.

nico's pretty face contorted into a scowl. "i'm never drinking again," was his rough reply as he sat down on a towel, practically hissing at the bright light of the sun.

"yeah, right," you laughed. "you said that last time."

"fuck off," nico grumbled, hanging his head between his bent legs.

"oh, don't be mean, nico," savannah said, "it's not our fault you can't hold your tequila."

luke's face scrunched up is distaste. "you were drinking tequila last night?" he asked, "when did you join delta gamma?"

nico made to protest, but you didn't hear it, not really, because you were distracted.

your attention had strayed to where quinn now stood, right beside luke's chair. his approach had been silent, practically stealthy, but he was here, and he was looking at you.

the conversation around you seemed to fade away, to dip down deep below the gentle waves that lapped at the shoreline.

it was still a shock to your system every time you saw him, even though you'd known each other for so long. maybe it was an even greater shock, now, because you weren't quite used to seeing so much of him, of getting so much of him, on back to back to back days.

after being practically starved of him, or at least of his true emotions, this weekend had felt like being drowned in him, held under the water by your throat until your vision swam and your chest was on the edge of exploding.

it didn't help that the way he looked, now, in broad daylight, was so brutally stunning that it stole your breath.

he looked almost weary, the shadows of his face defined and sharp, his jaw rough with stubble. maybe he'd tossed and turned all night, as you had? maybe he'd dreamed of you, too?

your languished gaze caught slowly on his bare arms, returned reluctantly back to his face. he appeared to be just barely on the cusp of, well, something, spurred on by your obvious attention, something alight in his eyes that made your stomach flip.

you felt your cheeks grow hot, bit your lip, slightly. when he was looking at you, like this, you could all but hear his firm rasp in your ear, feel his callused hand tug at your hair.

you looked away, down at your hands, afraid that your eyes were giving too much away, afraid that he could somehow tell exactly what you were thinking, exactly what memories his presence was bringing to mind.

everything felt overheated, and not just because of the sun.

time passed at an agonizing pace. hours during which you could sense when he was looking at you, could feel his stare like a bullet to the heart. during which you would occasionally look back, meet his heated, cryptic eyes, silently beg him to do something, to do anything.

but, for hours, he didn't, and you grew angrier, more fiery with every passing second.

of course he would do nothing, you tried to rationalize, this was quinn you were talking about. this was quinn, in front of all of his friends, so of course he would pretend like you were barely there.

the hurt of it all made you feel almost seasick, woozy and disbelieving, mentally grasping wildly for something to grab on to.

the hurt of him made you seasick, the whole of him made you lovesick, but what did it matter, you thought. at what point were you not just dizzy over him?

"i'm going for a walk," you said, abruptly, getting up and mumbling some affirmation when sav reminded you the boat was leaving soon, so you should hurry back.

the sand shifting under your feet, the pleasant chill of the water at your ankles, you wanted it to calm you down, you wanted your escape plan to calm you down, like it had so many times in the past.

that's what you'd said all weekend, wasn't it? that it had been so hard to be around quinn without a clear way out?

you wanted to scream, felt heat prick behind your eyes, because here you were, walking away, and it didn't feel any easier. you didn't feel any relief, any satisfaction.

he was back there, and you were here, and it didn't look like last night had changed anything, for him. it didn't look like you were as life-altering a person as he was, for you.

the thought made slow, hot tears finally, finally break through. you blinked hard as you continued to walk, the pressure in your head painful, scorching droplets hanging onto your throat before falling to the sand below.

you had no idea how long you had been walking, how long you'd been crying, but eventually, you looked up, and realized it was actually getting darker. the sun was much lower in the sky, the wind a bit quicker. clouds had began to creep in, making it grey and ominous.

great, you thought, rain on your impossibly long walk back was exactly what you needed.

you stilled, looked down at your feet, let out a deep, heavy breath, watched the water twist and pool around your ankles. maybe you could just stay like this forever. maybe your body would eventually decompose into the damp sand and smooth pebbles, turn into something beautiful.

"jesus, doll, there you are."

your head whipped back as you turned around, found a slightly out of breath quinn now in front of you. you blinked at him, your lips shut. was this some trick of the storm? what was he doing here? how dare he follow you?

your eyes didn't leave his, as you watched his gaze visibly soften so beautifully when he took in your face.

it must have been bad, you thought, evidence of crying for however long all over you. your cheeks must have been splotchy, your lashes clumped together, your lips puffy, eyes red.

this vision of you seemed to sober him, to make his heightened breathing cool down to something more composed.

he exhaled, braved a step closer to you, now only a foot apart. his gaze dripped down you in a way that had you wanting to just sink into the earth. "doll," he began, almost a warning, "you been crying?"

you didn't say anything, for a second, didn't indulge his obvious question with a response.

"what are you doing here?" you said, eventually, but it came out like a statement, a whisper, as you messily wiped your face with the back of your hand.

he had the gall to blink back at you, as if confused, that sorry softness still drenching his face, his posture. "you'd been gone for a while," he began, "the boat was leaving, and i just-"

"do you just want to fight, again?" you asked, your blood growing hotter with each second he was here, so close to you. you hated how wobbly your voice sounded, how resigned you already seemed to be. you peered up at him, felt your heart crack in two. "do you know your lines, yet, quinn?"

"i don't want to fight," he said, and conflict burned bright across his gaze, indecision.

"should i start or you?" you pressed, ignoring his admission, "how many times do i have to make a fool of myself before i finally stop expecting you to act like i matter?"

his breath was sharp in silence. the wind whipped your hair around your face, sticking to your tear-stained cheeks.

"of course you matter," he said, almost incredulous, like the whole idea of thinking otherwise was ridiculous.

your laugh was bitter, mean. "oh, of course," you bit out. "of course, right? how could i not be able to tell? you say you don't hate me, but you won't even talk to me in front of our friends," you swung you arms about in gesture. "jesus fuck, quinn, you almost kissed me, last night, and today it's right back to whatever bullshit we've been pulling for the last two years." you looked away from him, so overwhelmed with emotion. "it wasn't me who ruined this whole thing."

"you think i ruined it?" something equally terrifying and lovely melted across his eyes.

you scoffed. "it wasn't me who pretended like we'd never met," you snarked. you could almost sense a well of feeling rumbling through him like a cresting wave.

"you left!" he finally rasped, the most emotion you'd seen from him, maybe ever, his voice echoing in your head as the wind continued its assault, as small raindrops began to fall. "you left, doll, okay? i thought that night was special, but i woke up alone," he said, and it was so gravelly, sad, you felt it in your teeth.

you blinked, watched his chest rise and fall in heaving breaths. how could that be true? it dawned on you that you barely remembered much of what you did that morning, having focused so intently, for so long, on him. was it possible this whole thing was a misunderstanding?

"so you pretend not to know me?" you pressed, rain cold on your legs, your face, an icy contrast to the hot tears that had stopped flowing.

he gave a resigned gesture, blew out a breath. "i was embarrassed!" he said, "i am embarrassed, okay, doll? it's fucking embarrassing to be so into someone and then have them leave without saying goodbye, alright?"

your split heart thumped despite its brittle ache. there was a pause as you both registered just what the other had just admitted to.

both of you were soaked, now, rain dripping down your faces, but you didn't feel cold. you felt as if every inch of your skin was on fire, like your heart was trying to claw its way out of your chest.

you didn't know what to say. he had laid all his cards on the table, right in front of you, given you the honesty you'd been begging him for.

"and, you know, you wanted to kiss me, too, last night," quinn said, finally, defensive, hot, a thermometer approaching the highest temperature. as if the fact made it easier on him, somehow, as if it was a thread tying him to the earth, keeping him from floating away. "it wasn't just me."

you groaned through clenched teeth, a guttural sound. "of course i did! of course i want to kiss you!" you almost yelled, laying a tight fist on his solid chest, just barely holding back from slamming it into him.

his eyes were a forest fire, then, as your choice of words registered, a pause heavier than rock between you.

"wanted or want, doll?" he asked, and it was a breath, a whine, a plea as he allowed himself to wrap a heavy arm around your waist, pull you closer to him, until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face. the closest he'd been, dizzyingly close, like a dream.

you realized your mistake even in your dazed state, how he'd said you'd wanted to kiss him the night before. how you said you want to.

you could have easily laughed him off, said it was a tenses slip-up. you unfurled your fist, instead, laid your palm flat against his chest, perhaps imagined his heart beating in your grip.

he had been so honest with you, after all, had finally told you the truth. the least you could do was return the favor.

"want," you all but whispered, gazing up at him through raindrops and vulnerability.

what was and what could be melted away in a single moment.

he was a blur of relief and desperate motion. "thank fuck," was his murmured groan as he took the side of your face in a rough hand and guided your lips to his in a kiss that felt like a feat of nature one million times more impressive than the storm that blew around you.

it had been years of countless petty fights and cruel misunderstandings, of bitter jealousy and longing gazes, of deifying the last time you'd had quinn, like this. and yet, still, it was so much better than you remembered. he was.

the way he clutched at your hip like he couldn't bear to let you go, not anymore, not this time. the way his hand on your face was so firm, but so gentle. that undeniable faint grapefruit taste, so completely him.

how you melted into his chest, wrapped your arms around his neck, just wanting him closer, closer, just wanting him so close that you'd never be apart again.

you whimpered against his mouth when his teeth pulled lightly at your bottom lip, like some punishment for all you'd put him though. you just rooted your hand in his hair, now soaking wet, tugged at the curls near his neck, in your own kind of retaliation, until he gave a choked moan of his own.

that's for what you did to me, the soft sensation of pain screamed at both of you.

but his chapped lips moved with such intention against yours, like he wanted to swallow down all of the tears you'd cried over him. your body against his felt so right, so warm and comfortable even in the wet and cold weather.

but this is for what you are to me, was the ultimate response, communicated wordlessly through your kiss, through his.

at some point, you both pulled away, only just slightly, your forehead leaning against his as you both caught your breath, so elevated. his stony eyes were so molten, so clear and telling, as he traced his thumb down your jaw, finally wrapped both arms around your back and clasped his hands.

the silence was so beautiful, for a while.

"did the boat really leave?" you asked, dazed, finally, your voice low, husky.

quinn just nodded. "jack said they'll reimburse us for the night if we stay at the inn downtown," he explained, looking around to locate the road, the civilization that existed outside of your perfect bubble. his eyes found you again, something like mirth hidden in there, somewhere. "probably should get out of the rain."

your swollen mouth quirked up in a half-smile as you nodded your agreement, let him hold your hand in his as you made the short walk to the inn jack had been referring to.

you checked in together, ignoring a slightly confused look from the person at the desk, probably at the fault of your rain-drenched appearances. quinn made to grab some overnight necessities at the supermarket next door, kindly letting you take a warm shower while he did so.

when you opened the door to your room, you quickly realized that there was only one bed to share between the two of you. your stomach rolled at the thought, at the pressure that would exist, or not exist, when he returned. at the question of how far you were going to take this. your heart hurt at just how far you'd take it, take him, if he'd let you.

the thought vibrated through you as you let the warm water wash away the day's wear from your skin, eventually wrapping yourself up in a towel.

you hadn't realized how late it was, the quick storm messing with your conception of passing time. it was almost nine by the time quinn got back.

he closed the door behind himself, and the clicking noise that followed felt like something serious as he turned to face you, set the bag of things he had gotten on the dresser.

he cleared his throat as his gaze caught haphazardly on your bare shoulders, the slope of your neck, then finally registering the bed that you were sitting on, the singularity of it. he flushed down to his collar, making butterflies flutter to life in your chest.

he eventually averted his gaze enough to maintain a glimpse of dignity, opening the bathroom door. "got some stuff for you in there, doll," he called, gently, over his shoulder before he shut the door behind him, seemingly to take a shower himself.

you tried not to blush, because you were too old for that, too mature. you exhaled, tried to convince yourself that you would be fine no matter what happened, tonight. you'd kissed, sure, and there seemed to be an air of lightness, of understanding between you, but that didn't necessarily mean you were entirely past all of your issues. that didn't mean quinn wanted to move as fast as you did.

you distracted yourself by going through the bag on the dresser, trying to put together some semblance of your nighttime routine. the clothing options, understandably, must not have been plentiful. you smiled, laughed lightly as you pulled out the tshirt he'd gotten for you to change into, which was one of those touristy ones that read the person who bought me this shirt loves me very much!

and it was obviously because there had been no other options, but a piece of you clung to the sentiment, dug your nails into the flesh of it so hard it began to bleed.

regardless, you got ready to go to sleep, pretended to ignore when you heard the shower head turn off, the bathroom door eventually open, averted your gaze and forced away your blush upon quinn's reappearance.

the air of the room felt almost metallic, tangible, like it was rattling around the space instead of flowing.

you knew it was partially due to the way he looked, now, damp and flushed from the warm water, his chest bare and broad, a towel slung low on his hips. you swallowed, looked up at the ceiling, as if there was something very interesting up there. as if there was anything more captivating to you than him.

he pulled on the cheap clothes he'd gotten for himself, went through the motions of his own little routine, all while you pretended to be on your phone, scrolling through apps but not retaining even a bit of information.

"good if i turn the light out?" he eventually asked, soft, to which you nodded, consenting to the darkness that followed, the rustling of comforters and sheets as he joined you on the bed.

you set your phone down, tried to close your eyes, but you couldn't relax, not with him just so, so close, not with so much that you still wanted to do. not with years of complete lack weighing on you, not with the memory of his lips on yours so beautifully fresh in your mind.

you were turned away from him, a bit of space between you, but you could somehow feel that he was awake, too, that he was just as aware of the energy and expectation that coated the two of you like a watery film.

the texture of the inn's cheap sheets felt grating and terrible against your hot skin, made you restless, rubbing your legs together against the other slowly, fussing with your pillow, tediously careful to not make contact with him.

"doll," was quinn's inevitable comment, more of a warning, a statement, spoken low and rough, rumbling through you.

you didn't turn to face him, but stilled. "sorry," you mumbled, your cheeks warm.

"what's wrong?" you could basically feel the words on your back, the heat from his breath, his body.

you exhaled, still refusing to face him head-on, knew you'd be done for if you did. "nothing's wrong," you whispered.

he hummed, almost like this was amusing to him. "can feel you thinkin' from here," he said, soft. "tell me."

the pause before you spoke was solid, weighted. "just don't want to go back what we were before," you said, and it was the tone of a beggar, so honest in want. "just want this time to be different."

then he reached his arms out, wrapped them around your middle, pulled you back against his soft frame. you swore you must have exhaled a thousand anxieties as you melted into him, shifted your hips back against him.

"i want that, too," he admitted, and you could barely stop your smile as you finally turned to face him, undeniably beautiful even in the darkness.

"really?" you asked, not caring for a second how pathetic it sounded, how glutted with hope, almost childlike.

you felt his nod more than saw it as his grip around you tightened, his hands firmly grasping the flesh of your hips as you reached up, traced your fingers along the edge of his jaw.

"i'm sorry i left," you breathed, and you could feel his chest contract at your apology. "i never wanted to hurt you."

"i'm sorry, too," he said, "'m sorry i acted like you didn't matter to me, doll." his tone dripped with meaning. "'m sorry i lied."

your mouth quirked. "done a lot of lying, haven't we?" you mused. it was honestly impressive, how long you'd both kept up the charade.

he mumbled some affirmation that you felt against your forehead, the heat of it making you rub your calves together, again. "still nervous?" he asked.

you peered up at him. "not nervous," you clarified, "i just-"

you exhaled, lowered your gaze, almost stumbled over your words, because how could you tell him exactly what you thought?

how could you say all i've wanted for years is for you to touch me like you did that night?

somehow, maybe because he was feeling something similar, he seemed to know exactly where your head was, exactly the dilemma that existed in your mind.

"ask me," he said, hard, firm, "ask me, doll. know i like you desperate."

you whimpered, because his words could have been a taunt, had been a taunt before, but not this time.

because you were desperate, only for him. and he wanted you anyways.

"i need you, quinn," you whined, gathering his shirt in a clenched fist, "fuck, i need you so bad."

that was enough, though you supposed the truth had always been enough, for the two of you.

it was enough for his lips to crash against yours for the second time, that night, this time so soft, no longer fueled by anger or revenge but by something lovelier, slow burning, something you felt in your feet.

your lips parted almost immediately in a soft moan, making space for him as his hand braced the back of your neck, holding you tight as he shifted you so that he was on top of you, the weight and solidity of him almost oppressive, if not exactly what you'd been craving for so long.

he kissed you hard, adoring, like he wanted the outline of your mouth imprinted on his forever, as his other hand traced down the side of your body, eventually stilling to push your searching hips into the mattress.

"be good, doll," he murmured against your jaw, leaving messy kisses down your neck that had your throat feeling tight.

"can't," you whined, grasping for the curls at the nape of his neck, lifting your hips again to try to get some kind of friction against his lap. "can't, baby, been waiting so long." you tugged at his hair as his hand rested heavily on your inner thigh. "been wantin' you forever."

he let out a groan, finally moved his broad hand to tug your clothes aside, run his fingers through your folds. "yeah?" you could feel him smile against your neck as your breathing picked up, as he just barely grazed your clit, making you squirm. "been thinkin' 'bout me?" he asked. "'bout the last time i fucked you?"

you whimpered, nodded feverishly, because you had been thinking about it. a day rarely went by that you didn't think about it. it felt like something mythical that it didn't have to be just a memory anymore, that he didn't have to be your haunted house. that he could be here, with you, like this.

he pushed a thick finger into you, urging a strained sound from your throat. "'s okay," he cooed, watching you adjust to the pressure, the sensation.

he began a steady pace, adding another finger, making the slick sound of you seem to echo off the thin walls of the inn, making you wonder briefly if there was someone staying in the room next door. such a concern was quickly overwhelmed, though, as you got used to the stretch of his fingers, began to hunger for something else.

"know 've been dreamin' 'bout you, don't you?" he asked, moving his fingers faster, "fuck, got me all worked up, all those times, doll." his smirk grew arrogant. "so mean of you."

you clutched at his tense forearm. "''m sorry, quinn," you begged, rough and wild, "please, baby, please fuck me."

he slowed his pace, let you paw at his clothes before helping move them out of the way. "ask so pretty for me," he praised, spitting into his hand, pumping himself up and down, so hard and hot against you as he lined himself up, his voice dipping down even lower, somehow, like he was speaking only to himself, as if in a dream. "been dyin' to fuck you."

you whined when he began to push into you, the stretch dizzying, making your vision swim, your chest tighten. you grabbed a fistful of a sheet with one hand, the other arm grasping for him, eventually looping around his neck, your nails digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders.

his exhale was a shudder, one you felt so deeply, so intimately, one that told you that he was feeling a similar way to you - like you were being pulled between memory and reality, what was and what would be.

the pressure felt impossible as he bottomed out, let you adjust to him. "you're, fuck," you bit out, squeezing your eyes shut, "'re bigger than i remember."

someone else probably would have smirked, said something self-satisfying, but he didn't, seemingly too lost in the feeling of you around him, of having you, like this. "open your eyes, doll," he said, strained.

you gave a slight shake of your head in protest, knowing exactly what your refusal would do to him, knowing exactly the roughness it would bring out as he began to fuck into you, slow and deep, so overwhelming and perfect you could have cried.

"don't be a brat," he ordered.

a greedy smile fell across your lips when you felt his warm palm on your throat, his hand squeezing just barely, just enough feel him, everywhere. you opened your eyes, met his dark gaze, felt yourself clench down so tightly around him.

his rhythm grew brutal. "still like that, do you, doll?" he groaned, to which you whined at the insinuation that he remembered every detail of that night the way you did. that he had remembered what you liked and didn't like so vividly, even now.

"more, baby," you pleaded, feeling your head grow fuzzy with pleasure, that pressure inside of you so extreme, heat bursting through your waterline like you were about to cry. "fuck, quinn, need you harder."

"yeah?" he rasped, releasing your neck and bringing his hands down to tease your clit, making your back arch up off of the mattress, your hips jolting. "'f you needed a good fuck, doll, should've just asked."

you whimpered at his words, so cruel, but they pushed you impossibly closer, regardless, as he placed a wide palm on your lower stomach, intensifying the sensation. "i needed it," you babbled, feeling the wet feeling of hot tears on your cheeks but not really registering anything besides him, "needed your cock, baby."

he groaned, looked up for a second as if praying. maybe he was. maybe this was something worth praying for. "can feel you close, doll," he said, his thrusts growing wild, his face flushed with exertion, "give me it, hm?"

"'m gonna cum," you breathed, not recognizing your husk of a voice as you rooted your hand in his hair.

"cum on my cock," he said, a plea, "fuck, doll, been so perfect for me, waited so good."

you came apart at his words, your vision growing dimmer even in darkness, your thighs tensing as you felt your high trigger his own orgasm, warm and wet, his rough groan louder than even the storm-heightening waves outside, somehow more powerful.

his heavy body collapsed atop yours, both of you damp with sweat, your hair sticking to your tear-stained face, his soft curls to the back of his neck. you could feel every exhale against your chest, every twitch of his muscles in your bones.

at some point, he rolled off of you, pulled you against him, so, so tight, like letting you go would be something unforgivable. his arms around you felt like a million apologies, like something solid underneath you, finally, after being seasick and dizzy for so, so long.

he traced a drowsy thumb under your eyes, collecting the remnants of tears you'd barely noticed you'd shed.

"that good, eh?" he rasped, and you could hear his smile.

you rolled your eyes, couldn't stop your own grin as you playfully slapped him on the chest, relished in his low laugh against your hand, into your hair. "hey, can i ask you something?" you said, propping yourself up on your elbow.

"'course," he said, and that alone felt like something too lovely to be true.

"will you be my date to the wedding?" you asked, and your smile grew wider at his obvious conflict of interest. "even though it means you'll lose our bet?"

he groaned, rubbed a hand over his face. "fine," he said, his eyes flashing in the dark, "but only 'cause you look so pretty like this."

you gave a light noise of excitement in celebration, leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "and for my prize i choose," you said, trailing off, thinking, tapping a finger to your mouth in contemplation before pointing it at quinn. "you."

his gentle smile was something surreal as he pulled you even closer to him, your cheek against his chest. "done," he breathed, and when he pressed his lips to the top of your head, it was something right.

when you finally reconvened with your friends the next day at the port, savannah approached you first, pulling you in for a hug.

"i'm so sorry," she said, "i wanted to stay and wait for you, but quinn said he was going to go by himself, and then luke said i shouldn't-"

"it's okay," you said, "it all worked out. we're here now, safe and sound."

savannah's brow quirked. "you seem awfully chipper," she observed, taking a step back as if to get the full picture.

you smiled at her, and you could feel quinn smile too, next to you, your stomach flipping when he looped a hand around your waist and pulled you to him, his grip strong and sure.

sav's eyes went wide, lexi laughed. nico whispered something to jack, luke gave an exaggerated fist pump.

"well," savannah said, "took you long enough, jesus."

"wait," you said, slowly, "you knew?"

she waved you off. "of course i knew, i'm your best friend."

you gestured around to the group. "who else knew?"

lexi raised her hand as if in a classroom. you nodded, invited her to speak up. "like knew that you guys fucked a couple years ago?" she clarified, "or knew that you guys secretly were super obsessed with each other?"

"because the answer to both of those questions is yes," nico piped up from the back.

quinn was silent, his low laugh against your neck as he clasped his arms around your front, pulled you back against him.

you turned your neck to look up at him. "did you tell them?" you asked.

"i told someone who probably told them," he mused.

you fixed your gaze on luke. "you absolute drama queen," you scolded, though you were smiling.

luke put his hands up in the air in surrender. "not my fault," he said, "we would have figured it out, anyways. not like you two were doing a good job of hiding anything."

"he's got a point," quinn whispered just behind your ear.

you sighed. "fine," you conceded. "i forgive you. and i forgive all of you for abandoning me in some random seaside town."

nico huffed. "yeah, really slummin' it, eh?" he asked, "you were at a bed and breakfast for a night with your pretty-much boyfriend. relax."

quinn pinched your hip, which made you smile. "so, where are we dropping nico off?" you asked, "might i suggest a deserted island?"

"finally gets the guy she wants and suddenly she's got jokes," nico muttered.

you felt quinn smile against your neck, and you smiled, too.

the wedding, the next weekend, was exactly the beautiful occasion you knew it would be, with only the most predictable of issues and the most simple of solutions.

you walked down the aisle with quinn, whose touch on your waist lingered right before you split apart to stand on opposite sides of the altar. when you both stilled, you shared a soft smile that felt like home.

lexi walked next, arm and arm with nico. erin was somewhere in the pews, as her and lex had really hit it off, and you were pretty sure about four girls here were under the impression that they were nico's one and only date.

luke walked by himself, a ring-bearer and flower-girl, of sorts, his tie a little too loose, his suit jacket too wide in the shoulders. his friend-date, mackie, you remembered, gave an emphatic cheer when luke tripped over the carpeted aisle, stumbling on his feet.

finally, sav walked down, looking just so beautiful, alight and glowing with the sort of beauty that comes with being a kind person surrounded by those you love.

it was a beautiful ceremony.

the reception was distinct in its energy, heightened by an open bar and big dance floor.

you danced with your best friends, smiled as you watched jack and sav enjoy dances together, laughed as nico tried to juggle his several dates.

"might not have been the best idea, eh?" you asked him, once, when he passed you and luke on the dance floor.

he made a pft sound, waved you off. "i can handle it," he said, his eyes suddenly filling with alarm, "but if you see the redhead, warn me."

you danced goofily with luke for a bit, giggling at his awkward moves, mimicking them in an exaggerated way.

when the songs grew slower, lazily, you felt a hand on the small of your back that you'd know anywhere, that you'd known even in absence.

"mind if i cut in, lukey?" he asked, and you rolled your eyes at his funny wording, but luke complied with a smile, and then it was the two of you, quinn's hands around your waist, yours looped around his neck, your fingers playing softly with his hair.

"you look really pretty, tonight," you said to him, unable to hide your smile, and it was true. his unruly hair, sharp features, full lips, it was distracting. that, combined with his pressed pants and the fact that a few buttons had come undone from his shirt over the course of the night. "everyone's jealous of me, i bet."

you'd tell him a thousand times to see the way his gaze softened, the way a faint pink blush bloomed across the bridge of his nose. "thank you, doll," he said, genuineness evident in his voice, soft. "'re too good to me, yeah?"

you laughed, at this, felt it light up your face. "makin' up for lost time," you teased.

he pulled you so close to him, then, until his embrace was basically a swaying hug, a tired excuse for a dance. "got all the time in the world," he said, low, only for you, against your temple, and it felt like rebuilding a world from devastation. it felt like beginning, like living. it felt like him.

it had been you and quinn, first. it had been you and quinn, the coward and the fool, in the middle, however violently.

and, finally, it was you and quinn, now. now, and forever.

fin.

778 notes · View notes

vickyzangels · 11 months

Note

You do NSFW too right? If so could you do Tom going down on reader?

% “너와 천천히 오래 걷고 싶어 until the end of time.”

# synopsis ; redemption era?? resurrection era? idk🧍🏻‍♀️

# pairing ; tom kaulitz x reader

# word count ; 614

# warnings ; nsfw (mdni), recreational drug use, he’s pussywhipped, tom is a, what does ice spice call them? a munch.

a/n ; YALL….. i completely scrapped the fic i was working on like i hate to admit it but i couldn’t do it i scrapped it 😭 but at least i found out something important from it, that i am entirely incapable of having any plot, like i can do a blurb at BEST, but god forbid i put even a minor storyline in. i might go back to it one day when i’m that deep and far into the trenches but the a/n for that fic literally looks like this so…;

he can tie cherry stems with his tongue alone. no hands. gn.

kind of relates but kind of doesn’t anyway one of his favorite things to do while eating you out is fingering you (MY GODDDDD)

his calloused hands from guitar-playing are brushing up EVERY corner inside you, curling and making “come-hither” motions to reach that spot that has you squeezing your legs around his hands and yet he does NOT care, continuing up from your cunt to leave the most sweetest and innocent kisses and marks on your neck like he wasn’t hovering over you and abusing your g-spot till you squirted into his hand

on that topic, he LOVES squirters like he likes creamers too (he doesn’t discriminate), but he’s so into it like, god forbid he gets you to squirt (in which he always does) because he’ll happily come up soaked in your juices like a puppy

i’ve never mentioned this anywhere else but he’s 50/50 in bed with his attitude (that sounds so vague i’m sorry) and i mean that he is generally serious like he’ll fuck your brains out while sternly whispering in your ears about how much of a dirty slut you are HOWEVER, on the flip side of things he acts like he’s sooo damn funny 😐 like he’ll jokingly nip at you while going down on you (obviously lightly he doesn’t want to hurt you) and laugh when you look at him like 😧

he gets so weak if you sit on his face. his hands are wandering everywhere, spots on your hips where there are guaranteed to be bruises by tomorrow by how hard he’s holding you down onto him and his other hand going up to rub and hold your body while he groans into you because everytime his voice vibrates on you it makes you shiver🧎🏻‍♀️listen, tom has fuckboy experience he can keep going for ROUNDS before he decides to cum once but when you’re on top of him squeezing your thigh around his head, HE’S A GONER.

whether or not you smoke, you hypothetically do for this; tom’s such a slut for the way you taste the main reason why you ever get overstimulated when he eats you out is because you taste so good to him, so when you two smoked a blend that had flowers in it for calming effect, it doubled for an aphrodisiac and you had to pry him from your pussy.

about an hour ago, you and tom smoked blunts with a new blend you found from your dealer that only piqued your interest because she explained to you it also worked as an aphrodisiac. truth be told, that was the only thing you actually registered come out of her mouth cause you zoned out when she started talking, but knowing you and tom fucked like bunnies, you told her to take all your money and you were on your way. so now here you were, on your back with your legs over tom’s shoulders god near choking him to death (not that he was complaining), gasping moans into the air while your hand made its way to tom’s head, making weak efforts to push him away. “to- mm..! i can’t take it!” starting to writhe your hips, accidentally bucking further into tom’s mouth. he was pushing you and he knew it, pushing you towards your 4th orgasm and counting and he had no intention of stopping any time soon, especially not when whatever in that blunt was making you suddenly taste so much sweeter. not when whatever was in that blunt was making the music sensually slow down, or making your moans so honey smooth.

a/n ; last blurb’s dialogue was definitely… 😟 but all i know is that i’m leaving the longer fics to people like @arquiiva and omg i think i’m back? and i also watched astv so i’m adding that to the topic list in guidelines but yeah i’ll try not to leave out of no where again

taglist ; @cup1d-lix @imabitchh @arquiiva @verelace @iovemoonyy @everseve

#tom kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz smut #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel fanfic #tom kaulitz fanfic #tom kaulitz

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miserable-sarah · 1 year

Text

The Red Dust 18+

pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, choking, (f) Masturbation, unprotected sex (Be better), oral (F), rough sam, praising. (If I missed any lmk I will update it.) Summary: You and Sam go on a hunt, things go sideways and you need a release of some sort but you can't figure it out.

"I've seen this place before." Sam whispers barely audiable.

"What?" You whisper to him, you both slowly enter a building not sure if the witch is still inside.

"I've seen this building." He says to you, you look at him confused. Maybe in all the research he's been doing. After clearing the place and making sure no one was there you turned on the light to get a better look around the place.

"This is some dark magic." You mumble looking at all the jars filled with dead things, it makes your skin crawl. Sam nods and agrees with you.

"Come on, we need to find out where she's going next." Sam shuffles through books and papers on her desk, you continue looking around the room. Maybe there's a clue somewhere. You can't find anything. She covered her tracks well. You see a book case and one of the books is shiny and new, not like the rest. It's a deep red color, you walk over to it and pull it.

"Y/n! No!" You hear Sam yell. Before you can turn around the whole room is covered in a deep red dust. Your heart starts pounding, you start coughing. "Hold your breath!" Sam says covering your mouth, you run out of the building with him.

"What is that?" You continue to cough.

"Red dust." Sam coughs with you.

"No shit." You roll your eyes.

"No, I mean that's what they call it. Red Dust."

"Are we going to die?" The dust is literally blood red, it just reminds you of death.

"I-I" Sam stutters shaking his head. "I don't know, I need to call someone who knows more."

"Man, I always wanted a cool death. Not death from dust!"

"We're not going to die." Sam holds your shoulders "How are you feeling?"

"Um" You think about it "Fine." You shrug.

"See, we probably didn't inhale enough, we're going to be fine." Sam pulls out his phone to make a call. You go sit in the car because you just need to relax. Thinking you're going to die is scary and somehow exhausting. Soon Sam comes in and sits in the drivers seat.

"We're going to go to the motel, just hang out until they find out more about the dust." He starts the car and drives off.

"Okay." You mumble. You bite your lip to try to keep you calm, it's not really working. The drive back to the motel isn't long but for some reason it feels like it's taking forever. Your hands start to feel clammy and shaky. You're not sure what's happening. You start to feel a deep ache in your stomach, and you're getting hot by the second. You roll down your window trying to get some air.

"How are you feeling."

"Fine, I don't know." You shake your head. "I think I just need a shower."

"Ugh! Damnit!" Sam's voice changes, it's so low. "Missed my turn." He says his knuckles are turning white on the steering wheel.

"A-are you okay?" You can feel your lip quiver and butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes. Fine." He doesn't even look at you, he's like a different person. The rest of the car ride was quiet, you accidentally let out a few whimpers because your body feels like it's on fire and everything is so sensitive at this moment. Every time Sam heard you he would breathe loudly and tighten his grip. He finally turns into the motel parking lot, you practically run into the bathroom. You quickly get undressed and get into the shower.

The water cools your skin, but you're still so hot inside. Your core is aching, you need some kind of release like asap. You hate that you have to do this but it feels like you're going to melt from the inside if you don't. You run your hand down your body to your core. Your breathing is already hitched, you bite your lip trying to keep yourself from moaning. What is happening to you? You enter two fingers inside you slowly. You let a sigh of relief, your fingers pump inside you. You let your head hit the shower wall, you open your legs more. You place one on the side of the tub you try to get deeper but you can't.

You take your fingers out and let out a frustrated groan. You feel like you're going to cry, you're in so much pain and you need something, you need someone to take care of you. You finish your shower and wrap a towel around you.

"Okay tell me." You hear Sam say. You open the door a little to listen to the conversation. "Don't fuck with me!" He yells, his voice is still so low and sounds like he's in pain too.

"I'm not!" You hear Dean on the other line. "You guys need to, uh you know."

"Dean. You're lying."

"Sam, he's not." You hear another voice. “You need to uh, well get intimate.”

"How am I supposed to explain this to her?"

"Figure it out Sammy, you're a lucky boy." Dean says hanging up the phone. Sam stands up and sees you standing there.

"Did you hear-?"

"Yes." You nod your head still just wrapped in a towel. Sam looks you up and down and licks his lips.

"So you know what we have to do?"

"Yes." You try to hide the excitement.

"Y/n." He stands back from you not moving an inch "I'm going to be really rough."

"I can take it." You say shyly.

"I don't want to hurt you." His face is dead serious, his eyes are completely black. He is overtaken with lust just like you. Your core is throbbing. You want him so bad. You swallow hard then drop your towel never breaking eye contact with him. He never breaks eye contact either but gives you a smile, a smile that makes you shake. He walks towards you, your mouth gets dry and you feel yourself getting wetter, your body heating up more than it already was. Somehow that's possible.

Sam picks you up and throws you on the bed you let out a squeal not expecting him to do that, he gives you no time to catch up with actions. He's kissing you roughly, then kissing your neck then back to your lips, his hands massage your breasts. his fingers pull and twist your nipples. You arch your back needing more.

Sam stands up taking his shirt off, he pulls you by your ankles so you're down lower on the bed, he gets on his knees. Again he's moving so fast your brain can't keep up. Sam's fingers find their way inside you. You let out a moan and a sigh of relief. His fingers are perfect way better than your own. He pumps them in you back and forth, he curls his fingers every time he's knuckle deep. His tongue licks and sucks on your clit roughly but not too rough. It feels amazing.

"Oh my god" You moan out loud, your grinding on him without even realizing, everything is so sensitive from the red dust. "Fuck." Your breathing is hitched, your panting. You feel absolutely amazing.

"Already?" Sam chuckles darkly at you. You don't care though all you want to do is cum all over him. He moves his face away and with his other hand he rubs your clit fast, you clench yourself around his fingers. You whimper, and you squeal. Finally you see stars your eyes roll in the back of your head, and your whole body tenses up and squirms. Sam doesn't let go of you though and he doesn't stop. You scream and he doesn't care, you try hard to move away but he's so much stronger than you. All this makes it even better, you cum again already.

He finally lets you go. He stands up and removes his pants along with his boxers. Your mouth drops, Sam is huge. Your core is throbbing just at the sight you can't wait for him to fuck you. You move up on the bed, he's on his knees at the bottom, he pulls you by your legs so you're in the right position. He places one of your legs on his shoulders. His hands go right on either side of your head, you're panting again. Your heart is racing just thinking of how he is going to feel. He slowly enters just his tip, the stretch makes you moan and throw your head back. He feels even better than you thought.

"Look at me." You do as he says and look into his eyes, his eyes are still so dark, he doesn't even seem like Sam anymore. The red dust definitely has taken over him. You wonder if you look the same. He pushes the rest of him inside you, he grins at the face you make. He knows he has you feeling great. He lets out a groan when he bottoms out. He sighs in relief he was waiting for that you can tell.

Sam doesn't give you any adjustment time, his thrusts are hard and quick, his one hand moves to your head, he grabs a fist full of your hair and puts your head back making your arch your back. He smirks at you like he was testing a theory and he was right about it. He lets go over your hair and moves to your neck. Your eyes widened as he pushes harder and harder against your neck. He's so deep inside you, your legs are shaking. Sam doesn't stop though, instead of his regular thrusts he does small ones so he can stay buried inside you. You try to make noise but his hand is completely stopping from doing that. You give him a worried look but he just smirks. He moves his hand letting you breathe. He lifts your other leg on his shoulder going even deeper. You hiss at the feeling.

He stays like that for a while just slowly fucking you, you start to get annoyed, you want more. More of him. "Sam, please."

"Please?" He says still smirking, He knows exactly what he's doing.

"Harder. Go harder." You say looking into his eyes, they aren't as dark as they used to be. He nods his head and flips you over. He pulls you up so your back is against his chest. He lines himself up with you and he lets you drop on to him. You scream out in pleasure, he was filling you up in a different way. You try to move up and down but Sam holds you in place, he leans you back and little and brings his hand down to your clit.

"Fuck" You say breathless, he begins rubbing and thrusting into you. Your head rests on his shoulder so he can look at you. Sam bits and kisses your ear and your neck. You hold in your moans but can't help the few squeals and whimpers that escape your lips. Sam whispers dirty things in your ear, you can't take all the pleasure it's too much. "I can't" You say but it's barely audible.

"Yes you can baby." Sam whispers "Just one more time." He kisses your cheek. You close your eyes tight, your body shakes, your head is fuzzy. "That's a good girl." He prasies. "Look at you, cumming for me. Such a good girl." You open your mouth but you can't make a sound. You cum, hard. Sam helps you through it making it last longer. When you're done he places you on the bed nicely.

"Can you get on top?" You nod your head, he lays down on the bed and you get on top of him, your legs are still shaking so bad he has to help you. You slowly sink yourself down on him. You go to move but again Sam holds you in place, he puts his knees up and pushes you down on his chest. "I always knew you'd be submissive." He whispers in your ear before pounding you. He's thought of this before? I mean you have to so many times but you never knew Sam did.

"You feel so good, you fit me perfectly." he grunts. He's close, his thrusts are sloppy and his body is tense. He holds your body down, his arms are wrapped around your back holding you where you are.

"Sam." You moan breathlessly. Sam grunts and tightens his grip. His thrusts are getting harder and faster.

"Say my name." He says

"Sam" You moan

"Louder"

"Sam!" You moan loudly as you feel him fill you up his moans and groans fill the air, you let out a few yourself. Sam lays there for a few seconds without saying a word. He moves you off of him and you whimper at the empty feeling. Sam gets up without saying a word and he goes into the bathroom to clean up. A few minutes later he comes out with a wet cloth and helps you clean up. he gives you one of his clean shirts and a pair of your pajama shorts.

"Thank you" You smile at him.

"Of course." He smiles at you, he gets back into bed only wearing boxers. You're not sure what to do, it's not like you're a couple or anything. "Oh did you want me to sleep on the couch?" He asks getting up.

"No!" You say too fast. "Uh, no you don't have to. You can sleep with me." you bite your lip he smiles at you and wraps his arm around you pulling you closer to him.

~ The next day you look up more information about the red dust while Sam sleeps. Sam definitely has seen that room before because it's the room shown in every picture when you look up the witch. You also found out that red dust only subsides if you get intimate with a person you love. That one surprised you.

"Good morning" Sam says making you jump. You slam the computer shut like you were doing something wrong.

"Hey you're awake" You say trying to act like nothing happened. "How are you feeling? Are you still-?"

"Am I still under the spell?" He laughs "No, definitely not."

"Oh" You blush. "Good." You smile at him.

"And I'm guessing you're not" He asks

"No, I'm not."

"Good to know." He smirks at you. You can feel your heart racing and creeping on your face.

"We found a cure!" Dean busts in the room.

"Dean what the hell!" Sam says shaking his head. Dean looks at the two of you and stands there awkwardly.

"Oh." He chuckles "Awkward."

#sam whinchester #sam winchester smut #superntural #supernatural smut #supernautral #supernatural imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester imagine #jared padalecki #sam winchester gif

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mhsdatgo · 4 months

Text

By the way, you can say you hate characters and STILL admit that they were abused or harassed. There's literally nothing wrong. Denying it or romanticizing it because of a strange kink of yours won't make your hate any less evident, trust me.

Rhaenyra was abused. She's continuously taken advantage of, and brushed away the moment she isn't needed anymore. And she experiences this first hand with her own father, who completely ruins motherhood for her when she grows up watching Aemma get impregnated and either miscarry or have the baby be stillborn or die in the cradle. If Viserys had been by her side as a supporter to her claim since the start, he wouldn't have gotten Aemma pregnant again and again in the pursuit of a male child. He wouldn't have married Alicent for the same reason. Even after, the only reason why he still stands by her side, and it's time the fandom accepts this, it's solely because of his grief and guilt, because Rhae is the only remnant of Aemma.

And there it starts. Firstly, groomed and left alone naked and alone by her uncle in a brothel. Secondly, slept with Criston Cole (although she did coerce him, that's still a literal TEENAGER) then she's married to a gay man and still approached super young by her new bodyguard and just one year later she's started giving birth to his children. (Side note: FUCK Rhaenyra x Harwin. FUCK with reverb. With hard K.)

And up to this point, most fan agree that she's had a shitty life, although I don't agree with some of her choices. (like her treatment of Criston Cole and the bastards, not because I'm some kind of bigot, but because passing bastards as trueborn in THAT precise world sets them up for failure, not being legally deserving of a thone DOES NOT mean me hating them. That's for another post.)

To top it all off, she meets her uncle again, and there starts the fanfic self insert. They have sex on a beach the day of Laena's funeral, the only one of the three wives he's ever been canonically loyal to (FUCK you writers) and fans think it's soulmates meeting again or sum shit. They subtly threaten Laenor to fake his death or actually die (that's what they were trying to do, cope harder) and marry mere days after the death of Laena.

Yes, all cute and romantic (for Dumbnyras twats) but literally, has it done anything good? For Rhaenyra or like, anyone else? It just brought Daemon closer to the line of succession. Literally. That's all the good it has done.

Fast forward to ep 10. How do I even start with this? Only Jace seems to be on Rhaenyra's side. It's clear he only obeys to Daemon out of fear and is scared to talk back to him. Meanwhile, he COMPLETELY disregards his wife's, and by his faction's loyalties, QUEEN's, orders, he ignores her wails of pain as she miscarries their daughter out of pure shock and grief for her father's death. He lashes out and chokes her on the same day and people still see him as the malewife to Rhaenyra's girlboss. They're always ready to do award-deserving mental gymnastic to justify this man.

"He was planning war because he wanted to distract himself!!!!" "He only choked Rhae because he was mad at Viserys, he'd never hurt her!!!!!!"

Fuck off. Coming from probably Rhaenyra's #1 hater. Fuck. Off. Don't say you care about her place in the view of men when you're ready to justify shit like this.

This is the same man who runs off and has an affair with a teenager, and then prefers going on and having a badass death instead of joining his wife and children who need him in King's Landing.

Do I like Rhaenyra? No. Do I think that, because of this, she's never been abused, or exploited in any way, in her life? ALSO no. My distaste for her character has NOTHING to do with Viserys, Criston, Daemon, Harwin or literally ANYONE ELSE in her life.

Alicent Hightower time, baby.

My mother, my aunt, my grandmother, my entire bloodline, my Roman Empire. And more. To anyone who thinks of her as nothing but a bitter/jealous girl, go read @feretrumdulcia 's post about this matter cuz there's literally no one I've seen that words it better. (And bub if you're reading, long live you and the way you think.)

https://www.tumblr.com/feretrumdulcia/720746371814195200/i-have-seen-quite-often-that-many-people-consider

Anyone who can read this and argue that Alicent is envious/jealous or bitter, honestly needs to take the heart shaped sunglasses off, get off tumblr and Ao3, learn what media literacy is and start learning how to possess a crumble of it. To us it makes sense to synpathize with both, because we've seen the big picture. To Alicent, Rhaenyra gave her virtue to the man that almost killed her brother, and chose to believe she did not out of trust and maybe nostalgia for her friendship and easier times, only to have her father be blamed and taken away from her as a result.

She has four kids in the span of, how much? Five, six years? Seven at best? Helaena and Aemond are NINE MONTHS APART. Viserys didn't even let her rest after she gave birth to her daughter. And I'm convinced 100% that he kept her as Idk some whore he didn't need to pay for because it's stated that he never wanted Aegon but the son he butchered Aemma for. Why keep on bedding her and forcing children on her when you'd never get what you want from her?

Throughout the series she's called bitter and downright a c*nt for this and that reason. She tries convincing Viserys that Rhae's children are CLEARLY bastards and she's setting herself and them up for failure by committing treason and putting them on the throne? Nah, power hungry, jealous, bitter. She marries Helaena to Aegon as a last resort because she's Valyrian and probably would've received proposals worse than the ones Rhaenyra made that would eventually convince Viserys to give her away? Hates her daughter, abuser, shitty mom. Rhae's sons slit her son's eye out instead of running when they had the chance and she rightfully lashes out? Nah, crazy ass, for the dungeons. She gives money and moon tea to her son's rape victim to ensure she gets a way out and isn't forced to have a baby she doesn't want? Bruh, rape apologist. She goes to Aegon and RIGHTFULLY disciplines him? Abuser. Forced to show her feet to a rancid filthy man to know where her son is? Upholds the patriarchy, hypocrite. She convinces Aegon to start fighting for her family because it's either them or the Blacks and he needs to start putting his life together and fight for them, so she crowns him and makes him King? Treason, deserves death, long live the brothel queens.

Somehow, it is ALWAYS HER FAULT. And those few that admit how wronged she was make fun of her.

CAN SHE FUCKING WIN?! Or y'all just hate her because she isn't Valyrian?

Btw almost all of these arguments are the same for Book!Alicent who I personally believe to be FAR MORE than just a bitter stepmom that hates her stepdaughter. She arguably has more reasons to start a coup against her in the books without that prophecy shit.

TLDR; It's OKAY to hate characters and admit they're abused and taken advantage of at the same time. You don't have a moral high-ground on no one because you hate or love a character instead of the other.

#rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #anti daemyra #anti daemon targaryen #anti daemyra stans #team green #team black #anti viserys i targaryen #anti larys strong

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stxrslut · 30 days

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hmm what about reader telling rafe she wants to break up and he chokes her? (i mean not to death lol just his hands on her neck)

ur little elaboration made me picture Rafe literally choking me to death lmao. I’d probably still say thanks tho I can’t lie 🤷‍♀️

it’s a petty argument really, all because you’d seen him dealing to another girl at the party. she had been touching his arm, and twirling her hair and biting her lip and Rafe wasn’t telling her to fuck off.

that’s how you ended up here, marching down the hallway to your bedroom, with Rafe on your tail. you let out an annoyed shout as you turn around, stomping your kitten heels dangerously. “stop following me!”

“no!” he matches your tone, stopping in his tracks as you do. most people would at least be a little bit scared, seeing his tall figure towering over them like this. but not you, you had argued time and time again with Rafe, and you know he’ll never hurt you.

“no?” you scoff, “seriously?”

“yes seriously! I didn’t do shit! I don’t know why you’re in this- this hissy fit over nothing!” he yells, moving his hands in every which way to emphasise his words.

“ugh!” you stomp your foot again “you know what Rafe? you know what? since- since you wanna go and just- let other girls flirt with you like that then- then I’m breaking up with you!” you shout the last part, voice breaking ever so slightly, because you know you don’t even want what you’re saying.

you’re just about to turn around when you feel his hands grip your waist. you yelp, trying to squirm away from him as he manhandles you against the wall, pinning you there.

“you wanna be a little priss ‘n act like I’m tryna make other girls mine?” he laughs sarkily, tonguing at his cheek “nah. nah.”

before you can register what happens, his hand is coming up to wrap around your neck, restricting your breath. you let out a small whimper, gripping and pulling at his wrist to try to get him off you.

“you want me to show you who’s mine? huh? I’ll fuckin’ show you.” he pushes you up so that your legs can wrap around his waist, his hand still pushing on your airway.

“gonna fuck that little cunt so good you’ll know exactly who’s mine.”

#anon #lily writes 🌷#tw choking #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #outer banks smut #outer banks

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nrdmssgs · 10 months

Note

Hello id like to humbly request a scenario with König where y/n previously went MIA, and is assumed dead. König is sent on a hostage rescue mission and when he gets there finds out not only is she alive, but she’s one of the hostages he’s there to rescue 🩷 i ADORE your writing!

Masterlist

Angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: König x afab reader

TW: Mention of alcohol, several mentions of grief and depression, mentions of injuries, mention of human trafficking, swearing.

Authors note: I've tried to keep all the disturbing stuff very mild, but I can't help but see, as the readers` alleged death would absolutely crush König. Sorry for taking so long. I love this request so much, I can't stop thanking you, dear anon. Love you! This is actually kinda songfic, so if anybody needs music for this one: here you are.

Scarlet shell

“König, listen to me! Please! There is no body! There is nothing, we could possibly miss here!” His squad mate is trying to catch up with König, but it's impossible: he moves forward, maneuvering, between cargo transports at incredible speed.

How many times did he search for you past days? More precisely, how many dozens of times?

He searched every centimeter of the perimeter where you worked, checked literally everywhere.

He did not take breaks for food or sleep. His team gradually lost strength, but he did not give up: he continued to circle around the place where the explosion thundered on that fateful night.

Koenig could not bring himself to stop and admit the obvious: if you were at the epicenter at the time of the explosion, only a damp shadow on the ground and a couple of scraps of clothing could remain from your body.

You don't need to talk if you don't feel like it, my love. Please never feel sorry for staying silent around me. Never beat up yourself. We all are born different, we walk different paths: your journey has made you waste most of the words we could have shared very early. It sometimes happens so, I know. The truth is that you don't have to put into words what you feel when you are next to me: I see it all in your eyes. You have reached such perfection in these silent speeches that I am ready to sit and listen to you endlessly. Even if "listening" means just looking into your eyes.

At first, he can't make himself come into your room. He comes to the door, holds out his hand and, after standing there for a while, turns around.

He needs to collect your belongings, make room for a new resident. But König can't gather enough strength.

When he finally forces himself into your room, a deafening silence engulfs him: your voice no longer here, your laughter, even your breathing is no longer heard.

König starts to collect your things, putting them carefully in a cardboard box: clothes, equipment, books, small utensils. All this absorbed your smell, your warmth. Every single item seems to burn his fingers.

He doesn't know how long it takes before he gives up: it hurts so much, he feels the pain on a physical level.

Your shirt falls on the edge of the box. He brushes his fingers against your blanket and pillow. König kneels, then curls up right on the floor, ignoring the dust.

“Meine… meine…*” He can't even say your name - it gets stuck right in his throat, choking him. He never had enough words, when you were around, and he hates himself for that. But now, he loses even your name.

Sometimes I just think about words. Yesterday I looked at you and thought of the beautiful word you taught me: “die Hingabe” or "devotion". What is it in essence? Persistence and immutability in ones feelings, right? I was bored, so I googled this word. The search engine told me that it has approximately 195 million pages in its database that mention this word. Things were better with the word "honor" - almost 2 billion pages. With "love" - 11 billion pages. So love is 56 times more popular than devotion... Although it is clear that only a deeply devoted person can truly love, right?

Sometimes he hates it: his devotion to you does not weaken with time. A few years pass, and he learns to live in constant pain. Learns to wake up every morning, knowing well, he won't see your face. Grows accustomed to all-consuming silence and cold around him.

But what drives him to the limit is a constant urge to finish yet another mission, just to come back to the base, bury his face in your shirt and disappear completely in a slumber without thoughts.

Nothing helps: alcohol tastes like water, training doesn't leave him breathless and too weak to even think of you, no matter how hard he tries.

At some point, he even finds himself talking to another woman. She even takes his number, and sometimes they exchange warm and kind messages. He answers her automatically.

Returning from their third meeting (he cant even call it a date), he realizes with horror that he does not remember her face.

There are no faces left in his life, except for one - that which he can neither see nor touch anymore. Your face.

My love, I see the scars, your traumas left on your body and in your mind. I know, it hurts. Every time, I ask you about them - I mean no further harm. You don't have to tell unless you are not ready. But I want you to see, that all those things didn't break you: you have not become the monster, you are scared of. There is still so much love, so much light in your hands. I want you to know, that the only reason, I'm asking you about your past traumas is that I want to fight them for you, to help you to heal. I'll fight for that love and light, you bear. Not to get them from you, never. But only for you to feel it all inside your heart.

König doesn't notice anything different. He just needed a new veil and didn't have any old black tshirts on hands.

So first he puts on a dark scarlet veil. It is still convenient. Then his old gloves are torn and he orders new ones... To match the color of the top.

It's just some gear, it doesn't affect anything. But rumors are spreading around the base.

"He's off the chain."

"Did you see what he did to the hostiles on the last mission?"

"That animal is unleashed."

"We no longer have König - there is only the bloody beast under that veil"

"I'm terrified by those red clothes whenever they flash somewhere on the battlefield. Fucking omen."

König ignores the whispers. He doesn't care. Is he more productive now? Well, maybe it's for better.

I keep writing you these silly letters, but I will never send them. I don't want to embarrass you with my chatter. I'll stack them in my drawer: letter after letter, confession after confession. I told you the most important words a long time ago, but all this ... I don't want to think about the circumstances under which you could find these letters and read them. But if something does happen, remember: I am yours, from head to toe, completely yours. Even if I'm not next to you now - my body, my mind and my heart - yours. Love you.

His commanders tend not to send him on missions where he would have to interact with civilians. His approach to combat really becomes so brutal that bystanders and hostages run the risk of getting too severe moral trauma.

But when it comes to cleaning up an entire village, where people from all over the world are brought for human trafficking, they simply have no choice. They need the best of the best soldiers, and König tops the list.

And he justifies the title of the best: he sweeps through the village like a tornado, cleaning one room after another.

König is somehow merciful enough to rip the padlocks off the doors where the hostages were being held, make sure there are only civilians in the room, and move on to the next door and the next building.

He unleashes a wave of fury on his enemies, alternating quick kills with slow and painful ones. None of his team dares to speak to him.

When they report to him that the last building is cleared, and they can move back, he turns around with a predatory look.

The building where he stopped is immersed in silence. One of his people says something, but König only raises his finger to his lips and gestures that he is going to check the second floor.

He doesn't hear anything suspicious, doesn't see anything... But some inhuman instinct tells him that he's not alone here.

König tries to step quietly, but the old withered boards crackle treacherously under his feet.

He walks up to the back room on the second floor and pushes the door open. He remembers very well how he himself knocked out the lock some 15 minutes ago, but there was no one in the room ...

This time he comes in and takes a closer look. His eyes linger on the pile of dusty rags, carpets and gutted cushions on the floor.

It appears suspicious. He slowly approaches, pulls out a knife, and throws back several pillows at once.

What he sees makes him freeze in horror. Your face... He saw your face - emaciated, covered with cuts and bruises of all colors. You covered your mouth in horror with your hand, the faded skin tight around every bone, every joint. It seemed that even your eyes had lost almost all color: two dark gray abysses stared back at Koenig in fear of death.

You looked more like your own ghost, but that didn't matter. He very carefully lowered the knife to the ground.

"It's me." König unbuttoned his helmet and removed it and his veil. "It's me..."

You didn't answer. Only large tears glistened in the corners of your eyes.

“Meine Liebe*, it`s me.” He kept whispering, hoping to calm you down, while removing layer after layer of rags and pillows, covering your body.

He throws away tactical gloves and carefully inspects you to understand, if youre injured. His body trembles, his voice fails him and König proceeds to the only way, he can convince you, that you are safe at last: he takes you in his hands, carefully cradles your fragile body and presses kisses against tear stains on your cheeks.

When his team finds him slowly rocking you in his hands, they step back, giving you two some privacy.

But they notice the bloody-red veil and gloves, laying on the floor as a cracked, broken and finally not needed shell.

*Meine - my *Meine Liebe - my love

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cryptid-intraining · 2 years

Text

More Jason Todd Headcanons:

He refuses to take opiod painkillers no matter how bad he is hurting because he is terrified of getting an addiction like his mother.

To this day, Jason is the only one Alfred allows to help in the kitchen.

He never takes elevators. Self explanatory.

The other Bats have seen and heard him have nightmares before and they always assumed they were all about the Joker or maybe the League until one night when Jason ended up crashing at the Manor, Dick and Tim find him crying from the couch in his sleep and he calls out Bruce's name, begging and pleading until he wakes with a choked scream with a hand pressed tightly to the scar at his throat. They never ask but after that point both Dick and Tim struggle to look at Bruce in the eyes.

Related to that, Jason never told anyone about how Bruce cut his throat with a batarang because he always assumed none of them would believe him, that they'd just accuse him of lying.

Damian once threatened him with a crowbar and Dick had to physically restrain Jason from going after the small child with his knives. Dick had a serious talk with Damian after about not trying to re-traumatised your brothers just because they're retelling embarrassing baby stories your mother told them.

Edit because I'm bad at wording things and I've stopped caring about pissing Batman fanboys off: Jason is absolutely one of the best, if not the most formidable fighter in the Batfam. He has trained with Bruce since he was a kid, then the League, and was the only human to train with and survive the All Caste. He is fucking scary. But more than his physical prowess is his ability to get into people's heads, he studies people's flaws and weakness and uses that against them. He isn't just a great fighter, he's a intelligent fighter. One of his listed strengths on his Wiki page is literally 'tactican'.

His style of detective work isn't like Bruce's or Dick's. He grew up in Crime Alley, surrounded by crime since he was a kid, he understands how it works and how to use it to his advantage and he has resources and connections that none of the others have. He's less about the forensics and science and more about the people. What makes them tick and how he can use that to get what he needs.

Related to that, he also is insanely stubborn. He has grit, sure, but he is also afraid. He isn't afraid of death but he is so fucking scared of the possibility that if he dies again he might come back. In his words "the worse part of about his death was that it wasn't permanent." As such he will go further than most to prevent it from happening again. Even if that means enduring the worst pain imaginable because still to this day the thing that haunts him most, more than the warehouse and crowbar and Joker, was waking up in that coffin and realising no one was coming for him. That he was alone.

He hoarded food when he was first adopted by Bruce. And slept with a chair jammed under the handle of his door.

It took months for Jason to let Bruce or Alfred touch him as a kid. His only male authority figure had been Willis and it had instilled a strong distrust of older men in him.

Him and Stephanie both volunteer at shelters and food banks in their free time. Steph once invited Cass because she wanted her to see that Jason was more than just a killer.

Tim still flinches from him when he gets too close and it breaks Jason's heart a little. He's hurt people but it has always been him in control, his decision. The Pit Madness took that away from him, or at least it twisted his betrayal and hurt into rage and he still hasn't quite figured out how to apologize for that.

#batfam #jason todd #red hood #batfamily #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #cassandra cain #damian wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #batfam shenanigans #batfam headcanons #incorrect batfamily quotes #incorrect quotes #jason todd headcanon #headcanon #jason todd angst

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weebsinstash · 4 months

Text

Ok! OK! Back to normal posts! Or at least normal for over here!

So I've been getting a lot of Hazbin and Helluva content in my YouTube feed recently and, as an interesting but also kind of disappointing fact, the way a Sinner dies directly influences how they appear in Hell. If you drown on a sinking ship like Baxter (scrapped side character who still has an enamel pin for some reason?), you might have an aquatic fishy look. Angel Dust died of a drug overdose, and he now has a prominent heart on his chest symbolizing the heart attack he died from

So, like. Obviously there are cool ideas on how maybe you could catch attention or appear down there, but, could you imagine how fucked you would be with like literally any yandere HH/HB character if you go down there very obviously dead from suicide. Platonic, romantic, sexual, it doesn't matter. You can't keep that shit secret

Charlie meets you and you're like a zebra with horizontal stripes and she thinks you just look so neat and interesting, and wow you're so sweet amd fun actually, what are you doing down here? And then she sees you have stripes going vertically down one or both of your forearms and she suddenly feels a little hope die inside of her because, what does it MEAN for someone like you to be in HELL for... suicide? That's not your fault! That's so sad! She would vow to be your new best friend and do her best to give you an amazing afterlife to make up for all the time you didn't get to have "up top"

Angel accidentally walks in on you changing and sees you have a heart on your chest and is in instant sibling mode because he knows the second Val sees that he'll go crazy for it since he loves that aesthetic (Also extra bad luck if you're chesty and the heart is like in between your boobs or like you know nestled in your cleavage or whatever because then you're getting forced into constant push-up bras) but, also, if you were an addict, that means you're vulnerable. For Val, that makes you a target, and for Angel that means you're probably miserable and spiraling like him and he doesn't want to see you go down the same roads he has

Alastor who meets a version of you that has a certain old timey kinda twang or is kinda theatrical and showtuney in your voice/mannerisms and maybe you glow a little and it's because you put your radio in the bathtub 💀 definitely don't let your extra special "platonic friend" find out you killed yourself from crippling loneliness, partially caused by not having a partner!

Valentino who sees you're literally blue-faced with a certain pattern around your neck and instantly knowing that this interesting little cutie he's curious about is an emotionally vulnerable mark. It won't be TOO hard to pour drinks down your throat and maybe lend you some of this joint until you're spilling all your intimate secrets, he figures

Blitz already has multiple instances of family trauma and feeling rejected and isolated, so how do you think he's gonna empathize if you're some.... yellow skinned aquatic demon who literally drank like a fish and died of liver failure/alcohol poisoning. The imp watching you get piss drunk all over again and bawling how you're a failure and no one will love you? You're crashing on his couch tonight cuz he doesn't wanna leave you alone. And also the next night. And the next. And the next.

Stolas certainly would be awfully sympathetic to a teen or adult child abused by their family and ending their life because of it, coming down to Hell with spots like a dalmatian or leopard from where you were beaten, and bright red on one specific patch of your hair from where you hit the ground after jumping from a great height

Annnnnnnd as a bonus, Asmodeus and a Darling with visible handprints on their neck who was choked to death during sex, so not only is he horribly protective of you as someone killed by a lover, the act of even being lovers something he considers pretty intimate and important, but also because you've now got these horrible sex related traumas and.... honey baby cutiepie, he's gotta fix all that if the two of you are gonna bone down something nasty. You're at least gonna let him cuddle, right 🥺

#yandere x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere helluva boss #sinprompts

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mrsnancywheeler · 3 months

Note

Time for smutty angst! (I have so much anxiety I’m so sorry if I’m bothering you)

‼️CW FOR LIKE HEAVEY DEGRADING AND JUST LIKE HUNGER GAMES ESC STUFF???

Don’t imagine the way Finnicks heart breaks as he’s forced to degrade, to hit, to choke, to pull his sweet girl while all the elite are watching. Don’t imagine all the things he’s forced to say…

“Fucking slut, you like being watched huh? Say hi to all the nice men…”

“Such a crybaby. Cryin’ cause it feels too good, yeah? Being fucked to tears”

“I’ll just leave you here, let these nice men take you. Bet you’d enjoy that, dirty bitch”

“needy whore, can’t get enough cock?”

A part of him breaks at every word. After each session he holds her, whispering praises, trying to undo all his words.

“I love you, Angle. You’re so beautiful…”

“Come here, it’s okay to cry…I’m here…shhh….”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Tomorrow we can stay in bed all day, how does that sound? My sweet girl…”

Yet as much as he tries the words leave imprints on his soul. He can’t decide which is worse though, his hateful words or the way he’s forced to hit, punch, choke, abuse her. Anytime he looks over and sees a bruise, a scratch, a bite, a slash, anything done without the care she deserved he feels like he’s dying inside.

He remembers when he was forced to choke her, the next day he saw bruises on her neck in the shape of his hand. That damn near broke him.

-🌾anon

you're not bothering me at all, i literally get so excited when I see you in my ask box. I love answering all of these and talking about all the nuances of their relationship and the story

but I feel like finnick would spend every moment being so soft and delicate to make up for all of it, like saying she's his pretty girl and doing everything for her, he feels like he needs to endlessly make up for it because of all the terrible things they make him say

"being so loud, what a pathetic whore"

"crying like that just makes me want see more tears"

"don't try and hide you moans, everybody already knows your a needy slut, don't play innocent now"

how's he supposed to say that and know you're gonna lay on the bed wordlessly for at least an hour, staring at the ceiling, after it's all done? how could anyone expect him to say things like that to the sweet girl he moved heaven and hell for so she could stay alive?

when he's being told to choke harder and there's the outprints of his fingerprints on your neck or when he obeyed you and hit harder, leaving nasty bruises on your face, how was he supposed to live with himself? he wondered what the people in the district thought with no idea of what the Capitol was really like and no makeup artists to keep the bruises covered, they probably thought he was the devil incarnate. he probably deserved that, it's how he felt when he had to lay his hands on you like that.

even if you tell him constantly that it's not his fault, that you don't blame him it still makes him hate himself for going along with it. he wants death to embrace him when you lay there after and be softly tries to coax you enough so you'll let him clean you up. because you could spend hours staring at the wall and then there's only a slim amount of time before the mask is back on again. before his sweet girl is once again pretending everything is just fine, trying to protect him.

"it's okay, sweet girl, everyone's gone now. just you and me."

"I didn't mean any of it, you're so perfect, angel, I'm so sorry."

"I love you so much, angel, do you want to take a bath?"

"I can make you tea, sweet girl, and rest your favorite book to you, but you gotta get up. let me take care of you."

his words are so soft and whispered as he gently plays with your hair as if it will make up for all the harsh pulls. it's never less then half an hour, usually an hour, sometimes more of soft coaxing while your fade back into the real world. then he can take care of you

never for long though until you're starting to gain consciousness once again, the mask of bravery sliding back into place

"Finn, don't feel guilty, I know it's not your fault. Could never blame you."

"it'll go away, not as bad as last time."

"do you wanna go sailing when we get back home, take your mind off things?"

and your voice is quaint enough that he knows it's because you feel like it's a necessity to take care of him over yourself, who's still not ready. he knows you'd much rather recover by spending a day with him holding you in bed, but you'll refuse to let him unless you break. unless he softly reminds you that you're allowed too, makes you confront your unsteadiness until you're bawling. and he just wants to protect you because he feels like he's failed at it again and again.

but yeah I'm literally crying rn, this hurts

and disclaimer, I'm not in any way trying to romanticize this issue, I'm exploring the trauma of two fictional characters, my interpretation of finnick based off my series and his sweet girl, who's a character I created. It's fiction, it honestly helps me world build to think of all the small pieces not explicitly mentioned. if it's not for you, just scroll, I don't need to know about it, thank you.

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x y/n #the lakes #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #the river #🌾 anon

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kowaiitenshii · 1 year

Text

[Sunkiller Lullaby]

Pairing: Darth Vader x Reader

Plot Summary: A slave girl given to The Empire as a token of loyalty, known as the Flower of Beauty on your long since destroyed homeplanet, you’re nearly sent back to be executed before Darth Vader deems you worthy of saving. What will happen as you form a new life as the personal servant to a Sith Lord?

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Murder. Mentions of death. Corruption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Reader is a former slave. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of mistreatment. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns & descriptions used. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 4.1k

A/N: Here it is! My first time writing anything Star Wars related, but most certainly not the last :) I’ve thought about this for a long time, but some things may still seem OOC so I’m sorry for that! Otherwise, please enjoy!

(p.s. I highly recommend you give a listen to the song that gave this fic its title, Sun Killer by Spiritbox!)

Part I:

The trembling sound of chains dragging across slick tiled flooring wakes you as two Stormtroopers led by an Imperial Commander haul you carelessly through the corridors of what you assume to be an Imperial ship.

The air is cold on your bare skin, and the harsh grip of the Stormtroopers on your arms feels enough to be bruising.

Blinking blearily through the shroud of unconsciousness, there is a palpable darkness hanging in the very air around you, as if it had been waiting for you, billowing over you and filling your lungs like smoke.

The Stormtroopers drag your limp body into a huge open room in the core of the ship with high rounded ceilings and walls, all white, controls blinking throughout the room in greens and reds.

You don’t even have time to take in your surroundings and think before the Commander and Troopers stop abruptly, the Commander taking a step to the left side, revealing what they’ve brought you here for.

That’s when you finally see the presence that you’ve sensed since you awoke.

The imminent Sith Lord Darth Vader stands before the lot of you, his aura pulsing and filling the room, making the very air thick. His helmet has an appropriately severe expression to it and his cape billows around him as he turns.

The commander and troopers stand straight as pins, their nerves radiating off of them. You feel as if you could be sick.

“What is the meaning of this, Commander?” the Sith Lord demands, his booming voice breaking through the oppressive silence.

Despite your intense fear of the outcome, you stand straight within the confines of the grip the troopers have on you. You hold your head high, despite the icy dread that washes over you in waves. Your years as a slave had taught you well, and you dared not show fear in the face of those who would subdue you.

The Commander swallows, putting on his best little soldier facade as he speaks before his master.

“A gift from the Hutts, Lord Vader.” the man speaks with enthusiastic trepidation. “They wish to show their loyalty to the Empire. They called her ‘The Flower’ of her home planet, for her beauty.” he babbles as he informs his master.

You subtly roll your eyes at the way the Commander sounds exactly like a used parts salesman.

Darth Vader stares at you for a prolonged moment, and you hate the way that you cannot tell where he’s looking. You stare back at him despite the sinking in your stomach, refusing to look away, to submit.

The rule of those in power was that of animals, those who submit die.

You knew that well.

“Send her back.” The Sith Lord commands plainly, and your heart drops.

Your ears ring as you hear the commander stumbling.

“S-Sir, I’m afraid we can’t simply ‘send her back’, she was a gift, and she-she, um.” he pauses to take in a shaky breath. “Her planet was destroyed long ago my Lord, if we send her back, she will be dishonoured and they’ll just kill-”

You jump slightly as the commander is suddenly cut off, literally choking on his words. Vader clenches his fist in front of him tightly as he chokes the man using an unseen force.

“Then perhaps you should have considered this sooner, Commander.” Vader spits.

The commander is rooted in his spot, turning purple and clawing at his throat.

Vader looks again to you, glued to the spot, pale as a ghost and trembling, and you can feel him creeping through the very life force within your body, tickling under your skin and flowing through your blood stream.

“Take her away.” The Sith Lord commands the troopers with a flick of his wrist.

The troopers drag you away, the sickening sound of the commander’s neck snapping echoing behind you as a tear slides down your cheek.

However, to your surprise, the troopers don’t lead you to a ship, or a pod, or containment. Instead, they unceremoniously dump you into a large and lavishly furnished Imperial suite, the door sliding shut behind them.

You spend a moment there on the carpet, wiping your tears and trying to calm your fear of the uncertainty before really taking a moment to look at your surroundings.

Still sniffling, you pull yourself together and get to your feet. You’re in a large room, darkly-coloured with ambient lighting throughout. The magnificent bed with silken, plush sheets of crimson is the centrepiece of the room.

To the right side of the bed there is a large window in the room, spanning the length of nearly the entire wall adorned with tasselled curtains.

Adjacent to the front of the bed is an entrance to a large washroom, equipped with both a soaking tub and a walk-in glass shower.

You’re shocked as you marvel at the luxuries at your disposal, revelling in the abundance of the suite. It’s like nowhere you’ve ever had the chance to inhabit before.

You waste no time in taking a lengthy bath, filling the tub with the salts and oils provided. The hot water does you well, soothing your aching muscles and your anxious soul. You can’t even remember how long it had been since you soaked, often being doused by cold water by your captors or simply being forced to bathe in streams.

You shudder at the memories.

You then dress yourself in the thick robes provided in your closet, and bask in the newfound comfort.

Nobody bothers you for the remainder of the evening, left with nothing but your thoughts and the passing stars beyond the window. You solemnly ponder your fate, curious of Lord Vader’s intentions.

You knew very well that he easily could have disposed of you the moment he laid eyes on you, which leaves you with a horrifying question.

Why keep you?

If he was keeping you, that is. You knew your life was not entirely guaranteed, but then why would Vader waste his time in keeping you for a night?

This is what scares you.

Never finding an answer that satisfies you, you lay in the satin sheets with the unnerving feeling that somebody is watching, creeping just out of the edges of your mind; close enough to feel them, too far to see.

In the meantime, Darth Vader sits in contemplation in the privacy of his chambers. Taking you in is undoubtedly an inconvenience, and he would have to think long and hard to find an explanation worthy of the Emperor.

However, for reasons he did not fully understand… he could not deny you. He had no doubt of your status as the Flower, the beauty of your homeworld, that was evident. What intrigued him however, was your signature in the force. He could feel your presence so acutely, piercing through him like the ringing of bells.

He had no doubt you were sensitive to it.

If this were to be true, you could indeed be quite useful to both he and the Emperor, given the implication that he could break you to the dark side.

He could feel your resentment, your anger, your lust for power; no doubt instilled in you by your years spent in torment.

So it was decided.

He would accept you, house you, mold you. And then he would break you.

Turning away from his window with purpose, he leaves to find a Commander to send a message.

As you drift into sleep, you feel the dark presence again, tickling at the corners of your mind, creeping at the corners and crawling on the ceilings.

You try your best to shove it away, but it’s stronger, more steadfast than you are.

Unable to push the dark presence away, you relent, pulling your blankets tighter around yourself and trying to ignore the uneasiness.

Eventually, you fall into fitful sleep, your mind full of dreams. For the most part they are very average dreams. Dreams of living an ordinary life, doing ordinary things. That is, except for the fleeting shadow that looms over your shoulders, or the piercing eyes you catch glimpses of in the darkness.

The next morning you’re left to sleep as long as you please, waking up on your own agenda for the first time in countless years. Dragging yourself out of bed, your body still tired from dreaming the entire night through, you rise and dress yourself in darkly-coloured robes and underdresses. As you brush out your hair, anxiety begins seeping back in. You still had no clue as to why you were kept alive, or if your life was even safe to begin with. No idea what would be done with you, and no way of escape.

After you’ve finished grooming, you’re greeted by a friendly droid sent to bring you breakfast. You eat well, offered a spread of toasted breads, honeyed butters, jams, and all manners of fruits and meat.

The droid speaks up once you’ve finished, chirping news at you.

“Lord Vader has requested your presence once you’re adequately satisfied, madam.” it announces cheerfully.

Your stomach drops at the thought, moving from comfortably satisfied to anxiously nauseous in a matter of moments.

Swallowing thickly, you part your lips to question the droid.

“Did…Did he mention why?” you curse yourself for faltering.

“No ma’am.” the droid answers to your dismay. “Lord Vader is exceedingly private in his affairs. I am afraid I am merely a messenger.”

Feeling yourself go pale, you nod slowly in response.

“I shall meet with him as soon as possible.” You concede, your voice barely higher than a whisper.

The droid throws its hands up joyfully, exclaiming its reply.

“Splendid! Lord Vader would like you to meet him in his private quarters, I shall inform him of your arrival!” The droid declares before abruptly leaving the suite.

Left with your thoughts, your mind wanders in circles. You wonder about the Sith Lord’s intentions, about what he will do with you. About if the treatment you’ve been receiving was just a penance paid for your impending death. You wonder about your fate, if this was meant to be your last meal.

For a short while you’re sick with worry. That is, until you remember your years spent under slavery. Those years in which you would have begged for the release of death; Those years in which you made peace with the quiet solace of oblivion.

It is when you remind yourself of this truth that you finally gather yourself from the table.

This is an opportunity, you tell yourself, and you dare not waste it.

After a short while, the droid returns to fetch you. As you traverse the sleek hallways with the silent droid, your ice cold nerves sink in. Your stomach twists in knots, becoming nauseous once again on your luxuriant breakfast.

The droid's artificial voice cuts sharply through the tense silence.

“I notice you’ve become pale, and your heart rate is increasing. These are common symptoms of anxiety.” the droid states in a cheerful tone. You chuckle slightly at the droid’s matter-of-factness.

“Yes,” you laugh. “I must be honest, I am a little nervous to meet with Lord Vader.” you give the droid the understatement of the century, and saying it outloud only makes the knot in your gut tie tighter.

“Not to worry!” the droid chirps “If Lord Vader meant to kill you, he would not go to the trouble of speaking with you first!” the droid attempts to reassure you. It does little to make you feel any better, your blood running cold from the words.

You spend the rest of the walk in silence, steeling your nerves. The droid stops abruptly at a large doorway, entering a combination into the keypad on the wall and stepping to the side as the door slides open.

“Here we are!” the droid chimes. “Lord Vader awaits you.”

The droid bows to you, and you nod your thanks to it before stepping into the doorway, the door sliding shut behind you.

Before you even step out of the entryway, you can hear the unnerving sound of the Sith Lord’s mechanical breathing just beyond, sending chills down your spine.

The room is large and open, covered in control panels and other strange technology save for the wall length window. You take a deep breath as you spot Vader by the expansive window, his back turned to you. The sight of him alone, broad back turned to you, dressed in his all-black suit and floor-length cape instils terror in you.

Here you were, alone in a room with the most powerful and most dangerous man in the whole galaxy.

Despite yourself and the urge to run screaming within, you pull it together and begin your approach. Holding your head high, you come to stand at the window next to the Sith Lord.

“Lord Vader,” you begin calmly before bowing “You sent for me?” you ask, hands shaking.

Finally, he turns to his left to regard you. The lights of the stars and the Imperial fleet beyond the window reflect off of his permanently scowling helmet, the unmoving coldness of its expression doing nothing to calm your nerves. The only thing that grounds you in this moment is the sound of the slow, deep breaths he takes.

“Yes.” Lord Vader affirms sternly. “I’d like to make you an offer.”

He catches you off guard with this, and you falter in reply.

“A-An offer?” you curse yourself again for stuttering, praying to the maker and straightening up as he turns fully to face you.

It’s only then that you notice how tall he truly is, having to crane your neck to look him in the face as he looms over you, heat rising to your cheeks purely from nerves.

“Yes,” he states plainly. “I would like you to become my sole personal servant.”

His words fall upon you with the weight of a thousand stones, your knees beginning to shake from the implication alone, threatening to crumble beneath the weight.

Never in a million years would you have believed what the Sith Lord just suggested, and yet there he was suggesting it.

At the same time, a flame begins to spark in your chest, ignited by hope. Your years as a slave taught you better than to refuse a good offer when you got one.

“As you wish, My Lord.” you accept loud and clear, bowing your head to him in respect, and gratitude. The part of you that is fully entrenched in servitude and the woes of it can’t help but become a bit excited at the promise of security as his personal attendant, while the side of you that remembers freedom feels a measure of guilt for relenting so quickly.

Still, your life was more important than the guilt you felt for agreeing to serve him. Anyone in your shoes would do the same, you were sure of it.

He hums in satisfaction at your response, nodding.

“Very well then. Starting tomorrow, you will serve me, and me alone.” he commands firmly. You only nod, looking up at him and listening attentively as he continues.

“You are to be at my disposal at all hours, save for when I command you to leave.” He states. While the idea pierces you with dread, you nod your compliance all the same.

“You will come when I call, whenever I call.” He iterates, a drop of venom in his tone. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” you affirm as calmly as you can.

“In return, no expense will be spared in caring for your needs.” he replies.

You can’t help the warmth that grows within you at the idea. In all your years of servitude, never had anyone given a single thought toward your treatment. Feeling overwhelmed, your breath catches in your throat.

It feels too good to be true.

Here you were, thinking the droid was delivering you to your demise, when really you were receiving an opportunity countless others would kill to have. The opportunity for long lost comfort, the opportunity for power.

You say nothing in response, smirking and nodding like a simpleton. As he notices your enthusiasm, Lord Vader’s tone turns harsh.

“But do not forget, girl,” he hisses. “I own you.”

Feeling yourself go pale, you swallow thickly, looking away as a wave of dread and shame washes over you.

“If you betray the faith I am putting in you, if you disobey The Empire…” he emphasises darkly, before pausing. Although you’re unable to read his expression, you’re sure he’s staring straight through you. His gaze burns you like fire, and you can feel fear gripping your heart.

“I will not hesitate in cutting you down.” he growls, and you can sense his stone-cold sincerity. You’re frozen with fear, feeling absolutely foolish for being remotely celebratory, even if only internally.

Blood running cold, shivers down your spine, you default to what you learned in your time as a slave.

Without thinking, acting completely on something akin to muscle memory, you drop to your knees. Steadying yourself with your hands, you press your forehead to the toe of Lord Vader’s boot.

For slaves, this is an ultimate display of respect and compliance to their masters.

“Yes, Lord Vader.” you affirm, strong and clear. Vader seems slightly taken aback, stepping back and leaving your forehead to hit the cold tile flooring. Your cheeks go hot as you rise, hoping he understood the gesture as you stand sheepishly before him.

“Very well.” he speaks again after you stand. “Starting tomorrow, you will act as my personal attendant. You may go. Rest.” He commands, turning away from you once more, his attention going back to the galaxy outside the expansive window.

Overwhelmed and in a daze, you turn to leave in what feels like slow motion.

The trip from Vader’s personal quarters back to your suite passes you by in technicolor. Bidding you a polite goodbye, the droid leaves you to your privacy.

Shell-shocked tears slide silently down your cheeks as you plop onto the bed. The gamble of putting your life in Vader’s hands did not seem like a winning one, but you had no choice. The feeling is gut-wrenching, and tears flow freely now.

You just felt so god-damned confused, it was making you sick. The last 24 hours hardly seemed real at all. It was useless to wonder ‘why me’ because you knew the answer would not come, but that didn’t stop it from running through your mind on repeat. You once again mourn the life you lived as a free person, the old wounds bleeding once again.

Your life was not extravagant by any means, living as a local farm hand, but it was simple. It was simple, and it was easy, and it was peaceful.

On your home planet, you were known by the locals and travellers as the ‘Flower’ of your city for your beauty, kindness, and good grace. These traits along with the rumours about them were the sole reason you had not been on-planet when it was destroyed.

While your home was under siege, you were stolen and trafficked into slavery for your proposed “worth” to slave traders.

The years after that, you lived as a ghost in a life that was not yours.

And now here you were, selling your soul. A better person, a stronger person, would have chosen death over serving the Empire.

But years of torture had twisted your spirit, broken you. No longer were you that kind and graceful girl from the village everyone had known and loved. Years of torment molded you into something fearful, something hurt and covetous. And you hated yourself for it, though you had no power to change it. The part of you that now craved power, craved vengeance on those who had destroyed you is unchangeable.

Many years you had spent yearning to torment those who had stolen you, who had taken everything from you. Many nights had you spent dreaming of all the ways you would destroy them given the chance.

And now here it was, a chance dropped into your very lap. The chance to get close to the face of the Empire. Not only that, but Lord Vader himself guaranteed your safety. There were not many more of those who would be as trustworthy in that guarantee. After all, he was the strongest man in the galaxy.

Sniffling, you begin to wipe your tears. You had already agreed with Darth Vader, there was no point in tears now anyway.

If you were to do this, and you were, you were going to do it well.

Rising from your place on the bed, you finish wiping your tears and begin preparing for the days ahead of you.

That night is again filled with dreams.

You find yourself on a lush windswept hillside bordering the sea, the air fresh and salty as it blows through your hair and across your face. Blissfully you stroll along the cliffside, breathing in the fresh air. As you walk, you begin to see a cloaked figure in the distance.

Really, you sense him before you see him. His energy mirrors that of the sea below, mesmerising, tumultuous, and full of depth. You’re drawn to him, slowly making your way to the place at the edge of the cliff where he stands.

The sunset melting in hues of pink and orange highlights his figure against the horizon, and when you reach him he turns to face you.

You’re struck by his beauty, as if he had stepped out of a painting from the old Republic. His jawline is strong, his lips are plump, and he has a heavy brow with sandy coloured curls of shoulder-length hair framing his features. Yet the most striking thing about him is his eyes. They are the very same piercing, fiery eyes that had haunted you the night prior, framed by long cherubic lashes.

But in this moment, you felt no fear. In fact, you were serenely calm, sensing no malice or ill-intent of the man before you. He too, was very tall as you stood in front of him, having to look up to look him in the eye.

You both stand there for a long moment, looking at each other, taking each other in and feeling each other’s energies. You can see the compassion and empathy he has for you in his eyes as well as sense it radiating warmly off of him, as if he knows your life, as if he had lived it too.

All this, and you had never seen him before in your life. And yet somehow, it felt completely normal. As if you had known him forever, and you were just now remembering.

After a long while he opens his arm to you, beckoning you to join him. You follow without a second thought, coming to his left side and allowing him to drape his arm over you and pull you close as you both watch the sunset. His cloak drapes over your shoulders as he holds you, warmth falling comfortably over you with it. He smells deeply of leather, of musk and of burnt wood, and you breathe him in deeply. He gazes at the sea as you rest your head on his chest, in ecstasy purely from the simple act of human contact. It has been years since you’ve experienced the simple pleasures of being close to someone, and you savour every single moment. The tips of his fingers ghost over your left arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His arm comes up and he idly brushes his fingers through the soft locks of your hair as you listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

Being held by him felt like home.

As you both watch the cerulean waves crashing against the shore below, he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head and your eyes flutter shut.

Credz:

Lightsaber graphic credit: @saradika

#darth vader x reader #darth vader x f!reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x f!reader #darth vader x you #darth vader x y/n #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #darth vader imagine #darth vader x female reader #my writing #sunkiller lullaby

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5starluvr · 1 month

Text

Start a riot

Paring:Lee Felix × Reader

Genre:pure Angst

Warnings:Kidnappingish?, abduction, death,blood,arguing, mentioned injuries

Wc: 4.5k

Spider Kids

The fire escape clanged with a metallic shriek as Felix, his mask half-shredded, tumbled onto Y/N's fire escape once again. Groaning, he peeled himself off the cold metal, wincing as a throbbing pain shot through his shoulder. Another night, another scrape with a supervillain with an even dumber name – tonight it was the Mime Master, and let's just say Felix was feeling less than amused.

He barely had time to knock before the door swung open, revealing Y/N in a rumpled t-shirt and sleep pants, her hair a wild halo around her face. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, then narrowed in a way that sent a familiar shiver down his spine. It wasn't just concern this time, it was simmering anger.

"Felix? What happened this time?" she demanded, her voice tight. "Uh, hey," he mumbled, offering a weak wave that felt more like a defeated smile. "Just, you know, the usual. Took a tumble down a fire escape... literally."

Y/N's jaw clenched. "Literally every night, Felix? This isn't funny! You come waltzing in here looking like you lost a fight with a runaway blender, expecting me to fix you up like some glorified trauma center, and then you just disappear back into the night!".Felix felt a prickle of irritation crawl up his spine. "Look, I can take care of myself, Y/N," he said defensively, the familiar spark of annoyance erupting in his chest. "It's not like I'm asking you to play damsel in distress every other night."he says his voice rising. "You show up here half-dead, expecting me to patch you up and coddle you, and then you just vanish without a word! You could at least try to be a little more considerate of the people who care about you!"

His irritation flared into a full-blown argument. "Considerate? You think I do this for fun? You think I enjoy getting beat up by every clown with a death wish? There are things you don't understand, Y/N!"

"Maybe not," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "but that doesn't mean I can't worry, Felix! You're my best friend, and frankly, it hurts seeing you like this all the time. It makes me feel helpless!"The words struck a raw nerve. Helpless? Was that what she thought of him? Anger, hot and sharp, twisted in his gut. "Maybe you should feel helpless," he spat, the words sharper than he intended. "Because that's all you can do – feel helpless – while I'm out there actually doing something!"

The accusation felt like a punch to the gut. He did care. Maybe more than he cared to admit. But how could he explain? How could he tell her his secret, the burden he carried, the reason he was constantly teetering on the edge?

"There are things you don't understand," he said finally, his voice strained.

"Maybe not," Y/N said , her arms crossed tightly. "But that doesn't mean I can't worry, Felix. You're my best friend. And frankly, it's getting a little old! It's like you have this whole other life you won't let me in on, a life that gets you hurt all the time!"

He felt a surge of anger, hot and unwelcome. "This isn't about some other life," he snapped. "This is about me protecting people! People like you!"

The words came out harsher than he intended, but the frustration of the secret, the fear of losing her, it all boiled over. Y/N flinched, her eyes widening in hurt.

"So you think I can't take care of myself?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Shame washed over him, cold and suffocating. He hadn't meant it that way. But the damage was done.

"Look," he started, his voice softer now, but the anger still lingered. "I appreciate you patching me up, but maybe it's time I found somewhere else to do it. Somewhere they won't judge me for doing what I have to do."The words hung heavy in the air, a bitter truth wrapped in a barbed insult. Y/N's lips turned white, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Fine," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "Go then." The words hung heavy in the air, the hurt flickering in Y/N's eyes a punch to his gut. But the anger wouldn't subside. He stormed past her, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that echoed the hollowness in his chest.

He didn't look back as he swung through the moonlit city, the echo of his own cruel words ringing in his ears. He'd crossed a line, he knew that. But the anger wouldn't dissipate. Maybe she was right. Maybe keeping his secret wasn't just protecting her, it was a betrayal. But the thought of her knowing, of seeing him as anything less than... well, anything less than what, he didn't know – was terrifying.

•~~~~~~•

The shrill ring of his alarm clock was a foreign sound, a jarring intrusion into the tense silence of Felix's apartment. He stared at the ceiling, the events of the previous night replaying on a loop in his mind. The anger, the argument, the cruel words that hung heavy in the air – all fueled by a desperate need to protect his secret and a simmering fear of losing Y/N. He winced, the throbbing pain in his shoulder a unwelcome reminder of his nighttime activities. School. The thought of facing Y/N after their fight, the weight of unspoken apologies and unspoken truths, filled him with dread. He fumbled for his phone, the glowing screen displaying an ungodly early hour. Skipping wasn't his usual way to go , but the idea of facing her scrutiny, the possibility of her pity, was unbearable. With a sigh, he sent a quick text to his best friend – a lame excuse about a appointment.

The day stretched before him, empty and purposeless. He tried to focus on homework, on video games, on anything to distract himself, but Y/N's face kept flashing in his mind, the hurt in her eyes a constant accusation.

He replayed the argument, his anger morphing into a gnawing guilt. He'd lashed out, using her concern as a weapon. The truth was, he did care about what she thought. Maybe more than he cared to admit. The city outside his window pulsed with life, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. He was Spider-Man, the city's protector, but right now, he felt powerless, adrift in a sea of his own mistakes.

As the day wore on, the silence in his apartment became deafening. He missed Y/N's usual teasing texts, her goofy voicemails. He missed the easy camaraderie they shared, the unspoken bond that transcended friendship.

The guilt deepened. He knew he had to apologize, to bridge the gap he'd created. But the words wouldn't come. How could he explain his life and feelings without pushing her further away?

•~~~~~~•

The shrill ring of the first-period bell sliced through the nervous tension that had coiled in Y/N's stomach all morning. She shuffled into English class, eyes instinctively scanning the room for Felix's usual messy mop of hair and lopsided grin. But the seat beside her remained stubbornly empty.

A hollow ache settled in her chest. Skipping school wasn't like Felix. He was more likely to show up with a concussion and a lame excuse than miss a single class. Their fight replayed in her mind, his harsh words echoing in the sterile classroom. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was being helpless. Maybe...But the thought of him out there, injured and alone, chasing down supervillains while she sat safely in class, made her stomach churn. She chewed on her lip, her gaze flitting across the room again. Maybe he overslept. Maybe his dentist appointment ran late. Maybe...

The teacher droned on about Shakespearean sonnets, but Y/N's focus remained laser-sharp on the empty chair. Throughout the day, the same pattern repeated. History, Math, Chemistry – Felix's absence loomed like a thundercloud. She stole glances at his usual lunch spot, her heart sinking further with every unanswered text.By the final bell, a knot of worry had tightened in her gut. She couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong. Ignoring the curious stares of her classmates, she bolted towards the library, the only place Felix sometimes snuck off to for a stolen nap between classes.

He wasn't there.

Disappointment pricked at her eyes. She sank into a chair, burying her face in her hands. Had their fight been that bad? Did he really think so little of her concern? A hot tear squeezed out, tracing a path down her cheek.

Suddenly, the library door creaked open. Y/N looked up, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. But it was just Sarah, their chatty classmate, with a pile of books teetering precariously in her arms.

"Hey, have you seen Felix?" Y/N blurted out, wiping at her tear with the back of her hand.Chan frowned. "No, I haven't. Isn't he feeling well? He skipped class today."

Y/N's heart sank. Skipped class. Not just missed it. A cold dread washed over her. Her anger at him was quickly fading, replaced by a gnawing fear that she couldn't quite place. Felix might be secretive, he might be reckless, but he wouldn't just disappear. He wouldn't leave her hanging, not after something like last night.

•~~~~~~•

The droning of Mrs. Rodriguez's lecture on Victorian literature was a dull thrum against Y/N's growing unease. Felix's empty chair was a constant reminder of their fight, his harsh words echoing in the sterile classroom. She chewed on her lip, her gaze flitting between the empty seat and the clock, willing it to move faster. Maybe he overslept. Maybe—

Suddenly, a thunderous boom rattled the windows, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Y/N. The fluorescent lights flickered and died, plunging the room into an unsettling darkness. Screams erupted from the hallway, a cacophony of terror that sent chills down Y/N's spine.

Panic flared in her chest. This wasn't a prank, this was something worse. Her eyes darted to the window, a flicker of movement catching her attention. A figure, silhouetted against the twilight sky, scaled the side of the school building with unnatural agility.

A cold dread gripped her. Supervillains. It was something they only ever joked about, a distant threat from the city news. But here it was, unfolding before her very eyes.

Mrs. Rodriguez scrambled to her feet, her voice trembling as she ushered the students towards the back of the classroom. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. She needed to get out of there, but her gaze couldn't tear away from the window. Felix. Where was Felix?

Then, a horrifying realization slammed into her. Felix wasn't here because he was out there. He was probably facing that monstrous figure, risking his life while she sat huddled in a darkened classroom.

Guilt clawed at her. Her anger seemed trivial now, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. She couldn't just hide. Not when Felix, the reckless, infuriating, yet undeniably brave Felix, was out there facing danger. As the screams continued to echo in the hallway, panic had jammed the hallways into a human bottleneck. Students were shoved, whimpering, towards a single, creaking fire escape while a distorted voice boomed through the loudspeaker system. "Attention, students! This is The Showman! Consider this a pop quiz! Your survival depends on entertaining me!"

Y/N pushed through the crowd, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to get out, to run. But the image of the figure outside her window, silhouetted against the twilight, propelled her forward. Felix. She reached the end of the hallway just as the fire escape door slammed shut, leaving a desperate throng wailing behind her. Disappointment clawed at her, but then a new sound pierced the chaos – the unmistakable crackle of electricity followed by a maniacal cackle.

Emerging from the shadows with a flourish, a man clad in a purple leotard and a top hat that sparked erratically, was The Showman. Bolts of electricity danced around his fingers, casting an eerie glow on his twisted grin. Flanking him were two hulking figures, their faces obscured by metal helmets and glowing red eyes.

„Ah, a volunteer!" The Showman's voice contorted into a parody of a game show host. "Let's see what you're made of, little contestant!".Before Y/N could react, the two figures lunged. One grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip, the metal glinting coldly under the flickering lights. The other clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her scream. The air crackled with electricity as The Showman unleashed a wicked smile.

"Let the games begin!" His voice echoed down the empty hallway, a cruel promise of what was to come. Y/N's eyes darted around, searching for a way out, for any sign of Felix. But all she saw was the terrifying glint of the red eyes as the villains dragged her deeper into the darkness, the echo of Felix's name a silent plea on her lips. Panic clawed at Y/N's throat. The villains, hulking brutes nicknamed "Watt" and "Bolt" according to their glowing red eyes, dragged her through a labyrinth of darkened hallways. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, each beat punctuated by the distant screams of her classmates.

Tears pricked at her eyes, blurring her vision. This was a nightmare, a twisted game show come to life. But through the haze of fear, a sliver of determination flared. Felix. He might be out there, trying to stop this madness, and she couldn't just be a helpless victim.

As they passed a cracked window, she caught a glimpse of the night sky. It was enough. With a surge of adrenaline, she twisted her body, landing a sharp elbow into Watt's metallic stomach. He grunted in surprise, momentarily loosening his grip.

Y/N lunged forward, aiming for a fire extinguisher hanging on the nearby wall. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal, sending a surge of hope. But before she could pull it free, Bolt's hand clamped down on her wrist, his grip like a vise.

"Trying to be a little hero, huh?" he sneered, his voice distorted by the helmet.

Y/N gritted her teeth, channeling her fear into anger. "Where are you taking me? What's The Showman planning?"

Bolt chuckled, a sound like gravel scraping against metal. "The Showman wants to put on a little show, of course! And you, my dear, are the main act."

His words sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. The fire escape door slammed shut at the back of her mind. There was no escape. Her only hope was Felix, or maybe some miracle she couldn't even imagine.

Suddenly, a loud clang echoed down the hallway, followed by a booming voice. "Looking for a volunteer, Showman? Seems you already found one!"

Y/N's head snapped towards the sound. Standing at the end of the hallway, bathed in the moonlight streaming through a broken window, was Spider-Man. Felix . A jolt of relief washed over her, so strong it almost made her knees buckle.

"Well, well," The Showman cackled, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Looks like we have a challenger! Let the games truly begin!"

Watt and Bolt exchanged a look, then lunged at Felix . The hallway erupted into chaos. Y/N watched, wide-eyed, as Felix dodged their attacks with incredible agility, his movements a blur of red and blue.

He wasn't just dodging, he was fighting back. Each web-shot found its mark, momentarily restraining the hulking villains. But The Showman wasn't idle. He unleashed a volley of crackling electricity, forcing Spider-Man to take cover behind a metal locker.

"Impressive reflexes, bug boy," The Showman taunted. "But let's see how you handle a real challenge!"

He raised a hand, directing a concentrated blast of electricity towards Y/N. Fear turned to icy dread in her stomach. But before the attack could connect, a figure swung in front of her, a red and blue shield deflecting the energy blast.

"Don't worry, Y/N," Felix said, his voice distorted by the mask. "I've got you."

He looked at her for a fleeting moment, his eyes filled with a concern that made her heart skip a beat. Then, with a burst of speed, he launched himself back into the fray.

Y/N knew she had to do something. These villains were formidable, but they didn't seem to be expecting a civilian to fight back. As The Showman unleashed another blast of electricity, aiming for Spider-Man's blind spot, she saw her chance.

With a surge of adrenaline, she lunged for the fire extinguisher that hung tantalizingly close. This time, her fingers grasped the cold metal. Wrenching it free from the wall, she aimed it at The Showman, spraying him with a thick plume of white foam.

The effect was instantaneous. The Showman shrieked with fury, his electrical aura sputtering and dying. Watt and Bolt, momentarily disoriented, stumbled back, their attacks faltering.

Spider-Man used the distraction to his advantage. He webbed up Watt and Bolt in a matter of seconds, their struggles quickly turning into muffled thumps.

The Showman, blinded and disarmed, stood fuming in the middle of the hallway, a comical picture of thwarted villainy. Spider-Man stood over him, his voice a low growl.

"Seems like the show's over, Showman," he said. "Time for you to take a little vacation."

Y/N watched, her body trembling with the aftereffects of fear and adrenaline. As Spider-Man secured the villains. But before Felix could cuff him, a surge of raw desperation flickered in the villain's eyes. With a final, desperate growl, he channeled all his remaining energy into a single, concentrated blast.

The electric current ripped through the air, a blinding white streak aimed directly at Spider-Man. Y/N screamed, a primal cry of terror that echoed through the devastated hallway. Time seemed to slow down, the image of the crackling energy etching itself onto her memory.

Just as the blast connected, Felix threw himself in front of Y/N, his body acting as a shield. The electricity surged through him, a sickening crackle that resonated in the deathly silence that followed.

He crumpled to the ground, a shudder wracking his body. The mask, usually a symbol of invincibility, seemed to dim in the aftermath. A pool of red blossomed on his chest, staining the blue of his suit.

Y/N's scream died in her throat, replaced by a suffocating gasp. Felix. It was Felix under that mask. Fear morphed into a cold, sharp terror that clawed at her insides.

"Felix!" she cried, scrambling towards him. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her own arm, she reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the unresponsive form.

The Showman, momentarily stunned by the unexpected turn of events, cackled with glee. "Looks like the hero couldn't quite save the day, could he?"

His words were drowned out by the roar in Y/N's ears. Felix, the reckless, infuriating, yet undeniably brave Felix, laying hurt before her. The anger from their fight was a distant memory now, replaced by a desperate need to fix this, to somehow make everything okay.

Ignoring the Showman's deranged laughter and the buzzing in her own head, Y/N ripped off her jacket, pressing the makeshift bandage against Felix's wound. Her gaze darted around, searching for anything, anything she could use to help.

Then, her eyes landed on the discarded fire extinguisher. Grabbing it, she aimed the nozzle at The Showman, a fierce glint in her eyes. "The game's not over yet," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Y/N's voice echoed in the devastated hallway, a stark contrast to the ragged breaths escaping Felix's lips. The blast had ripped through his suit, leaving a jagged tear that revealed a sickening red beneath. Panic clawed at her throat, threatening to choke her. This wasn't a scrape, this was serious.

Ignoring the Showman's renewed cackling about a "worthy opponent," Y/N's mind raced. She couldn't fight, she wasn't Spider-Man. But that didn't mean she was useless.

Her gaze fell on the fire extinguisher, a forgotten weapon in her shaking hand. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be the hero, saving the day with a wisecrack. She shouldn't be the one wielding a weapon, desperation fueling her movements.

With a growl that surprised even herself, Y/N aimed the extinguisher at the canister of compressed air strapped to The Showman's back. It was a desperate gamble, a rage fueled by a raw need to protect Felix.

As if sensing her intent, The Showman lunged, a surge of electricity crackling around him. But Y/N squeezed the trigger, a deafening hiss filling the air as the compressed air canister erupted. A blinding flash followed, a shockwave that sent them both flying.

The world spun for Y/N. When she finally blinked the spots away, The Showman was gone, nothing but a ringing silence and the acrid scent of burnt metal remaining. Her makeshift bandage was soaked red, a horrifying reflection of the crimson staining Felix's chest.

He wasn't moving. A choked sob escaped her lips as she scrambled closer, fear battling with a newfound determination. There was a hole, a gaping wound on his abdomen, the metallic glint of something embedded within it.

"Felix," she whispered, her voice thick with terror. "Don't you dare leave me... Please, Felix!"

Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. She knew first aid wouldn't be enough. He needed a hospital, a real doctor. But how? How could she get him out of here without anyone seeing his... his secret identity.

Panic threatened to consume her, but a flicker of movement in his chest sparked a sliver of hope. He was alive, barely. Y/N knew she had to act fast. With a deep breath, she ripped strips of fabric from her remaining clothes, applying pressure to the wound.

Then, looking around the deserted hallway, a desperate plan formed in her mind. It was risky, maybe even reckless, but it was the only chance she had. She needed to get him out of here, and fast.

Reaching into her pocket, she fumbled for her phone. With trembling hands, she dialed a number she hadn't used in years – the abandoned fire escape at the back of her apartment building, their secret haven from childhood. It was crazy, but it was the one place she knew no one would find them.

"Felix," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "Hold on. Please, just hold on a little longer."

The words hung heavy in the air, the weight of her secret, his injury, and the fear of losing him pressing down on her.

The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of burnt metal. Y/N's frantic pleas echoed off the shattered lockers, bouncing back unanswered. Felix laying crumpled in her arms, his once vibrant costume now a gruesome tapestry of dark red. Each shallow breath he took was a ragged gasp, a desperate fight against the tide pulling him under.

Panic gnawed at Y/N's insides, a ravenous beast threatening to consume her whole. This couldn't be happening. Felix, was reckless yea, but undeniably brave Felix, who filled her days with exasperation and her nights with secret dreams, was bleeding out in her arms.

"Don't you dare..." She choked on the words, tears blurring her vision into a kaleidoscope of red and blue. "There's... there's so much I need to tell you..."

A weak cough racked his body, his eyes fluttering open with agonizing slowness. They were clouded with pain, but a spark of recognition flickered within them. Recognition, and something else – a raw vulnerability that ripped through Y/N like a thousand paper cuts.

"Y/N..." His voice was a rasp, barely audible above the ringing in her ears.

"I'm here,Felix.It's going to be ok" she gasped, her hand clutching his desperately, her fear threatening to tear her apart.

"The fight... I messed up..." His words were slow, each one a struggle against the pain that clawed at him from within. "I should've been more careful..."

She shook her head, tears tracing a path through the soot and grime clinging to her face. "No, you were saving me... saving everyone..."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips, a bittersweet echo of his usual mischievous grin. It was a smile that held a universe of unspoken emotions, apologies clinging to the edges like cobwebs. But it was his next words that shattered the fragile dam holding back her emotions, a revelation that slammed into her like a speeding train.

"I... I wasn't just saving everyone," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I was saving you..."

His confession hung heavy in the air, a weight of unspoken affection pressing down on them. A sob escaped YN's lips, a torrent of grief and a sudden, overwhelming realization. The anger, the frustration, all of it paled in comparison to the love she felt for this reckless, brave boy who carried the weight of the city on his shoulders.

"Felix," she choked out, her voice thick with tears. "I..."

But the words died on her lips. He squeezed her hand ever so slightly, a faint pressure that spoke volumes of the pain he was enduring.

"It's okay," he rasped, his eyes fluttering closed. "You don't... have to say anything..."

A choked sob escaped her. It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. The pressure in his hand slackened, his grip turning cold and lifeless. The red on his chest had spread, a gruesome stain mocking the warmth she felt for him.

"No... please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Don't leave me... Felix... I..."

The words never came out. He was gone. The boy who drove her crazy, the boy who kept her safe, the boy she'd come to love more than she could ever express, was gone. And with him, the truth remained unspoken, a heavy burden laid to rest with him.

Y/N cradled his head in her lap, the tears flowing freely now, a silent tribute to the boy who was her best friend, her hero, and the one love she'd never get to confess. As the distant sirens wailed in the distance, a hollow echo of help that came far too late, Y/N knew this wasn't just a night the city lost a hero. It was the night she lost a part of herself, a part buried in the secret resting place of a boy named Felix, and a superhero named Spider-Man.

The weight of his body grew heavier in her arms, a physical manifestation of the emptiness that bloomed in her chest. In the flickering streetlight, she saw a single red and blue web clinging to his chest, a stark reminder of the double life he'd led, a life he'd kept hidden from her, but a life that had ultimately taken him away.

She closed her eyes, her body wracked with sobs. The echo of his final words, a confession of love laced with regret, reverberated in her mind. She'd never get to tell him how she felt, never get to see his face light up with that goofy grin when he realized she felt the same.

Red means i can’t tag you.Taglist:open

Taglist: @juskz @blackhairandbangs @sxnset-angel @emossssss @hanjsquokka @feelikecinderella @starlostastronaut @kpopsstuffs @lixxpix @jinnie-ret @bangchans-angel @puppyminnnie @michelle4eve @kpopsstuffs

#Spotify #stray kids #skz x reader #skz imagine #skz scenarios #lee felix #stray kids x reader #lee felix imagines #lee felix x reader #stray kids felix #felix x reader #skz felix #skz fanfic #skz angst #straykids angst #Angst #•~SPIDER KIDS~•

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beanghostprincess · 5 months

Note

I really loved your hc about Sanji meeting Yassop and Usopp meeting Zeff and I start to think about like-

What about this with Zosan, Lusan and Lawsan?? This will be SO funny and perfect-

Just hear me: (and yes, this will be with our queen Trans!Fem Sanji)

Mihawk and Zoro going to a dinner with Sanji and Zeff because both want to know their child partner

Shanks going to Baratie 'cause Luffy insisted, and Sanji going too just to say a 'hello!' to her father and properly give the notice she's dating her captain (Luffy forgot to tell this to Shanks and he just discover he was knowing the father of his son's girlfriend when they already are in Baratie)

Law going because Sanji wanted him to know Zeff, and even hating to interact too much, he acepts because he knows how much this mean to her

And like, how you think they will react about the thing of Zeff eating his own FUCKING leg??

Okay, this is really funny- The chaos. Just imagine the chaos. Gonna try to put my thoughts into words (<- Literally a fucking writer. I'm just tired today don't blame me).

Please assume the OP world here is exactly the same but Mihawk and Shanks actually raised Zoro and Luffy. Somehow. Don't ask me how. They see them as their fathers. Zeff and Sanji's story is still the same because they're canonically family lmao. And also Transfem!Sanji as you said btw bc I love my princess.

─┉┈◈Zosan◈┈┉

The thing about Mihawk and Zoro going to a dinner with them is that Zoro and Sanji would try to behave but they would end up arguing in front of them anyway because that's just how they are and Mihawk and Zeff would end up talking alone about them tbh. Zeff offers Mihawk one of his best wines and Mihawk is- Well, you already know how Mihawk is. Their conversation is pretty polite but they keep drinking while the other two are in the background fighting for some meaningless bullshit like: "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET HERE FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO, STUPID MOSSHEAD" / "OKAY SO IT'S MY FAULT THAT THE SEA IS VERY ROUGH TODAY AND THE SHIP ALMOST SINKS" / "LIAR!! I'M SURE YOU JUST GOT LOST".

And it's uhhh chaotic. But there's passion and Sanji is mad because she cares about him meeting Zeff and Zoro is frustrated but actually trying to calm down. Zeff and Mihawk are very fond of tough love and passionate couples so these two fighting just means they have strong feelings for each other. However, they end up making up and sitting down with their fathers while they tell anecdotes and try to get to know each other better. Mihawk and Zeff are intimidating af and I'm like 100% sure that Zoro would be scared of Zeff at some point bc he would look at him with that look of "If you hurt my daughter I'm killing you" and Zoro is, for once in his life, scared of a cook. Then that silly topic of "Oh, yes, I ate my own leg to save this little shit of a daughter from starving to death" comes up.

Zoro almost chokes on his food and Mihawk stares at Zeff for a while, looks down at his leg, squints his eyes at him and says: It certainly is a really admirable doing. And just out of mere curiosity, was it good-

Zeff: A little bit of seasoning and less pain would've helped

Sanji: DAD, WHAT THE FUCK

Zoro: Curly, you didn't tell me your dad was cool

Sanji: OH, YES, EXCUSE ME MOSSHEAD FOR NOT TELLING EVERYONE ABOUT MY DAD EATING HIS OWN FUCKING LEG

Mihawk: I say admirable doing because you just met her, right? I would not have done something like this for this bastard right here

Zoro: Thanks, dad

Mihawk: You're welcome I let you and Princess stay with me, don't push it

Sanji: Who's Princess?

Zoro: My sister

Sanji: YOU HAVE A SISTER?

Mihawk: Zoro, you didn't tell your girlfriend about Perona?

Zoro: I forgot

Sanji: I'm going to murder you

And basically, long story short, the night ends pretty well to Sanji's surprise. Mihawk is very nice and polite to her even if he looks pretty dark and edgy, and Sanji can't believe that man raised an idiot like her boyfriend. Then we have Zeff, who shakes Zoro's hand so hard it hurts and whispers in his ear all the atrocities he would do to him if he hurt his precious princess. Things that won't happen, of course. That's why that 'would' is there. But still, he tells him anyway. Just in case.

─┉┈◈Lusan◈┈┉

When Luffy tells Shanks to go to the Baratie together, he doesn't hesitate to say yes because who would refuse to go there? What kind of pirate would he be? Sanji is already there because she decided to go a bit earlier, so Shanks instantly assumes he's just going to have lunch with his son in a very nice place and see Zeff again after a long time. When they get to the Baratie and see that Sanji is there too, Shanks assumes Sanji just stopped by too. A coincidence. He already knows that's Zeff's daughter, btw.

But then Luffy does that thing he always does, running towards someone he loves and hugging them tightly with his legs wrapped around them. And Shanks is just like "Oh, well, that's his usual behavior and he's just greeting his cook" but then they kiss and it's uh, confusing. So Shanks asks what's going on and Sanji is all like "Please, don't tell me you didn't mention this to Shanks" and Luffy just shrugs, turns around, and says "Dad, I'm dating Sanji!" then looks at his cook again smiling and Sanji sighs: "And you obviously didn't tell him this was supposed to be a thing so our dads could talk-"

Shanks: Fuck, am I meeting your dad now? Like, actually meeting him as your boyfriend's dad? That's not- Hey, Anchor, you did not mention this.

Luffy: I'm sorry! But Zeff is reaaaaally amazing!

Shanks: I am well aware that he's amazing but you need to warn me first about this stuff.

Luffy: What? It's just dad stuff-

Shanks: I AM NOT GOOD AT DAD STUFF

Then Zeff appears and Shanks tries to act like a normal father for once (he can't. He fails. It doesn't work) and they actually end up having a pretty calm and fun dinner once he relaxes, remembering that Zeff has always been cool. Luffy is extremely clingy with Sanji, a thing that Shanks already knew but never guessed it was because of them dating. And now that he sees it from a different perspective, it is clear that they're in love, even if Sanji won't stop trying to push the kid away because he's obsessed with sitting close to her and eating food from her hands and things like that. Little shit has a more stable love life than him. That's depressing.

Their laughter and joyful voices fill the whole empty restaurant and Shanks and Zeff are already a bit drunk while Sanji is dragged by Luffy to sit on his lap. And it would be embarrassing but it's not like their dads are looking at them, too caught up in their own anecdotes and stories.

Then Shanks asks how Zeff met Sanji because he knows that's not his biological daughter. He remembers Zeff telling him about his little princess years ago when Sanji was still at the Baratie and Shanks stopped by to eat with his crew. And of course, Zeff explains what happened. Their shared dream and everything. Luffy isn't really listening because he already knows the story and is too focused on his girlfriend right now. Zeff tells them about the leg thing, and Shanks starts laughing so, so fucking loud and hysterically:

Shanks: I DID THAT TOO

Zeff: You did what, too?

Shanks: Don't you notice something missing? Perhaps on the left side of my torso? There hanging? Well- Nothing hanging, actually

Zeff: You did not-

Shanks: I did not, but I lost this useless thingy saving this bastard right here

Sanji: You said you're not good at dad stuff but that's a pretty dad thing to do, huh?

Shanks: I guess so, yeah. We have more things than I thought in common, Red Leg!

Luffy: Except for cooking. Your cooking is awful.

Shanks: My cooking is amazing, Anchor, thank you very much.

Luffy: THAT'S NOT TRUE! YOU ONLY HEATED UP WHAT MAKINO MADE FOR ME

Shanks: But I did a good job!

Anyway, they surprisingly have a very nice and warm meal together without Shanks or Luffy being as chaotic as Sanji thought they'd be. When they're heading out, Zeff just pats Luffy on the shoulder and tells him to take care of his princess and appreciate her food or else he'll make him clean the dishes again but this time for years, quite literally speaking. Shanks sees the couple holding hands when they get out of the restaurant, the redhead staying behind for a second to speak to Zeff. But Shanks is already at that point of drunkness where he starts having a breakdown and he's like "Why does my kid have a girlfriend and my husband left me?????? This is so unfair. They love each other so much, Red Leg, look at them!!!!!!!" and Zeff is like "They're young and stupid too, but they'll grow up. You still haven't. Please get out of my restaurant before you make my onions cry."

─┉┈◈Lawsan◈┈┉

Law doesn't want to meet Zeff, that much is clear. He is not good at meeting new people and even less meeting father figures because God knows he doesn't have a good memory of how his relationship with his dad ended (Rip Cora-san, we miss you). But he goes anyway because Sanji keeps insisting and saying that it's important to her, and of course, Law can't say no to her. Well, actually Sanji just tells him that if he comes with her to the Baratie, she'll wear the Soba-Mask suit (Stealth Black or whatever, Sanji refuses to say those words so-) again for him some time and Law accepts almost instantly. Fucking simp.

So they go to the Baratie and Law is dressed in a white shirt and actual, proper, and almost elegant clothes because Bepo said he needed to do it in order to give a good impression, and Law, deep down, just wants Sanji to be happy. And if getting along with her dad will do it, having to deal with this torture for a few hours is worth it.

Sanji keeps telling him not to worry about Zeff because, even if it's a big step in their relationship, her dad is just a bit scary but a good guy, after all. He will like Law once he knows how much he cares about her too! But Law isn't worried about that, he just fucking sucks at social interactions. Free the introvert from having to socialize, please, he just wants to stay with his girlfriend alone and cuddle and infodump about silly little things and comics. This is highly bad for his mental health (getting out and talking to people).

But, well, turns out Zeff is actually a great guy. Even though at first he looks at his daughter intensely and says: "Why the ex shichibukai of all people? This guy looks depressed too. Have you eaten, kid? You look like a starving man. He looks like a starving man, sweetheart. You're not dating an emo bastard who does not eat" and ends up having an argument with Sanji... He's fun to be around, once he settles for feeding Law everything he can cook. And Law isn't complaining but decides not to mention how much he hates bread because he feels that sentence will end up with him dead on the floor.

However, Sanji is the one mentioning that after a while of seeing Law forcing himself to eat bread, rolling her eyes and taking it from his hands to eat it herself. And Zeff is just like "You should've said so earlier, son! Just eat whatever you like. I feed people for them to enjoy the food, goddamnit!" and Law can only nod and keep eating.

And they actually end up getting along when they start talking more and more. Law starts actually laughing and smiling a little bit and Zeff pats him in the back from time to time whenever he mentions stuff he has done with his powers. Zeff just finds that hilarious. And Sanji is happy they're getting along, but extremely embarrassed when Zeff starts talking about her childhood (Law is enjoying every second of this). Then the topic of how Zeff met Sanji is brought up, and Sanji doesn't really want Law to hear it because she didn't tell him about the leg thing. And when he finds out, he's just...

Law: You didn't tell me your dad did that for you

Sanji: It's not something I like to explain, y'know? I kind of feel guilty to this day

Zeff: You're such a cry baby, Eggplant. I already told her countless times I chose to do that and it ended up saving us both! What's the problem?

Sanji: Shut up, old man, you don't get it!

Law: I do get it. The- Uh- Feeling guilty about your dad sacrificing himself. Without Cora-san... I wouldn't be here.

Zeff: Well, kid, I don't know what your father did, but be grateful instead of feeling guilty. I'm sure he's a nice man if he raised somebody who loves my girl this much.

Law: He was a good man, yes. The best. And- I- I do love her. A lot.

Sanji has a moment where she almost cries, but she doesn't!! (She does. She goes to the bathroom and cries).

When they have to go back to the ship, Zeff stops Law and says:

Zeff: You might need to eat more, that much is clear, kid. But you take care of her and that's good enough for me.

Law: Thank yo-

Zeff: But you also strike me as someone who would die for her and even though I do appreciate the effort because I would do the same, don't die on her, got it? And eat more. Eat what she makes, actually. And you also should check if you're celiac.

Law: I'm a doctor. I know I'm not-

Zeff: Then stop bitching around and eat bread like a man, for fuck's sake.

And, you know, Zeff might be a bit intimidating but he is, after all, a good man just like Cora was.

#this was really fun to write #they all love sanji #i love sanji too #and also they're so iwenfjksndf #the lawsan one ended up being kind of sad #but y'know the other two are funny #one piece #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #trafalgar d water law #red haired shanks #dracule mihawk #red leg zeff #zosan #lusan #lawsan #that lil bit hint of shuggy bc i can't control myself

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muzansfangs · 7 months

Note

I just read your "Accidentally sees you naked" fic

AJD EJDNEMRRJBRBRHEBE

IM FROTHING LITERALLY--- 😭❤️❤️

I WAS BLUSHING SO HARD WHILE READING URAHARA, AIZEN AND JUGRAM'S JDBEUBEJE! 🙈🙈

There are hardly any fics about Haschwalth anywhere 😭

If you get time van you write something similar with Haschwalth but both of them receiving the "nice treatment" ya'know (⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

Forbidden attraction.

Starring: Haschwalth Jugram x f!reader; Giselle and Candice;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, slight alteration of canon events, dom!Haschwalth, sub!reader, oral sex (f!reader receiving), oral sex (Haschwalth receiving), vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, language, kidnapping, biting, mention of murderous intents, verbal abuse, threats;

Plot: while you were a mere human without any valuable ability, you were Ichigo Kurosaki’s adoptive sister. That alone was enough for Yhwach to kidnap you and confine you into a cell in his luxurious palace. Everyone loathed you and that was the main reason why you rarely left your room. That and the fact that you would have rather been alone than spending your time with the people who were trying to kill your friends and family. However, one of the them, the one no one dared to cross, had always protected you from the sharp tongues of his colleagues. He was cold, distant, impeccable, deadly, not bothered by human emotions. But you, you literally drove him nuts.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

One month. You started to wonder if your friends had forgotten about you in the chaos of the war. You were almost getting used to the white walls of your new bedroom. Everything radiated a creepy purity that made your stomach clench in disgust. You loathed the grey and white walls, just like you wanted to rip to shreds the snow-white blankets of the king sized bed you slept in every single night, since they had thrown you in that majestic chamber. They did not call it a prison and, actually, it really was not a cell. But your heart felt like you were trapped into one.

The inhabitants of that dull fortress despised you. You could see the way they looked at you, when you were forced to leave your room. You knew they would have loved to tear you apart, scattering your limbs around for your friends to collect. You were a useless human being, after all. They did not get why Yhwach had ordered them to kidnap you. He could have just asked them to kill you right on the spot, leaving you to die an agonizing death and drown in a pool of your own blood.

Yet, there you were. You had a comfortable bedroom, a private space and you were even granted the chance to have all the drinks and food you craved, along with fresh clothes and blankets.

You were sitting on the windowsill, a book in your hand, as you tried to keep your mind focused on something else than the army of psychopaths roaming down the corridors outside your room. However, your door banging opened all of a sudden made you shriek on your seat, your grip on the novel slipping, as the volume landed on the marble floor with a thud.

Eyes widening even so slightly, you flicked your gaze up at the intruders of the hour and your blood instantly ran cold. Giggles and light footsteps echoed in the room as the two wicked Sternritters walked in, closing the door behind them hastily to taunt you out of prying eyes for the umpteenth time that day.

“Ah, there you are! I’m so glad you are still alive…” Candice piped out, her leaf green eyes locking with yours as she folded her arms against her chest to stare you down in disdain.

“Isn’t she pretty, Candice? I mean, I could make her even prettier, if I turned her into a zombie! What do you say? Should I do it? Ah, she looks delicious!” the shorter one, Giselle, chimed in as she strolled towards you with a malicious glint in her doe eyes. Maybe, Giselle was the worst of them all. Those blue orbs of hers had been transfixed on you since the first day you had stepped into that pit of vipers. Her intent was clear.

More than once, even when you were minding your business, the Sternritter Z had tried to approach you and whisper in your ear all the wicked things she wished she could do to you.

Chills ran down your spine, as you gritted your teeth and glared at them “Get out of my room. You don’t seem that smart, otherwise you would think twice before laying a finger on me. If you hurt me, you would probably end up dead too” you stated, clenching your fists down your sides, as you tried to stand your ground.

They laughed at your face, their grins making it painly clear that you were nothing more than a joker to mock and abuse for their entertainment.

“Oh, would you look at that, Giselle? The tramp is finally showing her teeth! Maybe I should just electrocute her” Candice blurted out, her spiritual pressure increasing as she showed you her fist and the familiar sparks of green and blue electricity engulfing it.

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of what would have probably determined your death and your heartbeat increased notably. You were hopeless this time. Your lower lip wobbled, your arms raising up in a defensive stance, as you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the pain to strike you.

For the first time ever, you wished he was there to save you. You never appreciated his assistance, his cold and detached help, but this time your life was in danger. His deep voice, his scent and the sound of his cape fluttering around his slender figure were things you were grown almost fond of. He was the worst of the worst, the man you should have feared the most among those blood-thirsted monsters. Yet, he was the only one who treated you with respect and kindness.

Sometimes, you wondered if he really cared about you. Once you had even dared to ask him why he protected you from his subordinates, although you never received an answer. His stolid façade never cracked.

Maybe, he did not genuinely care about you and, if he had bumped into you on the battlefield, he would have probably sliced you up like a tenderloin, but there was something else in his icy blue eyes, when he helped you clean your wounds, or left new novels on your nightstand for you to find when you woke up in the morning.

He was just executing Yhwach’s orders, right?

“Don’t mess up her face, Candy! I want my new toy to look pretty!” Giselle’s voice abruptly interrupted your stream of consciousness, reminding you of how miserable your end was going to be.

How ironic was it that you were thinking of Haschwalth Jugram in the last moments of your life?

Candice hummed and sprinted towards you, a sadistic smirk gracing her lips as she consumed the distance between you two. You flinched in anticipation, waiting for her fist to make contact with your cheek, but a gust of wind whipping your face and the sound of a sword being unsheathed made you instantly relax.

You could have not been so lucky, right? But his deep voice echoing through your room and the gasps of fear from your aggressors made you lift your lids up to witness to the scene unraveling before your eyes.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, but apparently you two understand only violence. — Haschwalth said, his tone of voice flat but firm — Leave this room and do not even dare to glance at her anymore” he deadpanned, watching as the two Sternritters reluctantly nodded their heads and darted their eyes on you one last time, quick to leave you two alone.

The door closing behind them with a slam made you release a breath you did not know you were holding. He had saved once again. Your fingers were still trembling as you hopped down from the windowsill, your feet finally hitting the polished floor. You were still breathing quite heavily, your mouth dry, making it almost impossible for you to even mutter a simple ‘thank you’.

His back was still facing you, his broad shoulders and his height imposing over you and causing a turmoil of contrasting emotions in your stomach.

“Thank you, Haschwalth” you breathed out then, darting your eyes on the white wall not to be forced to lock eyes with him, when he turned around to look at your shaking frame.

Blonde and long hair, light-blue eyes and that white uniform he wore had always reminded you of how similiar to the popular portrait of a Prince Charming he was, despite his cruel intentions and villainous antics. His exterior jarred with his physical appearence.

“You were lucky I was around” he stated flatly, his eyes intently studying your features.

What was that insufferable feeling consuming him from the insides, whenever you were around him? It was not only connected to the way your beauty whetted his appetites, it was not a lustful and carnal desire. There was more. You were most likely the only person he did not enterily despise.

“Yeah, probably” you replied shortly, fumbling with the hem of your shirt in nervousness. He could sense you were avoiding his gaze, fear and anxiety were flinging around you.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, not moving an inch from where he was standing.

“I’m fine”.

Haschwalth did not trust you. He took a single step towards you, his hand reaching down to raise your face and his thumb and forefinger grasped your chin. Your eyes met for a split second, your heart skipping a beat at the unexpected gentle touch, but you were still way too shaken from the previous events to even bear a confrontation with him. Therefore, you swatted his hand away and took a step back, only to end up against the wall behind you. Your back flattened against it, your eyes half-lidded as you shot a pleading glance up at him.

Haschwalth was not surprised by your reaction but, instead of pushing your buttons further, he dropped his arm back down his side and arched a blonde eyebrow up. You had never really shoved him off of you, when he tended your wounds or checked on you. Something had changed. Was it only fear? The fear of being touched by one of the same people that had tried to harm you was undoubtedly coursing through your veins, glowing into your wary eyes, but there was something more. It was another kind of fear.

“What is it now? Am I not allowed to touch you anymore? You did not seem to be that scared of me before” he pointed out, resting his left hand on the hilt of his sword out of habit.

Cold sweat ran down your back at the accusation. Why had you escaped his gentle touch? It was not the fear of being hurt. You were liking your proximity, his concern, even though it was surely fake, was comforting. You liked his touch and that fact terrorized you to the point that your stomach clenched and twisted at the thought of how you craved some warmth, especially his warmth.

“It’s not—” you started, but a knock on the door cut you off, as Haschwalth immediately walked up to grasp the silver handle and opening it.

A petite woman, holding a refined silver tray in her gloved hands, came in. Her eyes were downcast as she silently settled it on your table, before bowing her head at the both of you and scurring out of your room. She did not fear you. She would have probably been capable of causing you enough damage to kill you, if you two were to engage a fight. It was him the one she was scared of.

“I was just about to wish you a good rest. Enjoy your dinner” he then spoke out, glancing briefly at you before disappearing behind the door too.

Once again, you were alone with your thoughts and contrasting feelings. You were not that hungry anymore, after what had happened, but you needed to eat to keep yourself healthy. As you sat down at your desk and poured yourself a glass of water, you realized that the event causing your lack of appetite was not what had happened with the Sternitters T and Z. It was the Sternitter B’s fault.

A restless night followed your meal. You thought you could find some peace among the silky bedsheets of your bed, but everything about that bedroom reminded you of him. Your eyes darted on the clock beside your bed, sighing as, much to your dismay, you realized it was two in the morning. For three hours you had tried to shift positions, read some more pages of the historical novel Haschwalth had left for you to read, but nothing worked. Your body craved some sleep, but your mind was unstoppable.

In a utter distress, you scoffed and sat up on the bed, bringing your knees to your chest and curling yourself up in a ball. Your forehead rested on the top of your knees, eyes closed, as you listened to the steady sound of the clock ticking. You were tired of being stuck in that place, you were tired of restraining yourself to feel forbidden emotions.

But just when you thought things could not get worst, you heard the door creaking open again. You lifted your head up, alredy alarmed by the fact that someone was entering your chamber in the the dead of the night, when you were supposed to be vulnerable and asleep.

However, as you jumped out of the bed and switched the lights on, you gasped at the sight of Haschwalth holding some books in his hands. He furrowed his brows, clearly not expecting to find you wide awake and ready to throw hands, if it was necessary.

“I thought you were asleep. I apologize, it was not my intention to startle you” Haschwalth declared, settling the three books over the desk.

You shrugged and looked at your feet, realizing how poorly covered you were before him. Your nightgown barely reached the middle of your thighs, granting him the chance to look at the entire length of your legs.

“I can’t sleep. Thank you for the books, anyway” you said, gesturing at the novels he had just brought to you as a form of entertainment from the living hell you were experiencing. It was a small attention he reserved to you, one of the things that made you believe he actually had an ounce of uncontaminated respect towards you.

“It’s nothing. You told me you liked to read, when you arrived here. You mentioned it being the closest form of freedom and escapism a prisoner could get to experience” the tall Sternitter said, his eyes somehow softer as he gazed at you.

Was it an attempt to make a small and civil conversation with you? Whatever it was, you were glad he had given some importance to your words. While the accomodation was something he had provided you under the strict command of his King, this was a small gesture of sympathy and mercy coming right from his core. In that very moment, it was hard believing he was the same cold-blooded man that had massacred legions of shinigamis before your eyes.

You bitterly smiled, making an effort in dealing with reality as you bit the insides of your cheeks. You oughed him some sort of an answer and, judging by his curious gaze, he was expecting you to reply something.

“You were not obliged to lend me your novels. I thought you were supposed to simply keep me alive and hold me captive… — you reasoned, your voice calm as you switched your attention from the blue cover of the book to his pale visage — These small gestures are not your Master’s orders, am I right?” you inquired, hoping this time he would properly retort something instead of walking away and avoiding your questions.

“Why do you care? It’s not the first time you’re questioning my actions” the blonde man noted, elgantly gliding his hand over the smooth surface of the desk.

You hated the way your eyes followed his movements attentively, or the way your mind played tricks on you.

‘How would those huge, calloused hands feel on my skin?’ you asked yourself, before turning around and sitting on the edge of the bed. The tension was palpable and you were more than sure that, despite the umpertubable expression freezing his face over, he could sense it too. After all, if your eyes had acted on their own accord and lingered on him for way too long, his ones were doing the same.

“Because I can’t figure you out” you admitted softly, sinking your foreteeth onto your bottom lip right after it.

You did not expect him to bother keeping this conversation up, but you were surprised as he took a step towards you and looked down at you. His jaw was clenched, eyes boring into yours in what resembled frustration, a battle clearly waging into his logical mind, as he stunned you in silence with his own confession.

“Honestly, I cannot figure you out too and it is driving me nuts” he stated bitterly, causing you to swallow down forcefully.

You tried to speak again, but the only sound leaving your lips was a small gasp of surprise as he wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you up on your feet. You craned your neck to look him in the eye and all you saw was a primordial desire, the same flame enveloping your heart and leaving ashes in your chest.

Before you had time to realize what was happening, his hands glided down your spine, until he hooked them behind your thighs and lifted you up easily. Your eyes were wide opened, as your legs were now tightly wrapped around his waist. What followed was a sinful action you did not fully know back then, if you would have ever been able to forgive yourself from having done.

His lips hingrily captured yours, as he made your back flatten against the wall. Your fingers found his hair, as your lips followed the lead of the man used to command and give orders. His tongue dominated yours without any resistance coming from you. It was too much to handle, too pleasurable to stop now.

A small moan left your lips, as he bit down onto your lower lip before he attacked your neck with equal hunger for your flesh, for you. You felt your cheeks boiling, his touch consuming you to the bone as if he was coating you in lava. Each bite onto your neck, or down to your cleavage, was a sign of how much he was conflicted by what he was feeling around you. You made him lose himself, it was unacceptable.

As his hand slithered down in the middle of you thighs, you felt ashamed of yourself for how much you wanted him to touch you. Haschwalth groaned as the pads of his fingers met the damp fabric of your panties, gliding them up and down through the thin item only to increase your arousal.

“Dripping for your enemy, tsk” he rasped, tugging them harshly to the side before drawing irregular patterns over your bundle of nerves.

Electricity coursed through your veins, your toes curling at the dirty remark he had made. The worst part of it was that he was right, there was no way you could deny it, or hide it from you. Not when his fingers easily delved into your warm core. Whimpers of pleasure fell from your lips as you lolled your head back against the wall, chest raising and falling erratically as you tried your best not to make too much noise.

However, despite his long fingers thrusting into you made it hard to think straight, you somehow still found the guts to fire something back.

“I may be dripping but you’re rock hard” you panted, mewling as Haschwalth remove his index from your aching heat and settled you back down on your feet.

His hands meticulously slipped underneath your nightgown, grasping the straps of your underwear and dragging the item down your legs, until they rested on your ankles. He was feral, almost tearing the panties apart as he hastily tossed them somewhere behind him. Haschwalth knelt down in front of you and grasped your right leg, draping it over his shoulder as he shot a lustful glare.

“I liked you better when you simply moaned” he remarked, before running his tongue flatly down your slit. You whined, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers threaded his hair in pleasure. No one had ever gone down on you like that, as if the juices streaming down your inner thighs were some divine nectar.

His lips sucked deliciously on your throbbing clit, making your legs shaking violently as you tried to keep yourself straight against the wall. You could not get enough, your mouth hanging open as you did not even care about who heard you anymore. Who would have complained about what was happening in your bedroom anyway? There was a perverse sting of satisfaction and pride in watching the Sternitter Grand Master delve his tongue into you. He was on his knees for you, serving a prisoner as if she was some queen whose approval counted.

As you whimpered one last time, hips bucking up against his face, Haschwalth growl and squeezed your rear in primordial desire. You came onto his tongue, almost slumping down onto the floor as he pulled away from you and wiped his chin and mouth with a tissue in his double-breast jacket.

More. He wanted more, he was ready for more. He could not fight the attraction he felt for you, therefore he had no qualms about dragging you to the bed and quickly unbuckle the belt of his trousers. Your eyes were glued on him as you watched the way he slowly stripped out of his candid uniform. His abs, his chest, his thighs seemed the precious work of a greek sculptor. Never in your life you had seen someone as perfect as he was.

You thought that removing your nighthgown was the least you could do for him. You did not fail to notice how his eyes gazed at your perky breasts, just like you almost flinched at the sight of his shaft spriging out of his tight boxers.

“Come here” he said, his tone unnaturally soothing as he climbed onto the bed and stood up on his knees. You did not hesitate to follow his command, your mouth watering as you crawled up to him and gently wrapped your hand around his cock. There was no more shame in your eyes, your body almost moving under the influence of a forbidden desire eating you up from the inside.

You heard him suck in a breath, his eyes closing, as you started to swirl your tongue around the pinkish tip to tease him. His hand grabbed the back of your neck and prompted you to give him more, to part your lips and let him experience the warmth of your welcoming mouth. You did not put on a fight, eager to hear him grunt just as much as he had enjoyed breaking you earlier. Each inch you took in made him tightened the grip on your hair, your mouth and tongue working to let him accomodate into your cavity.

“Damn it…” Haschwalth huskily said, a guttural moan falling from his lips, while you bobbed your head up and down to elicit more moans from him. Yet, he stopped you. Gripping on your hair tightly enough to make you pull your mouth away from him, he sighed and pushed you down onto your back.

For a second, you thought you were not doing a good job but, when he hovered over you and spread your legs for him to settle in between, his thumb brushed over your lower lip and he whispered something in your ear that made you whimper in anticipation.

“Don’t worry, it’s just that I intend to empty myself into you” he uttered, hooking one of your leg around his hip before shoving himself into you slowly, gradually.

A strained moan left your lips, as he grunted and bit onto the crook of your neck with each inch he conquered into you. Your eyes rolled in the back of your skull, the intrusion both pleasurable and painful as you adjusted yourself at his impressive size.

As Haschwalth carefully began to thrust into you, your hands cupped his smooth cheeks. Your lips found each others in sloppy and messy kisses, so unlike him, out of his style, out of the world. You could not believe you had allowed him into your bed, the sound of skin against skin filling the room and fueling something inside the composed Sternitter.

His hand found its way around your neck, the other flying up to the bedhead to balance himself as his hips smacked against yours in a feral pace. You did not protest to the blatant act of dominance, the grip on your neck only increasing your pleasure as you could focusing on your sensation.

“H-Hascwalth, I—” you whimpered, eyes watering as you gripped the bedsheets beside you so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“I know… Me too” he rasped, before releasing your neck and kissing you passionately. Your legs shook, your moan muffled by his lips pressing against your as you both came. His forehead was resting against yours, as he panted and gently stroked your cheek.

Sleeping was not hard, after that. You fell asleep over his chest, one of his arm draped over your waist in a firm grip, in which you woke up in the morning. Once again, when he slept, it was hard to believe Haschwalth Jugram was a monster. Haschwalth Jugram was just an angel who had lost his wings down his way to Hell.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I am not going to apologize for that long and lewd one-shot. Actually, looking back at all of my works, this is probably the filthiest thing I have ever written in my life, lol! Well, what can I say? Some characters bring out the worst in me… Let me know what you guys think about this! Likes, comments and re-posts are always appreciated!

Until next,

x o x o

TAGS: @stygianoir @byakuyandaizenwifey @shattereddreamssara and my queen @sashi-ya because, if I’m not mistaken, you kind of like our deadly Prince Charming✨

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