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melodygatesauthor · 1 year

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Not a Doctor

Jake Lockley X f!Reader (Patient X Therapist)

*skin tone of model in banner does not represent skin tone of reader. Reader is not race-coded.

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake

AO3 LINK

Summary:

You're a therapist who works at a medium security mental facility. One of your patients, diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, has an undocumented alter that starts showing himself to you. When you learn what it is he wants, you find it difficult to resist.

Tags/Warnings:

NSFW, power imbalance, p in v creampie, cum eating, spit kink, obsession, Jake in lust, medical inaccuracies, I probably made mistakes about DID but I tried, no powers/no MK/no marvel, rough sex, inappropriate sex, semi-public sex, patient/doctor relationship, dacryphilia, mild blood, biting/marking, reader is kinda mean to Steven (I'm really sorry), mental manipulation, praise kink, refractory period? What refractory period, Marc and Steven make minor appearances. Jake-centric fic.

Word Count: 12.6k (*cough* don't look at me, I'm but a simple hor)

The first time you met Jake Lockley, he was sitting across your desk in a wheelchair. He was mildly sedated, pupils dilated, brows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t know it was Jake yet, you assumed the original, Marc, was fronting, as he normally was. The manila file rested in front of you untouched, reading Marc Spector on the label. You didn’t even need to open it anymore, unless you were adding notes, as you’d been working with him long enough by now to know the file inside and out.

You asked Marc the same thing you asked at the beginning of every session.

“How are you doing today, Marc?”

A smirk spread over his face, something wicked, a little cocky, and it sent a chill racing down your spine. He looked at you with a face you didn’t recognize.

“I’m not Marc.” He said firmly, dark eyes burning into yours.

You were surprised; the British accent that normally accompanied Marc’s only known alter, Steven Grant, wasn’t there. You opened the file quickly, scouring through, shuffling papers around and trying to stay calm, looking for any indication of a third alter.

But you came up with nothing during your quick glance.

You took a deep breath to steady your racing mind.

“You’re not Steven.” You said it as more of a statement than a question.

You crossed your legs and put your hands in your lap, trying to show this new and unpredictable person that you weren’t a threat. You let your facial expression soften. In cases like Marc’s, if there was an undocumented alter, there was no telling if they were friend or foe.

“You’re not a doctor.” He muttered, shaking his head slowly. He had a slight twang to his words.

You gulped uncomfortably. He wasn’t wrong, you didn’t, in fact, have your PhD. You were a licensed therapist, but that was irrelevant information, and there was no way he could really know that. You could see that he was very quickly becoming agitated by the way his breath was coming out faster and his hands were clenching the armrests of his wheelchair. You felt your own anxiety pooling in your chest.

There was training you had undergone specifically for these types of situations. You tried to recall your safety training, remembering the importance of diffusing a situation with your words first, with calling security being a final resort, reserved only for when a patient was beyond reasoning with. The man in front of you wasn’t quite there yet from what you could tell.

The two of you were at a stand still, his chest was heaving and his eyes stayed narrowed on you. After working with Marc and Steven all this time and having no documentation of this alter, you felt at a loss for words. He could be the kindest person you’d ever met, or he could be extremely violent, there really was no telling what he was capable of.

“That’s irrelevant,” you said. “I’m here to help you, Marc and Steven, that’s all that matters.” You paused to see if he would say anything else. When he didn’t, you asked, “What’s your name?” You decided to keep things simple for now.

He leaned forward. Your hand involuntarily reached for the alert button around your neck slowly.

“Don’t you push that fucking button, puta.” He warned, you watched his hand slide forward on the wheelchair arm menacingly.

Your fingers froze over the button, holding there while you determined if this was something you could handle yourself or not. The two of you were at another impasse. If you pushed that button, he was going to lunge, and if you didn’t push it in time in the event he was violent, he could really hurt you, or worse…

“I won’t push the button as long as you and I can have a civil conversation.” You spoke calmly despite the terror building within you.

The man appeared to consider this before he leaned back in his chair. You slowly dropped your arm to show compliance. If he was going to back off, then you could safely let down your guard. A thick silence split through the room, save for the ticking clock above the door.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just here to help. You can call me…” You told him your name. You’d found in your time as a therapist it helped your patients immensely when they felt like you were a peer, not a superior figure. “Alright, do you want to tell me why you’re here?” You asked, trying to keep your shaking voice as light as possible.

“Well…” he let out a snicker, “hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but if I’m here, that’s a bad sign.”

You were supposed to correct patients when they called you names like that, even they were expected to act more respectfully, but you didn’t want to agitate him further. If the worst thing he did right now was call you sweetheart, you’d consider that a win.

He scoffed, “tell me something…why do you smell like nuestra madre, hm?” He was clenching his jaw as he spoke.

You inhaled sharply, realizing you’d made a huge mistake. Your birthday was yesterday, and a friend bought you a new perfume. During one of the many trainings you’d done for your position, you’d been cautioned that certain scents could trigger some patients. Marc’s mother, Wendy…she must’ve worn something with similar notes. That’s why this alter was here. He was protecting the other two from the emotional pain that he thought you might cause. He’d pegged you as a threat.

You furrowed your brow and picked your pen up off the desk. You clicked it and started writing what he said on your legal pad.

“What are you writing? Huh? You taking little notes about how crazy I am? Telling everyone how fucked up Marc is that he’s got three psychos in the same skull?” This new alter was intense, ready for a fight at every turn. You made a mental note never to wear that perfume again, and started scribbling more about the agitated man in front of you.

“I’m just taking simple notes. All the therapists do it. We have to.” You thought of something that might help him feel safer, “would you like to see them? We don’t typically show patients their notes, but if you ask for them I’m obligated to show them to you.”

It turned out that Jake Lockley did not, in fact, want to see the notes.

The visit ended shortly after with security intervention. His smile turned manic as he got up from his chair and grabbed a pyramid shaped paperweight from your desk. He turned it around in his hand, the pointed edge facing you and you quickly pressed your emergency button with a look of terror in your eyes. Marc had never done anything like that, especially not to you. He knew you were there to help. This alter clearly didn’t trust you, and it was going to be a struggle to get him to come around.

Security sedated and removed him from your office. You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that interaction. The way his eyes looked, so dark and different, eyebrows scrunched together in nothing but disdain. He looked feral, like a wild animal. As if given the opportunity, he might devour you whole. You’d decided to avoid making any official documentation about him. Marc was so close to moving to a less restrictive program, you didn’t want to ruin that for them until you knew more.

----

The second time you met Jake Lockley was a week later. You were in the middle of a conversation with Steven. Marc would sometimes dissociate when the conversation got too difficult, and you’d just finished talking about Marc’s time in the military. You were trying to figure out more about this other alter. You had a suspicion that he had been around for a while, and that last week wasn’t the first appearance he’d ever made.

You weren’t even sure if Marc knew about him. You cared for Marc and Steven. They’d made so much progress since first coming in, and you didn’t want to see them end up back in a maximum security mental facility. According to their chart, it took months before they finally stopped going on about the Egyptian moon god and being his ‘Moon Knight’. Not that Steven believed in it anyway, that was mostly Marc’s delusion. By the time they’d become your patient, those days were long behind them.

The purpose of Marc being there with you, in that facility, wasn’t to get rid of his dissociative identity disorder. In fact, he’d made it very clear that wasn’t something he intended to do. “Steven’s a part of me, we’re a package deal,” he’d said. He needed to learn to live with it, and function in society in order to be discharged, and that was his goal here. It was just within reach, too. If there was a third alter though, that would be a major setback for them. There was just no telling what kind of man he was.

You supposed that was why you’d broken protocol and kept the new alter out of your chart notes. It was completely unethical to do that, but you wanted to know if this was something worth keeping them in there for any longer. You saw no sense in extending his stay if this alter was just reacting violently to you out of fear.

“Steven, can you tell me something?” You asked, leaning back in your chair and grabbing your coffee between your hands.

“Sure, yeah.”

He always seemed happy to talk to you. You wondered if you were the only one there that treated him like he actually existed, and not like he was some imaginary friend of a mentally ill man. People could be so cruel, even in your field.

“I’ve been looking through your chart more recently, and one very typical symptom of DID is loss of time. Marc said he experienced it quite a bit when you would front, and you mentioned it happening during the last few weeks of you having your job while Marc had control of the body. You know…before the bathroom incident in London.” You strummed your fingers against the cup nervously, unsure if this line of questioning might help or hurt them further. “Have you or Marc…lost any time recently?”

Steven furrowed his brow, his mouth went a little slack while he tried to recall. He shook his head slowly. You could see him trying to think, to a point that his face dropped and he looked almost disappointed. A smirk curled at the side of his lip. Your blood went cold; it was him. The switch happened so fast.

“Hola, puta.” He said, looking up at you through his lashes.

You reached for the button quickly, but hesitated again. It was as if his eyes darkened, and his entire body changed. He wiped some spit from his bottom lip and tousled his hair a bit, straightening his posture.

“Marc must be sick of not having hair gel.” The unknown man commented.

You nodded, “he’s mentioned it once or twice.” You took a deep breath, “do I need this thing? Or are we going to talk like civilized human beings?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms, “that’s up to you. Last time I had a conversation with someone, they weren’t making cute little notes to share with their friends later.”

“Why do the notes bother you?” You asked softly, lowering your arm to the desk.

He looked at the floor for a moment, allowing an awkward silence to hang in the air. When he looked at you again, his eyes were nearly black, pupils dilated. His lips were pressed together tightly and he leaned forward. You shifted uncomfortably, but kept your hands from pressing the panic button.

“I don’t think those notes are particularly honest. Do you?” He tilted his head to the side. “What did you write about me after our little incident last week, huh?”

You were surprised at his ability to recall the time. You began to wonder if he’d been hiding in plain sight and if anyone else had noticed the changes in Marc’s behavior. What you still weren’t sure about, was what seemed to trigger this new alter. You’d been sure not to wear that perfume again. How long has this alter been around?

“I didn’t write about your incident. The psychiatrist was surprised to hear that Marc had an unusual outburst during our session.” You laced your fingers over your knee. “I’d like to know more about you before I condemn Marc and Steven to more time here.”

You watched his entire body relax at that sentence. His purpose, as it would seem, was to protect the system. When things got scary, physically or otherwise, he would come out. He was in no danger now though, so why he was there now was a mystery to you.

“No notes.” He said firmly, stating his conditions.

“Fine.” You said, pushing the notepad to the other end of the desk. “Let’s just chat then.”

The sound of the clock ticking was deafening. A smirk played over his face again as he grunted and stood from his wheelchair. Your fingers twitched, but you were going to do everything you could not to touch that damn button. Ever since they’d been transferred to this facility, you wanted to help Marc and Steven so badly, and you still meant to do that. He walked up to the desk and held his hand out to you.

Despite your attempt at bravery, your body was trembling as you went to shake his hand. His handshake was firm, and surprisingly his skin was soft. Neither Steven nor Marc had ever touched you before, they just sat in the wheelchair like patients were supposed to. Something told you that this one didn’t care much for the rules or protocol. He turned and went back to his seat.

That was when you learned his name was Jake Lockley.

“Now, what was it you wanted to know, sweetheart?”

His New York accent was much clearer now. He wasn’t unhinged by nature, in fact, he was quite calmly mannered, however he seemed easy to trigger. It was also hard to tell when he was upset. He seemed to mask his feelings behind a sly grin, brushing off any and every word with a sense of grit. It was like the man you’d met the week before, the one who looked like he might stab you, wasn’t the same one you were talking to now.

Steven had taken a while to sort out, getting him to understand and step into his role in Marc’s life. Steven would come out when Marc was experiencing something triggering, or generally upsetting. If the topic turned to their mother, Marc could talk for a little while before Steven would take his place. Steven had also struggled with understanding his existence. What did it mean to be an alter for a man with DID? The existential questions were still a struggle for even you to comprehend.

“Jake, tell me about what you think is going on here?” You were trying to be friendly, but you could tell he was a no bullshit kind of guy. If you could match his energy, you might be able to get some answers out of him.

“Why don’t you tell me more about you, and then I’ll tell you more about me.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow against his knee.

You interlinked your fingers over the desk and sighed. It was against protocol to tell patients about your personal life. It could create a dangerous situation for you, and potentially trigger a patient. You wanted to get Jake to talk though, so you decided to play along.

“Fine…” you felt tense. No one had made you feel this way during your entire career as a therapist. “You start.”

He seemed amused. His face was cocky, as if he’d won a prize at the end of a game, and perhaps to him this was a game. You leaned back and tapped the arm of your chair anxiously, trying to keep yourself calm despite the weight crushing your chest.

“You married? No, I don’t see a ring.”

So he’s observant, you noted.

“Got a boyfriend then?” He asked, still looking smug.

“No.” You answered bluntly. The important thing with difficult patients like him was to hold your ground, and don’t give them any information they can use against you later.

“Okay, Jake, when Marc was in the Lennox maximum security facility he started some trouble with other patients. It’s also reported that he had no recollection of said events. I guess they should’ve spotted you then.” You looked at him, feeling a little cocky yourself after having done your research since your last session with Marc.

“That sounds more like a statement than a question.”

“Was that you?”

“Si.”

Another pause. Jake rested his chin on his fist. His eyes narrowed, but his brows seemed to soften. He was relaxing, easing into the space. This was good, maybe you could get him to talk more freely.

“Do you wear pretty red lipstick for all of your patients or just for me?”

The heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but it sounded ragged and shallow despite your best efforts to stay calm. He was being so bold. None of your patients had ever spoken to you like that, so flirtatiously. It still surprised you how different he was from Marc and Steven, despite sharing a body with them.

“That’s inappropriate.” You cleared your throat stiffly.

“Answer the question, bebita.” He demanded coldly. “Answer…or I guess we’re done here.”

“No, I wear this color often.” You answered in an equally cool tone.

“Looks good.” His eyelids lowered seductively. The heat in your cheeks was still burning.

“Uh…thanks.” Your nerves were breaking through the barrier you normally had in place with patients.

“Your turn.”

It was hard to think of another question. He’d rendered you speechless, which you supposed was probably his goal. He was sly, this one, crafty with how he played the game. Suddenly you felt like this was his office, and you were the one under the magnifying glass.

“When did you come about, at what point in Marc’s life?”

You really needed to take these notes, but you decided that it would get you nowhere with him.

“Some time when he was in the service. I don’t remember the exact year.” He cleared his throat now, he seemed to get uncomfortable at the mention of the traumatic event that led to his creation.

“You don’t like to think about that, do you?”

“You already asked your question.” His tone was no longer amused, and you sensed the game was over.

“I know you care about Marc, I do too. If you don’t cooperate with me then he’s never going to leave here.” You tried to play to his weakness, Marc, the only reason he existed. “I want to help him. Please.”

“I think we’re done here sweetheart, but I’ll see you again next time. Maybe wear something nice and we’ll see if I feel more talkative.”

You spent the rest of the day thinking about your appearance. When you got home you stood in front of your full length mirror, turning from side to side. You’d worn what you always wore to work: your white coat, with a solid colored shirt underneath, today you’d worn the blue one, and black slacks. Jewelry was something you were instructed to keep to a minimum given the nature of your profession.

What’s wrong with my outfit? I thought I looked nice enough, you thought.

You caught your own eye in the reflection and chuckled, suddenly feeling foolish. Why did you care what your patient thought of your outfit? Your appearance had nothing to do with your ability to do your job. In a frustrated huff you fell into your evening routine, showering, brushing your teeth, changing into sweats and a comfy shirt before crawling into bed.

For the following week you hardly slept. This alter, this…Jake Lockley…he had a hold on you that you couldn’t explain. You started mulling over Marc’s notes in between patients, questioning all the incident reports that appeared exceptionally violent. There weren’t many, otherwise he would’ve remained in maximum security, but there were a few notable incidents.

When you saw Marc again, he had a broken nose. You’d received word earlier that morning that he’d had an incident overnight.

Patient Name: Marc Spector

DOB: 03/09/1987

Date of incident: ———

Date of report: ———

Incident Details: Patient exhibited hostility toward staff. Staff observed as patient seemed to become severely agitated by the sound of gunshots in a movie playing in the common area.

Patient began yelling nonsensically. Staff observed patient grab a pen and attempt to use it as a weapon to stab another patient. Staff intervened and sedated patient. Patient has no recollection of the incident.

No patients or staff sustained physical injury. Patient will be kept under sedation until further evaluation. It’s recommended that patient be evaluated for potential transfer back to the Lennox Facility.

You looked up from the paper and gave Marc a kind smile. He looked a little afraid, confused, and most of all he looked tired. That’s what got him here in the first place. The DID was minor, he had that handled all on his own, well before he was institutionalized. The insomnia is what caused Steven’s hallucinations, and that’s what caused his mental break that put him in front of you.

“Marc, the sheet here says–”

“I know what the sheet says.” He was embarrassed, that much was evident by his lack of eye contact and the way his lips were pressed together.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You spoke hardly above a whisper.

“Oh, yeah sure, I’d love to talk about it.” He said sarcastically. “Problem is, I don’t remember anything, but you should already know that, right? You read the papers.”

“You know that I care a lot about you and Steven, right? I need you to work with me. I want you out of here too. You’re not…insane like some of the other people I’ve seen.” You were speaking low. You weren’t supposed to talk like that about your patients, no matter how true it may be.

“I know…I know.” Marc’s eyes started glistening. “I think there’s another one… a third.”

You gulped, unsure if you should tell him about this new alter he knew nothing about. Marc was smart, smarter than you sometimes gave him credit for. He knew without you saying anything that there was something you were hiding.

“Doc.” Marc always called you that, no matter how many times you told him to call you by your first name. “What’s going on, what do you know?”

“I need you to stay calm, okay?”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve…I’ve met another one, and I’m still figuring him out. I was waiting to learn more before I told you…or anyone else.” You realized you were squeezing your pen in your fist.

“What do you mean?” Marc was panicking, you could see his bottom lip quivering in his frustration. “There’s another one? How? When?”

He started to stand, his legs shook. You’d never seen Marc so upset before. He walked closer and pressed both hands on your desk, leaning forward.

“Who is he? Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Marc, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want…”

The shift in expression was subtle, but you could see it plain as day. The anger seemed to dissipate and was replaced with a suave smirk and furrowed brows.

“Hi sweetheart, nice outfit.” He said, tone much calmer than Marc’s was seconds ago.

“Jake.”

“Si, bebita.” His eyes crawled over you slowly, he even bit his bottom lip.

“Sit down.” You said firmly, pulling your white coat over your chest.

He shook his head, “no, I don’t think I will. Been a while since I’ve really been able to stretch my legs.”

He started to pace, stopping to look at some of the artwork and photos in your office. You remained silent, unsure of his next move, and not wanting to give him any fuel to add to the fire. He stopped in front of one photo. They were all generic, stock images that meant nothing, just random and placed there for decorative purposes. The photo he pointed to was of an old cab in a silver frame on the top shelf of your bookcase.

“You know I used to drive a cab. Years ago in New York.” He chuckled like he recalled something funny, “did you always do this…” he gestured around the room, “this therapy thing? Or did you have a different job before?”

“Jake, you know we need to talk about the incident, right? From yesterday?” You were trying to speak gently, hoping he would return the favor, but he was so unpredictable.

“I thought we had a deal, bebita. I ask, then you get to ask.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, letting a stray clump of curls fall over his forehead. He brushed his broken nose with his hand and winced.

“Fuck.” He touched the wound with his fingertip before looking at you, eyes cold.

“Jake, I know you care about them too, why are you hiding yourself from them?”

“No no no, I go first.”

He walked over to the wheelchair, released the brake, brought it closer to your desk, and then set it once again. You watched as he walked over and plopped down in front of you.

“You wore a nicer shirt than the last time I saw you. Did you dress up for me? I like that little skirt too.”

A big smile spread over his face. Meanwhile, you were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt to pull it down as far as you could. Your cheeks burned, of course you didn’t wear that outfit for him…right?

You recalled your morning. There were butterflies in your gut at the realization that it was Marc’s therapy day. That wasn’t the most unusual thing, you looked forward to working with some of the patients that you enjoyed talking to, and Marc was one of them.

What was different though, was the conscious effort to make sure your red lipstick was perfect, not one bit smeared or out of place. You’d worn a blouse that showed a tasteful bit of cleavage and in a color that complimented your skin tone. You even broke the rules a little and wore some earrings that dangled just a tiny bit…but of course you weren’t dressing up for the alter of a mentally ill man. That would be…crazy.

“I didn’t dress up for you.”

“Oh? So are you dressing up for Marc then? Does he know you–”

“My turn.” You saw his lip twitch. He seemed to like you snapping back at him. “Why are you hiding yourself from Marc and Steven?”

“They wouldn’t like me very much, sweetheart, I’m not a nice guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My turn.” He leaned back, spreading his legs out.

That’s when you noticed…the unmistakable shadow of arousal in his cloth pants. You gulped, eyes widening as you brought your gaze back to his quickly, trying to act like you weren’t just looking between his legs. He noticed though, without a doubt, Jake Lockley noticed you staring at his erection.

“See something you like?” His eyes were half hooded, a cocky smile spread over his soft lips.

“No.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back, angling yourself so the desk was covering his bottom half from your line of sight.

“What did you do before you were…whatever you are?” He asked.

“My turn.” You said.

It was your coy way of reminding him that he had already asked you a question in an attempt to draw the attention to what was between his legs. He was amused with this game, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were too. If this was the only way to get information out of him, then you were happy to oblige.

“You said you’re not a nice guy. What are you then?” You narrowed your eyes at him. In anticipation of his quick witted remark you added, “and don’t give me a sarcastic answer. Honest answers only.”

He waved a finger at you, “I’ll start being honest the moment you do the same, sweetheart.”

“I am being honest with you.”

“No, no you’re not.”

Jake was gone after that, leaving you with a rambling British man who, ‘didn’t know how he got there’.” Steven cried when you told him that you were going to start seeing them twice a week. It was understandable, since he and Marc had been so close to moving down to a less strict facility just a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t have the heart to bring up Jake to Steven. Your obligation wasn’t to Steven anyway, it was to Marc.

You saw him again. Marc, that is, two days later. He scowled at you for a good five minutes before he finally started speaking.

“I don’t want to hear a word out of your mouth unless it’s about what’s going on in my head, doc.” Marc was mildly sedated again.

His nose was healing, but it still looked raw and painful. You needed to help him. You needed to keep your interest in his alter at bay in order to assist Marc through this. That was your job. It was hard to understand what it was that made you nearly forget that. You were a therapist, your job was to help Marc Spector rehabilitate into society, and you were failing him by not being honest.

“Last time I tried to talk about him with you, he made an appearance.” You clicked your pen over and over anxiously, unsure how the rest of this could possibly go.

Marc was clearly agitated, and you couldn’t say you blamed him. You often tried to put yourself in the shoes of your patients and thought about how you would feel if you’d just heard someone was taking over your body to do as they wished without your knowledge. Especially if it seemed like that person was doing nothing but harm to you.

“I think he cares about you, that much I can tell.” You tried to give him some sense of comfort with that one thing you had figured out about Jake. “Typically in cases of DID, the alters play a role in protecting the mind of the original in some way. Typically.”

“How is starting fights and nearly getting us sent back to max supposed to help? Huh?” You could see his chest heaving the more upset he got.

“You need to stay calm, you becoming agitated seems to be a trigger for him.” You warned, holding up your hand and lowering it slowly, as though that was supposed to help Marc in any way. “Remember? We talked about this. Deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Then again.

“There you go.”

“C-can you, can you help me with this damn…” Marc reached behind his back, “my tag is just…it’s itching and…”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, standing up and walking over to him.

You leaned over him, reaching behind his neck and gently tucking in his tag. Marc, being one of the more hygienic patients you worked with, smelled nice, like fresh linen. You caught yourself with your face a little too close to his dark curls before you broke yourself from your trance. By the time you leaned back, you weren’t looking at Marc anymore. Jake.

For your own safety, you should’ve run back to your desk immediately, but you didn’t. He reached out quickly, grabbing the badge and security button around your neck. Jake tugged quickly. The straps had safety-release buckles on them, in case a patient tried to choke you, and the lanyard was pulled from your neck. He tossed it to the side carelessly.

“Jake, be careful, if you hurt me-”

“Bebita, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jake said, grabbing your jacket collar.

He pulled you close, leaning up to kiss your crimson painted lips. For a split second, you rested there, enjoying the feeling of his exceptionally soft lips against yours, but only for a split second. You pushed him back and gasped.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

You were flustered, scrambling to go grab the items Jake had thrown, but you made the grave mistake of turning your back to a patient. Another thing you’d seemed to forget about your safety training in your flustered state. He was behind you faster than you could think, right hand snaking down to pull up your skirt and feel around for your cunt, the other was wrapped around your throat, pulling you against him tightly. You stiffened, but you were ashamed to say that you didn’t struggle very hard.

“Got you right where I want you, sweetheart.” He said between heavy breaths.

“L-let me go.” You said, feeling terror, mixed with excitement, trickling down your spine. “If you do something stupid, you’re only going to hurt Marc and you know that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you until you want me…and you will want me.”

His middle finger grazed over your pussy lips through your cloth panties. You were wet, you could feel it when he pressed them against your skin further. You gulped against his thick fingers, still wrapped around your throat, before wriggling against his chest, a feeble attempt to get away.

“You sure you don’t want me already?” He kissed your neck softly, and a single damned moan escaped from you before you could stop it. He chuckled, “course you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Jake dropped his hand out from under your skirt. A sigh of relief left you, but he kept his other hand firmly against your throat. He reached into his pocket and held out on his fingertips a single paper flower. You furrowed your brow in confusion. Finally he released you, to which you reached your own hand up to rub where he’d held pressure over your neck. You turned to him, but you never took your eyes off the little flower.

“What is this?” You asked.

“Can’t exactly run out to the store and buy you flowers now, can I?”

Now you looked at him, face full of surprise and uncertainty. Was he…was he seriously trying to court you? Your breath caught in your throat. He had looked at you with clear attraction on several occasions. Him acting this way shouldn’t be overly surprising, and yet you were left speechless.

“You…I don’t understand.” You were scrambling to find the words to say.

“I think you do, you’re a smart girl.” He flicked the flower. You watched as it landed perfectly on the corner of your desk. “When you’ve changed your mind…you just say the word. I know how to keep a secret, bet you can too.”

He was close to you again. This time you didn’t even try to stop him when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Were you leaning in or was he? You were close, ready to taste him again.

“Erm, what the…”

Steven. Oh shit, STEVEN.

“Steven!” You jumped back in a panic, feeling your cheeks light on fire.

“Sorry! I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to put my hands on you. I’m still gettin’ used to this whole thing of me not being…well…me all the time. I still lose time and I don’t know what’s happenin’. Oh god, was it Marc? Did Marc touch you?” Steven was panicking, his eyes were blown wide and his hands were balled into nervous fists at his sides.

“No, Steven, it’s alright, I’m fine. I just…I dropped something and…um…today’s session is over you can go.” You started walking over to grab the lanyard Jake had thrown earlier from your neck.

“Are you sure? It’s only half past I don’t want to-”

“Go!” You yelled, leaning over to grab the lanyard from the floor.

----

By the time you saw Marc again, you felt like you were the one that needed to be mildly sedated and institutionalized. You couldn’t get Jake out of your head. Was it the kiss? You could still feel his phantom lips on yours. Was it the way he brushed his fingers against your soaking panties? The moment Steven left after your meeting with them last week, you plunged your fingers two knuckles deep into your drenched cunt until you achieved release.

You still didn’t even know who the fuck he was.

Your license was on the line. The responsible thing to do would be to insist that Marc start seeing a new therapist for his condition. You clearly were unfit to help him at that point, far too affected by his alter’s presence. The thought upset you though, that you might never see this mystery man again. You had to at least try to get through one more session, to prove to yourself that you could handle it…to prove that you were a good therapist.

Marc was wheeled in and put in front of you by security. He looked upset, like he had last week when you finally told him the truth about the gaps in his and Steven’s memories. You supposed you owed him some sort of explanation now. You only hoped you could get through it this time without interruption. If you could get through this one last appointment with Marc, you’d follow through with getting him to another therapist.

“I expect that you and Steven understand why I had to keep him from you…right?” You asked softly.

Looking at him was difficult. When you looked into his eyes, you had a hard time not thinking about Jake, and the way he made you feel. It didn’t make sense how he captivated you that way. He was interesting, mysterious, and dangerous. Was that it? Was he a reprieve from your otherwise boring and mundane life? Was it the way he clearly wanted you? He was so cocky, so confident. He quite literally took your breath away.

“Yeah, I know.” Marc said finally. You watched his shoulders slump. “I don’t know what to do.”

He was crying. Marc didn’t cry often, and usually when he did, Steven would take over immediately, but the alter didn’t seem like he was working his way out. You wondered if Steven was still upset at you for yelling at him the other day.

“I can help you, but…we need to keep this a secret.” You were speaking in a hushed tone. “If your psychiatrist finds out about him…you’ll never get out of…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence. A dark thought crossed your mind.

“Doc?”

You froze in thought. A smirk crept over your lips. If Marc’s psychiatrist thought he had another alter…then they’d be there…well…forever. There was no reason you couldn’t get yourself transferred to maximum and do your work there if worst came to worst, but you suspected Jake was crafty enough to keep them right here. He could keep them insane enough to still need your care, but too sane for a place like Lennox.

If you managed to keep them there, you and Jake could see each other whenever you decided Marc needed an extra session. It would be so easy for you to make sure Jake could take you whenever he wanted, fucking you until you screamed his name while he filled you over and over. It was too much, the need overcoming you with every second that ticked by.

“I’m ready.” You looked deep into Marc’s eyes. “Jake.”

Marc’s brow furrowed, he shook his head in confusion, “what the hell is wrong with you? Is that his name? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You caught your reflection in the desk, you looked fucking crazed. Your eyes were widened, hungry, and full of need. Who was this woman staring back at you? You hardly recognized her. You touched your cheek, feeling the heat at your fingertips. When you shifted in your seat you could feel the slick permeating your panties.

Clammy sweat stuck to your fingers, and your mouth felt dry. You were breathing heavily. Was it hot in there? Taking off your jacket didn’t help. Marc was talking to you, checking in on you so kindly, but you didn’t care. You felt feral, like you were reverting back several steps in evolution and you only wanted one thing, to fu–

“Doc?!” He yelled, breaking you free from your plaguing thoughts.

Your insanity riddled eyes shot up to look at him. He looked afraid. Not afraid of you, but for you. You gulped and took in a deep breath before finding the words to say.

“I-I’m sorry Marc, I haven’t been feeling like myself.” You took another deep breath, trying to shake the crazed thoughts out of your mind. “I think I’m going to be sick, we have to reschedule.”

----

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a new therapist. You know you have that right.” You sighed, “I’m also surprised you didn’t report me for keeping things from you.”

It had been two weeks since you saw Marc last. After your episode, you canceled all appointments for the next couple of weeks so you could reset. It had taken the first couple days of your break for you to recenter yourself and feel more like…you. After that you’d started to feel better, but you needed to keep yourself separated from them for just a little while longer.

“You stuck your neck out for Steven and myself more times than I can count. Figured I could do the same for you.” He gave you a comforting smirk. “I know you want to help…but I can tell that this…Jake guy…he’s got you riled up.”

You breathed deeply, “yeah, he really…really got into my head. He seems to be triggered by things like certain smells, colors, and sounds. He says his first memories come from your time in the marines.”

Marc clenched his jaw and looked down. You wondered how hard that must’ve been for him, being discharged from the marines and never really knowing why until now, many years later. He looked back up at you. He really was handsome, despite your best efforts not to look at them that way, but he would never compare to Jake, even if they shared the same face.

“Tell me more about him.” Marc demanded.

“He’s…” you thought for a moment, “he’s harsh, rough around the edges, you know? Doesn’t like your hair gel.” You had to stop yourself from smiling like a fool at the thought. “He knows how to make origami flowers.”

You gestured to the flower that still sat on your desk, right where you’d left it before your break. Marc leaned forward on his elbows.

“What else? Steven said he was very…very close to you when he started fronting a couple of weeks ago.” Marc was pressing.

“He…he kissed me.” You hadn’t wanted to admit that to anyone, especially not Marc. “I think he was going to kiss me again but then Steven came in.”

He stood and walked over to your desk. He was looking at you with such intensity. His brows were turned up and drawn in together. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“What else did he do?” Marc’s voice was low, and that was when you realized that something was off.

You were being played with.

Your lips parted, and you stood up suddenly. It was like the entire mental health break you took meant nothing the moment you saw that face. You had a one track mind around him. You could only think about one thing. You took your lanyard off slowly and placed it on the desk softly. Your heels clacked as you stepped around the corner and stopped at the edge, keeping a respectable distance between you and your patient. Every nerve ending in your body was coming alive.

“He touched me.” You said just over a whisper.

Jake stepped closer to you, just one step.

“Where?” You both stepped closer to each other. “Show me.”

You paused, feeling that weight on your chest once again. You were shaking with anticipation. He was terrible, taunting you like this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeding into it. Despite taking the time off to reset, and move on from this mental dilemma, the second you realized you were talking to him, and not Marc, you were excited beyond words. He had such a strong hold on you, and you were quickly realizing that there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You reached out and grabbed Jake’s wrist. His skin was so soft. You lifted your skirt up over your hips, never letting your eyes leave his, and then you pulled his hand to your already soaked panties. Jake’s face finally broke, a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. He lowered his lids to gaze at you.

“Why didn’t you come to me when I told you I was ready?” You looked between his eyes rapidly. “I thought, maybe I’d made you up or…that you’d forgotten about me.”

Jake grabbed the back of your neck quickly and pulled you in tight. His fingers slid under the waistband of your panties and slipped over your clit. When you gasped at the sensation, Jake closed his mouth on yours. There wasn’t a single thought other than Jake occupying every bit of your mind while he melted himself into you and started swirling his finger around your swollen nub.

“I couldn’t forget you, sweetheart, not when watching you get all flustered over me has been so entertaining.”

“I’m not…not flustered.” You sounded like you had no air left in your lungs. Your hips slid forward over his fingers involuntarily.

“You’re not?” He leaned closer, lips brushing yours just barely.

Something inside you broke through the fog of your arousal, reminding you how wrong this was. As if you’d been awoken from a deep trance, your eyes shot open, glaring at his.

“No…no!” You pulled back, the waistband of your underwear snapped against your skin as you stepped away from him. “I could lose my license…I could go to prison.”

Jake kept his eyes on you while he stuck the two fingers he’d slipped into your panties into his mouth, sucking on them.

“Tan buena, bebita.”

You ran your hands down your face while looking him over. There was a prominent peak formed in his pants, testing the strength of the seam. You felt your core flutter at the sight. You’d never struggled with shortness of breath, but he had you pressing a hand to your chest, desperate for more oxygen.

“Thought you said you were ready.” Jake still held a sly smirk on his face. “That’s alright, I can be patient, you’ll change your mind eventually.”

“No, I won’t, no. Stop doing this to me.” You walked back around and sat at your desk, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you get that wet for all your patients?”

You picked a spot on the white-washed wall and stared at it. Your jaw was clenched, and you started tapping your finger against your arm nervously. You couldn’t ignore him, he wasn’t just going to leave, and you still needed to find a way to help Marc and Steven.

“Do you at least want to know what I think about when I’m fronting at night when Steven and Marc think we’re asleep?” You saw him shift in his seat out of your peripheral, but you kept your eyes on the wall.

“No.”

He chuckled. Jake certainly loved to toy with you. He also didn’t seem interested in the fact that you declined to hear his thoughts.

“I think about how good those delicious red lips will look when I stretch them out. I don’t even know if you could fit all of this in your mouth, what do you think?” He adjusted the waist of his pants, pulling them down under his balls.

Your eyes shifted, for only a second, and you found yourself staring wide. He had his cock caged in his fingers. It was big, bigger than any you’d seen before. You gulped. This was the point that you were instructed by your training to call for security to get him out of there, but instead you just kept your arms crossed firmly and watched.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” He repeated a question he’d asked you once before.

“Stop this.” You said with little conviction.

“You’ll have to call security if you want me to do that.” He dragged his fist upward over his length, “so if you want Marc to get in even more hot water, go for it.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down while he worked on himself and biting his bottom lip with another firm stroke. He looked up at you, smiling when his eyes locked on to yours. You averted your gaze to your spot on the wall once again.

“Thought a lot about how wet you get, bebita.” He groaned while he stroked. “How wet you are right now.”

You clenched your thighs together tightly to ease the ache between your legs. All you could feel was the wet slick of your panties sliding around. You wanted him, you wanted him so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to openly admit it, or to act on it. Your career, and perhaps your life, would be over.

“Could be our little secret.”

You looked at him again. He moaned, letting his jaw go slack. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. You watched, shamefully, entranced by the way his hand would glide lazily over his thick cock. His free hand grabbed the arm of the wheelchair tightly, knuckles turning white. You were shocked to feel a trickle of drool crawling down your chin. You quickly wiped it away.

What’s happening to me, you thought, you’re his therapist, this is unethical, you should call security right-

“You know sweetheart…” Jake dropped his gaze back on you, and you stared back, “my favorite thing to think about is how good that tight little pussy will look around me, swallowing me whole.”

The lightest exhale left your mouth, and of course he heard it.

“I’m only tolerating this for Marc’s sake.” You reminded him.

“Is that what you’re going to say when I’ve got you bent over that desk?”

He stood and walked over to the desk, dropping his cock with a thud on the smooth white surface. You looked away quickly, but through your peripheral you could see him place his palm firmly over his length and start rutting against the desk.

“Just think about…fuck….how hard I’m gonna fuck you.” The desk scraped over the floor with the thrust of his hips. You braced your hands against it and looked up at him again. “Still not too late, I can take you right now. Just come around here and bend over for me. Lift up that pretty little skirt. It’ll be quick.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head slowly. This was against everything you thought you knew. No patient ever had this effect on you. Why him? Sure, Marc was attractive, but you’d never felt like this. You were staring again, looking up at the harsh faced man and then tracing your eyes down to his cock while he fucked his palm against the desk.

“There you go, bebita, you thinking about how good it’s gonna feel too?”

You were thinking about how good it would feel, to have him bending you over the desk. You hoped he could fuck you so hard your hips bruised. He was so big, he was sure to stretch you beyond your limit. He’d fill you so full his cum would be dripping out of you for days. The thought alone was enough to make the arousal pool in your core.

You looked away from him again, focusing on the wall, but that didn’t stop the breathy and hardly audible moan that left you. This was out of control, you were out of control. He groaned again, forcing your gaze to return to him. He started moving faster. You noticed precum leaking from the head, glistening over the desk.

“M’bout to come, you sure you don’t want this load? Worked it up just-for-you.” He grunted with each thrust. “Fuck.”

He stopped moving, but his cock throbbed, gushing ropes of cum all over the surface of your desk. A small glob dropped right in front of you. Your jaw dropped, and you rolled back in your chair, staring down at the mess he’d made. He tucked his cock back into his pants once he was sufficiently spent. When you looked up at him you noticed the proud expression on his face.

“Better clean that up before anyone sees it and thinks Marc’s gone insane, jerking off in front of his therapist.” You scowled at him before grabbing some tissues out of the box on your desk and starting to clean up the mess with a clear air of aggravation around you.

“You’re disgusting.” You muttered.

Your body was betraying you though. No matter how disgusting you insisted he was, you wanted him more than you ever recalled wanting anything before. It made no sense. You cleaned up the mess, trying to keep your fingers from touching the sticky cum spread all over. You felt the heat in your cheeks burning you alive, knowing he was watching you. When you finally cleaned up the last bit, under his watchful gaze, you looked back up at him, tossing the last tissue in the waste bin.

He leaned forward slowly, bringing his face close to yours. You thought he might try and kiss you, his lips were right there. You even saw his eyes dip to look at your mouth before going back up to look at you. You leaned in a little too.

“That’s a good girl.”

----

You were a mess.

He’d left your mind in complete disarray and he hadn’t even really touched you. After telling you that you were a good girl, he vanished, leaving Steven standing there in a state of confusion. You craved those words again…

Good girl.

I’m a good girl, you told yourself in the mirror before you left on the day you’d be seeing Marc again. You were wearing everything Jake ever said he liked on you. The striking red lipstick, the shirt that had a little cleavage, and a short skirt. The panties were unnecessary, and would only serve to get in the way. You were ready for him…truly ready this time.

You tried to give all of your patients the attention they deserved leading up to your appointment with Marc, but you didn’t care to hear anything they had to say. When you finally saw Marc again, you weren’t sure how you would react. Normally only Jake made you feel like you wanted to crawl out of your clothes and spread yourself on the desk like a buffet for his pleasure, but the line between him, Marc and Steven was getting blurrier by the minute. Even when it was sweet and innocent Steven fronting, you were struggling to keep yourself from soaking through your skirt.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit…out of sorts.” Steven mentioned, looking at you with a concerned and furrowed brow.

“M-me?” You gave him a reassuring grin, “yes Steven, I’m fine. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. You were saying you and Marc have been feeling down lately?”

Steven shrugged, “yeah, been trying to figure out what’s going on. Marc says there’s another one…he’s like me but scarier. He’s mean.”

You nodded gently, “he’s terrible, yeah…” You had to catch yourself before you bit your lip. “You know he came up during Marc’s time in the marines?”

You stood up and started pacing, noticing the slick way your thighs slid against each other with each step. Nothing could be heard except for the clicking of your heels across the floor as you got closer to Steven. Normally a filter would stop you from antagonizing Steven and trying to mentally cripple him so the protective alter would come out, but your care for their safety had left with Jake the last time you saw him.

“I think I remember Marc mentioning that, yeah.” Steven looked nervous as you got closer to him. “S’not like you to get up and start roaming about, you feelin’ alright today?”

“I feel fine.”

You walked to Steven’s right, touching his shoulder and looking down at him. His eyes peered into yours. He still looked too soft and sweet to be the man you craved. You needed to push a little harder. You needed to scare Jake out, because it was clear that he wasn’t coming out on his own.

“It was probably scary, wasn’t it? Finding out that you were responsible for killing so many people?” Your voice was low while you spoke. “I’m sure you don’t remember a lot of it, but just think about it.”

“What are you–”

“Come on Steven, that’s gotta be scary, right? Thinking about how scared those people must’ve been?”

“That wasn’t me though, that was Marc, I didn’t do that I didn–”

“But you did.” You were smiling like you were enjoying this. You weren’t, but you were excited for Jake, you needed him. “What about your mother? Hm? Remember how sad you were when you realized you were talking to no one for months?”

“Why are you saying these things? What’s gotten into you?” There were the tears you wanted, starting to glisten in Steven’s eyes.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, peering deep into his eyes. If Jake was there, he’d see you. Surely, he’d come out. You wondered why he was still hiding from you.

“Jake, I’m ready, please, I mean it this time.” You felt your own eyes starting to water with desperation. “Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Steven looked at you, confusion splayed over his face, “have you gone completely mad?”

“Shut up, Steven.” You shook him, “bring out Jake, now!”

Steven grabbed your arms, “what are you doing?”

You shocked yourself when you pulled your hand back and struck him across the cheek. There was silence after that, Steven just stared at you incredulously. Something so out of character for you should’ve snapped you from your Jake induced trance but it didn’t. You were in too deep. Mentally torturing and striking a patient was grounds for, at a minimum, being fired.

When his eyes darkened and his lips curled up into a confident smirk, you knew you’d succeeded. There was no time to waste, you couldn’t risk him leaving you again. You grabbed his face on either side and desperately pressed your lips to his. Jake moaned into you, standing up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you in close and entangled his tongue with yours. He tasted so delicious you could hardly stand it.

“You sure you’re ready, bebita?” He said while you both separated for a second to catch your breath.

“Yeah, yes please, can’t get you out of my head.” You tasted something salty when you went back in for more kisses. You were crying, tears of a needy desperation you thought you were above…until you’d met Jake.

“Good, gonna give you exactly what you need sweetheart, bend over for me.”

You looked at him. He was so fucking handsome, looking back at you with those inexplicably dilated eyes that were akin to the hungry eyes of a predator looking at his prey.

“Anything for you, Jake, I’ll do anything. I need you so bad.” An audibly shameful sob left your throat.

“I know, cause you’re a good girl, si?” He had that cocky smirk splayed over his face.

Your mind stopped working when he said that. A slow nod of affirmation was all you could afford him in response. Jake spun you around and placed a firm hand over your back to slam you onto the desk. He teased you first, trekking a single finger up your skirt and gently tugging it up over your bare ass. You heard a dark snicker leave his lips.

“You are ready, aren’t you sweetheart? Look at that.” His finger touched between your pussy lips, rubbing over your folds and brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck, been ready for a long time, please don’t tease me, fuck me please.” You begged. Any bit of dignity you had left went out the window when Jake had taken Steven’s place.

“Not yet…” He groaned as he continued to play with you.

Everything seemed to be a game to Jake, even this incessant teasing that drove you closer and closer to insanity. You shifted your hips, desperate for him to touch that burning bundle of nerves that he somehow managed to keep ignoring. It was right there. Maybe he didn’t know where it was.

“Right there!” You shouted when he brushed over it again.

“I know exactly where it is, sweetheart, but I need you to be a good girl for me and let me have my fun, okay? Been waiting a long time. Can you be good for me?” He asked in that suave tone that you couldn’t resist.

“Yes, yes I can be good for you.” You grabbed the other side of the desk and held on tight. When you squeezed your eyes shut you felt even more tears falling down your cheeks. You were such a pathetic mess for him.

“You’re so wet, been thinking about me all day?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you.” You admitted, pressing your lips together tightly to ease the ache in your cunt. Your body was so hot, all you needed was a release that only he could give you.

“Been a while since I’ve felt a nice warm cunt, but I’ve never seen someone so needy like you before.” His voice was gravelly.

You heard him fumbling with the waist of his pants followed by the prodding of his warm cock against your slick thighs. His finger was still toying with your crevices, teasing you to tears. You didn’t dare beg again, you didn’t want to make the torture last longer just for the sake of his own amusement. Jake slipped his finger inside of you. An aroused exhale left his lips at the feeling of your soft walls fluttering around his digit.

“You’re tight, sweetheart, not sure you can handle what I’ve got for you.” He churned his hip forward, brushing his cock against the back of your leg.

“I can, I promise I can handle it.” Your voice was shaking, you were so distressed. “Please, I can do it.”

“Might hurt a little, I don’t know…” His tone was still teasing.

“I’ll do anything for it, please, Jake.”

He took out his finger, leaving you empty. The air was cool against the slick of your cunt. You felt as he grabbed his cock in his fist and dragged the fat tip between your pussy lips. You gasped, so close to getting the thing you’d been begging him for all this time. It was right fucking there.

“P-please.” You sobbed. Your knuckles ached from how hard you gripped the other side of the desk in anticipation.

Jake thrust forward suddenly, and you were full, stretched out over his cock beyond your threshold. You gasped followed by an agonizing whine. Jake moaned loudly behind you while he started thrusting slowly, resizing your walls to fit his wide girth. Both of his hands landed on your hips in a bruising grip.

“This what you wanted, bebita? Fuck, it’s good…tell me. Tell me how good it is.”

“It’s good, Jake, better than…mmmJake-”

You couldn’t speak properly, even to tell him that the way his cock felt splitting you open was better than any of the daydreams you’d had over the last several weeks. Jake’s hand was heavily pressing against your back, pushing you harder into the desk. Your cries grew until they were filling the office. You were thankful for the white-noise machine outside of the door that muffled them.

“Tell-me-how-good,” he demanded between thrusts.

“Best…best I’ve ever–Jake I can’t.”

“Come on, I know you can do it. You’re a good girl, right?”

“It feels so good,” you said in a primal growl. Drool slipped out of your mouth and onto the desk. “It’s so…so good I can’t…fuck…I can’t stand it!”

Jake pulled out of you, and for a moment you felt disappointed. You turned around to see why he’d do that, but he just looked at you, scanning your body with his lust ridden eyes.

“Get that shirt off, take it all off.” He demanded.

You were too quick to comply, moving so fast that under normal circumstances it would’ve been embarrassing. This wasn’t normal though. The way you felt wasn’t normal. Jake watched you every step of the way while you undressed, ripping off your clothes like they’d wronged you and throwing them aside quickly.

He pulled you in once you were done and told you, once again, that you were such a good girl. Your body tingled with his words. He lifted you, setting your bare ass on the cold surface of your desk. He used a firm hand to force you onto your back. Jake put one leg up on either shoulder while he lined himself up with you.

He thrust into you again, and immediately both of your hands gripped the edge of the desk for stability. One of Jake’s hands, the one that wasn’t squeezing your hip for leverage, reached around your leg and he started rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your cunt squeezed around him in response and you tossed your head back.

“Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart, love seeing the way you look at me.” He urged, smirking at you when your eyes met with his once more.

You bit your lip so tight you thought it might bleed. Tears ran down your cheeks in streams that you weren’t even trying to control anymore.

“So pretty when you cry.” He commented.

Jake continued to circle his thumb over your clit while he fucked you faster. You felt your body trembling with your impending orgasm. You were so close to feeling that sweet release you craved at his hands. You’d been so good trying to resist him all this time, you deserved this moment. At least that’s the delusion that had overcome you.

“No holding back now, gonna fill you up sweetheart. Is that what you wanted? Me to fuck you full of my cum?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes glistening while you gripped the desk with all your strength. His thumb kept rotating over you, drawing whining gasps from your lips with every pass. You felt your cunt flutter around him as you got closer. Your mind started to go white, no thoughts other than Jake’s cock fucking you relentlessly.

“Fuck…hope you’re on the pill, sweetheart, cause I’m gonna…gonna-fill-you-right-up…ahhh!”

Jake’s cock gushed inside of you, stretching you further with every strong throb. You lost it, becoming a drooling and crying mess while your thoughts ceased. You came in crushing waves over his length, draining him of every last drop you could. He noisily kept fucking you through your orgasm until his pace slowed to a stop. The room became quiet again, except for your heavy breathing and the clock ticking.

“I need…tissues.” You could hardly speak but you managed to get that out.

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” Jake pulled out of you and quickly dropped to his knees.

You gasped when his mouth closed over your cunt. He was slurping, collecting both your juices and his own in his mouth. When he stood back up, you didn’t know what he had planned. He hadn’t swallowed yet. He leaned over, dropping the mess on your chest. You thought he was done, but he knelt back down for more. Your clit was swollen and sensitive, but he went in again. You felt his finger slip into your hole, hooking and dragging along your walls to bring anything in there into his mouth. Again, he stood up and deposited the mixture onto your breasts.

“Ready for more, bebita?” He pressed a hand to your chest, smearing the combined liquids over your skin.

You stared at him wide-eyed as you nodded slowly. It would seem he had an unusually short refractory period. Jake was pressing his cock against your hole once again. He thrust himself into you, stretching you out once more. It felt just as good, if not better, the second time.

“Gonna cover you in my cum, sweetheart, make you all mine.” He said hungrily, spreading the mixture over your tits one at a time.

He gave extra attention to your nipples, brushing them with his thumb. He continued fucking you while he did, commenting on your sweet whines and how much he adored them. Jake never stopped surprising you with the way his mind worked. Your entire torso was coated in his cum, your cum, and copious amounts of spit. He never slowed his pace, but he leaned forward and dragged his tongue from as low down on your stomach as he could reach, all the way up to your mouth.

The combination tasted sweet, salty, and like something that only you and Jake could make. His tongue tangled with yours in desperate sloppy kisses. When the taste was gone, you craved more, you begged for it.

“More Jake…give-me-more,” you said between breaths.

He gave you a borderline evil smirk when he looked down at you.

“Anything for you, bebita.”

Jake went back down to your side with his tongue, dragging it up your torso and stopping over your cum coated nipple. He got stuck there, sucking deeply and moaning. Drool trickled down the side of your breast. You arched into his mouth, biting your bottom lip to stifle the loud scream that nearly left you. You looked down, Jake peered at you from under his lashes while he slammed into you harder.

“Feed me, Jake.” You begged, wanting to feel his lips on you again. “Give me more.” Your eyes were still watering.

He complied, bringing what was left in his mouth to yours in a flurry of passionate kisses. That sweet taste was there again, making your mind go blank with a feeling of ecstasy and comfort all blended into one. You felt like you belonged to him, like he was your everything, and the connection had been sealed in your combined body fluids and a kiss.

“Jake.” You said softly as he pulled back from you, “bite me. I want everyone to know that I’m yours. I want Marc and Steven to know that I’m yours.”

“That’s twisted, bebita. You want to scare them that bad?” He kissed down your jawline, working his way to your neck.

“I can’t let you go anywhere now, I can’t let them leave.” You explained, letting go of the desk to entangle your fingers in his dark locks.

“Wouldn’t leave you, even if they took me away.”

A sharp pain seared through your shoulder as you felt Jake’s teeth break through your skin. You winced and hissed, trying not to let your body shy away involuntarily. Even if your body did try to move against your will, Jake kept you close. You were still amazed at his ability to keep his hips rolling into you no matter what the top half of his body was doing.

You whined at the agonizing burn of his bite while he continued clamping his teeth into you harder. When he finally stopped, you looked at his face. His lips were glossy with spit and blood. You leaned up, kissing him, letting him make a mess of you even further. All you could taste was Jake and the metallic taste of iron. He pressed his forehead against yours and increased the pace of his hips.

“Gonna fill you up again. I don’t want you to be able to walk right.”

With a firm hand against your chest, he pushed you back onto the desk with a thud. You gasped as he fucked you harder than before. He reached his fingers up to your mouth, sticking two of them in there.

“Suck.”

You made Jake whine when your tongue started dancing over his digits. He tossed his head back for a second before looking back into your eyes with a dark and hooded gaze. His brow furrowed and his moaning changed to something more animalistic, less controlled. You looked up at him from under your lashes while making your muffled moans over his fingers.

“Hold-on-tight,” he said with each thrust.

You grabbed the edge of the desk with everything you could, feeling the white hot ropes filling you again with every throb of his thick cock inside of you. Once again, your eyes were rolling back, obscuring your vision while your body trembled from your orgasm over him. Your screams were still loud, though stifled by his fingers against your tongue. You were both a mess of heavy breathing while his thrusting slowed to a halt.

When he pulled himself out of you this time, you felt empty. You peered at the clock, it was nearly the end of Marc’s session. Jake stepped back, holding out a hand to you. He helped you off the desk before leaning his face into yours. He kissed you softly and then looked at you with a gentle expression.

“Will you come back?” You asked, feeling suddenly terrified that you may never see him again. You were sure you’d rather die than live in that reality.

“You keep me a secret and out of your little notes, and I’ll keep the boys crazy enough to stick around.” He winked at you, “I’ll be back in a couple days, try not to miss me too much.”

You were dressed before Steven was fronting again. He was sitting in the chair and grabbed his head the moment Jake went to the headspace. The last thing he must’ve remembered was you grabbing his shirt and slapping him. You’d fixed yourself up in the mirror as best as you could. You wiped the smeared makeup from your face, and what was left of Jake’s cum from your torso.

Steven touched his cheek, “you…you hit me.”

“Steven, bring Marc out. Things are going to be changing around here, and we need to have a chat.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Taglist (Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!):

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @ryebreadsworld, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @bloodredwolfsbane, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @romanarose, @360iris, @grumpyahjumma, @ninebluehearts, @burnincrown

#jake lockley #moon knight #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley smut #moon knight x reader #moon knight smut #steven grant #jake lockley x you #jake lockley fiction #jake lockley headcanon #moon knight drabble #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #marc spector #jake lockley one shot

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kangen-wanshi · 11 months

Note

Good morning! My request for the followers event is “for once, please, let me protect you” with Sebek from Twisted Wonderland. Thank you!

Promise ft. Sebek Zigvolt

He made a promise to you after an unpleasant incident that nearly cost you your life.

Tags: sfw, reader suffered an injury, mention of bullying, has a possessive undertone if you squint a little bit, reader getting called stupid (affectionately), no gendered reference

300 followers prompt events! Ongoing until 11th June 2023

Sebek had never run so quickly in his life. When he heard that you had been sent to the infirmary, he made haste to find you in an instant at that very moment, apologizing to Malleus - The Malleus Draconia that he adorned so much with his life - that he didn’t really have the time to hear the full explanation from Jack about the why you’re there in the first place.

Sebek loves his young Master, but if he was made aware that you, a human, one that he swore to protect too, have come to harm right when he’s around the corner, he could never bring his face up to the dragonic Fae.

When he barged into the infirmary it didn't take long to spot which space you occupy in. Ace sitting with his back turned towards the door, blocking you from his sight, followed by Deuce who stood by the end of your bed. The latter spotted Sebek’s sudden yet expected visit, as he immediately tugged on the red head’s arm, and encouraged him to leave your side for a brief moment to give the Diasomnia student a time with you.

Ace opened his mouth in protest - but when he made eye contact with Sebek, and see an unrecognizable expression of guilt, he shut his mouth, sighed, muttering about how ridiculous this situation is, before picking up Grim ,who had fallen asleep from excessive worrying, from the bed and stormed out of the room with Deuce following suit.

Before he left, Sebek’s gloved hand had halted him by the shoulder. He didn’t even utter a single word for his question to transpire: What happened.

Deuce knitted his brows, scowl on his face as he turned away from Sebek, “Some seniors were picking on the Prefect during our flight lesson,” he confessed, spits of venom splattered across his words, “They casted a long-ranged spell from behind the woods - the Prefect was up in the air and-”

“Thank you, Deuce.” Those were enough. He thought. He doesn’t need to hear more of it. Had Deuce continued with his story, Sebek would’ve immediately switched his destination to wherever these ‘seniors’ are, to act out on his own justice over your safety. But no, not now. He wanted to keep his rage and focus on you.

So Deuce left, giving Sebek - and you - one last look before leaving the infirmary to follow Ace and the furry little member of their group.

You had watched their little interaction from where you sat up on the bed. A small, pitiful and tired smile on your face as you gaze up to Sebek. Such a simple sight of your smile would send him to the moon - but not now. With how bandages are wrapped around your head and scratches all over your skin and your uniform, Sebek couldn’t focus on your beauty and charm, rather, he couldn’t help but clench his knuckles white.

“Sebek -”

“What happened?”

“O- oh, uh, some upperclassmen were just.. Feeling like practicing long ranged spells when we’re around to practice, I suppose..” You lowered your gaze, “Uh, Jade said he’d take care of them, so-”

“What happened?” Sebek pressed on. He knows you’re hesitating with your answer. You’ve been in this campus for long, you’ve gained friends, you've gained foes, but with each powerful allies you’ve gained - such as his young master - everyone on campus should know not to mess with the magicless Prefect of Ramshackle if they wish to graduate alive.

Something else happened.

You hesitated. But he knew that look in your eyes, you’re processing your thoughts. When you bite your lips, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt, shifting your gaze away from him. So he let you think, he let you take your time, if he knew anything, is that you have a reason for everything you do.

So you finally admitted, your pitiful and pained look now shifted to something akin to his - rage.

“They were mocking you.” You confessed, “They called you obnoxious,” you added, “Annoying,” and you added, “A painful thorn on the side,” and you added, “And-”

At this point, your knuckles turned white from clutching the sheet.

“- I had to give them a piece of my mind.”

“Did you-” You cut him off with a snicker, “Some seniors they are, couldn’t even fight me right in front of my face, huh?” The first time you looked up to him, with your bruised lips, you gave him a prideful grin, “Couldn’t even beat a little magicless me! Even without Grimm’s help I can beat ‘em easily. Some senior-ass they are.”

Ah. He recalled it now. Just a few days ago, he saw you all covered in dust and scratches. You admitted that you just came face to face with a bully and won, and he let it slide because you came out unscathed due to your victory.

But look how it turned out. They came back - and they came back worse. All because you were-

“- You were.. Defending me?” The insults you had sputtered out about him said by others went past his head, his eyes widened as he stared at your grinning face, “Why? For something so small such as that you shouldn’t have - How stupid can you be?!”

Sebek snapped, raising his voice in an instant when the reason behind your action finally registered in his mind, “When will you realize how truly weak you are?! You’re just a human, a magicless one at that, and yet you’re so recklessly going to seek trouble for something so fleeting such as an insult?! Even one that isn't directed towards you?! Why would you-”

“It’s not stupid!” You snapped back, flinching when your sore cheek stabbed your flesh with sting, which, dragged Sebek back to the reality of your condition as he visibly flinched.

“You’re important to me.” You continued, now with a whisper loud enough for him to hear, “Way too damn important for me to let some - scrawny senior wannabes insult you like that. And if you know anything about me which, I’m sure you’re fully aware of,” You scoffed at his dumbfounded silence, “You know I’m stubborn about insults.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. You are, in fact, stupid in his eyes. To fight off seniors who may be skilled in magic casting, all over insults that were directed towards him. Ridiculous. Reckless. You-

-And he broke down. A heavy, long exhale escaped past his lips as he squatted down next to your bed. His gloved hands are buried in his hair, his head lowered to face the floor beneath him. He couldn’t deal with you. You’re way too much for him. Too strong, too stubborn, yet too vulnerable to be left fighting alone all on your own. And he couldn’t leave you be. Not when you fight so hard for his sake.

“Please,” he pleaded, “Don’t ever do such a thing, ever again.”

You parted your lips, ready to argue with him once more, before his hands snapped up and grabbed yours gently, yet firmly, holding it securely within his own.

“At least, let me be by your side when you decide to do anything reckless like such,” he made eye contact with you. Now, with pleas in his eyes, concern, and devotion. One that you’d expect to see when he speaks about his young master.

“I couldn’t-” he paused, letting himself breathe between his words, “You’ve done so much. Too much. I couldn’t let you suffer from such minor inconvenience caused by scoundrels who couldn’t even see where they stood.”

“So please, for once, let me be the one who protects you.”

“Have you perhaps forgotten that I’m a knight, human?” he managed to slip in some humor and a chuckle, “I would be driven to shame beyond Sevens’ comprehension if I couldn’t even protect the one I hold dear. How would I protect the young master if I couldn’t even protect you?”

There he is. Beyond his anger, his plot of revenge, and his adoration for you, he managed to slip in some smile to entertain you and your giggles. Pulling your hand up towards his face, he planted a firm kiss to your bandaged knuckles, down to your fingers, and towards your delicate palms.

Yes. He won’t let you be dressed in such a manner anymore. No more bandages over your skin, no more bruises around your beautiful face. This time, he will be the one covered in others suffering for your sake.

After all, he promised to protect you, and Sebek’s loyalty is anything but a promise of his life.

#x reader #reader insert #les does writing #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek x reader #les 300 followers event

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bg-brainrot · 5 months

Text

Day 5 of winter fluff with Astarion for the BG3 Holiday Challenge!

Prompt: Delicacies

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Premise: You receive a lovely gift of seasonal delicacies from Alfira, a thanks for helping her set up her new school and being her favorite source of musical inspiration. When you realize that Astarion can’t partake, you find an alternative.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, post-canon, tw: blood

Word count: ~1.1k

Disclaimer: Google told me sugar can take as little as 10 min to enter your bloodstream, so that’s what I’m rolling with.

“What’s this?” As you arrive home, you find a package on your front steps. A small note is tied to it with a delicate purple ribbon. Taking a moment to read the attached note, your face lights up with joy. “Ooo, I need to share this with Astarion!”

You find your vampiric love in front of his favorite spot of the house– the fireplace. Considering how cold it is outside, you’re unsurprised to find him laid before it, like a lounging feline. “Astarion,” you call, checking to see if he’s awake.

He looks up at you hazily, shaking off what seems to be a heat-induced stupor. “Mmm, yes my love? Welcome home.”

“Astarion,” you say again, “Look at what Alfira sent us!”

The man finally sits up, eyes focusing on the package in your hands. “Alfira?” he asks, not fully processing your words yet.

“She sent us this thank you gift,” you say, handing Astarion the box as you move to take off your coat. “You should read her note.”

He pulls the piece of parchment free from the ribbon and reads it aloud, “To my favorite inspirational couple. Thank you for everything, and may the– ugh, she’s too saccharine for my liking.”

“Oh?” you ask, taking a seat next to Astarion on the floor. “I quite liked it. ‘May the ballad of your love continue forevermore.’”

“I may have to ensure that that song she’s writing about us never sees the light of day…” the vampire says in a low tone, though you know the threat has no genuine animosity to it.

You do still give him a good elbow and take the box back from him. “If you’re not going to appreciate that poor, innocent bard’s gift, I will.”

Astarion gives a ‘tsk’, but smiles at you all the same. “Very well, let’s see what she’s sent us.”

With deft fingers, you undo the box’s wrapping, slicing open the ribbon in a single twist. You can feel Astarion’s chuckle as he leans forward to rest his head on your shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“Just admiring how easily you dispatch your foes, whether they be brain or box,” he answers, and you catch his appreciative smirk out of the corner of your eye.

You give an inelegant snort at his words before tapping his head with your own. “You should see what I can do to vampires.”

"Oh darling, I know full well how easily you dispatch me."

You’re certain he can feel the heat come over your face and neck, but you ignore his words as you open the box in your lap. “Huh,” is the only word that escapes your mouth when you look at its contents.

“Are those chocolates?” Astarion asks, looking down at the box with distaste. In it lay four rows of artisanal chocolates, each a distinct, beautifully tempered delicacy. “She knows I’m a vampire, doesn’t she?"

“Absolutely, she kept asking me for words that rhyme with sanguine,” you say, looking down at the box of sweets in confusion.

Astarion opens his mouth, as if to offer a rhyme, only to close it a second later. “What does rhyme with sanguine?”

“Hells if I know, I’m not a bard,” you answer with a shrug. Astarion grumbles at the sudden movement and leans further into your shoulder with a huff. “Why did she send us something you can’t eat?”

That’s when you spot another note from Alfira, in much more casual lettering, on the inside of the box. ‘I wasn’t sure what I could get for Astarion. I don’t know how his kind work exactly, but I know he calls you his’– the next word is written in a smaller, slightly shakier hand– ‘treat.’ The note continues normally after that. ‘So I hope it’s something you can have together.’

You laugh at how innocent she manages to be, even in writing. “She’s adorable.”

The man next to you takes offense to this, burying his face in your neck now. “Excuse me,” he murmurs into your skin. “You dare.” He places a kiss on your neck. “Say that.” A kiss on your jaw. “With your adorable.” Another kiss on your ear. “Lover right here?”

His pecks leave your skin heated, and you’re tempted to give into his loving attention. However the chocolates look delectable and Alfira’s suggestion is calling to you. “Would that adorable lover listen to me for a moment?”

His lips stop on your shoulder, and he looks at you through his lashes. “You have five seconds.”

It takes you a bit over five seconds, but you explain to Astarion your plan: you taste the chocolate, he tastes your blood. You rinse and repeat until, ideally, you’re both in a sugar-induced coma.

After placing another kiss on your neck, near where he typically bites, the vampire agrees. “Your blood does taste particularly heavenly after a few glasses of wine. I imagine this could be even more… exquisite.” He all but growls the last word, as if he can already taste your sweet blood on his tongue.

You shiver under his breath and grab your first chocolate: a circular truffle, decorated with a pink drizzle. “Let’s try it then.”

This chocolate is a dark chocolate raspberry truffle, incredibly decadent and delicious. You describe it to Astarion as you chew, in case it might make tasting your blood all the more satisfying. After enough time has passed to allow the chocolate’s sugar to enter your bloodstream, he gives you a gentle squeeze with his arms and bites into your neck.

You can feel his soft hum on your skin as he savors it, and he pulls away a second later. “So?” you ask. “How was it?”

Astarion licks his lips to capture any remaining traces of blood and gives you a pleased grin. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright with bliss. “Mmm, I think Alfira was onto something. That was divine. I don’t think your blood’s ever been so… rich.”

There’s something about his demeanor, his expression, his compliment, that make you feel especially proud. “Should we try another?”

“Yes, my love. I would like that quite a bit,” he says, laying back on your shoulder while you pick out your next chocolate.

It’s only as you’re chewing your third sweet, a warm apple cider flavor, that you realize why you’re so proud: for the very first time since you’ve known Astarion, you’re able to share a piece of your mortality with him. Flavors may not be the same to him anymore, he may not get the chewy nougat or melting caramel, but it’s something– at the very least you can share this.

The smiles you share that night are warm, the flavors sensational, and the love so very sweet.

You’ll have to send Alfira your own thank you gift later.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #rogue + rogue #astarion x reader #bg3holidayfluffle23

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kit-williams · 11 days

Text

Chaos Tulio: Superbeast

This is a Loyalty swap for Tulio. Not based off of any fan heresies a lot more work goes into those and I'm not willing to build from the ground up an alternate Horus Heresy. However all of the boys (Except Tyberos and other actual 40k characters) will be getting a Loyalty swap. There will also be a "Falling to Chaos" version for the Loyalists and (tentatively) a "Rising to Redemption" for the Traitors.

Also Psychi in this story has descriptions due to the more... graphic nature of this one to lessen any ick someone might feel about a reader insert

Word count: 3542

Tag List @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts

@liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon @sculptorofcrimson

Thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

tw: sex ahoy, dubious consent, will also tag as noncon as well, yandere, Tulio is his own warning

Readers Discretion is Advised

The traitor realm of Ultramar was the largest holding of traitors outside of the eye of terror. Controlled by the fallen Primarch Robute Guilliman; it fell overnight following the charismatic leader that was the primarch of the 13th legion. The realm was a beautiful hell... a hell where they knew exactly how much worth you had in you the moment you were brought into their clutches. For a thing of Chaos... even the Chaos was calculated and planned for... for the Primarch hated surprises.

Tyranids were a surprise that the Lord of Ultramar despised and thus he dedicated several thousand of his sons to dealing with it and the profane rituals to insure that they could protect the realm of Ultramar. Profane rituals blessed these sons of Ultramar as to defeat their seemingly endless xenos foe... they chose to become like their foes. To become the beasts.

Lieutenant Tulio Sydo had secured a large victory for his Primarch, at the cost of thousands of his men, a few warp drives, and his fellow Lieutenant... the Hive Fleet barreling towards Macragge was no more... the splinters of the hive fleet would be hunted down but for now he was told to recuperate... to relax... to partake in revelry... as his worship of the four was far too lopsided according to the chaplain... the youngest deserved his worship.

The room smelt of sweat and sex as concubines bodies moved against mutated flesh. The four armed and eight eyed Lieutenant was watching the depravity... they couldn't be too rough given theses were the modified concubines... surely someone's seed would take. His lounged as his digigrade legs were spread open, his cheek rested on one of his hands, another held a goblet of wine, a third resting near a weapon, and his fourth hand laced through the blonde hair of his once favorite concubine as she took his cock in her mouth. He was fused to his armor in certain locations... his thighs, the tops of his hands and arms, and from the nose up was now twisted with a large singular horn coming from his forehead.

He could smell her... his black tongue lazily swiped over his needle like teeth. His eyes closer to the back of his head could watch her... his Psychoula. Comparing her to the concubines they looked far prettier... healthier... with a glow to their skin. His eyes darted to the symbol of the Prince on his former favorite's tongue just working her best to please him. Psychi feared him... he could see it in the way tears gathered in the corners of her eyes... those plain brown things. How thin her dirty brown hair was but oh what a rich chocolate brown it could be when cleaned. He had the pleasure of seeing her look good once... once again when his favorite was failing to make him feel alive.

Slaanesh wasn't his favorite of the four... Khorne was his main patron and it was hard to drag him back to the center of worship that being so high up in his father's good graces required. So Tulio had to... excessively indulge in Slaanesh to balance out his souls humors. Yet this... neglected looking thing drove him to feel such licentiousness desires. His eyes, the ones that could see her, focused on her as he churned his hips. Hand gripping the hair tighter as he closed those still green eyes of his just picturing those sad looking brown ones looking up at him.

He grew to dislike his erstwhile concubine when she had caught sight of her, of course ignorant of his interest in the feeble little thing, and simply upturned her nose to the poor little thing. But, her mouth was a good replacement until he could get those pale lips to wrap around his own cock one day soon. Oh yes orgy first then rewards for his men as they had all chosen their desired pitiful creature to have as theirs and theirs alone and he could tell they all were watching, or trying to not watch, nervously. He sees her tense as he catches her eyes dart over and notice how he looks at her and what is going on between his legs. Tulio can't help but grin as he lets out a groan letting the whore between his legs drink it up.

"Brother Cyrus." Tulio started as he was being cleaned off. His second also appeared to be boredly watching the festivities but really Tulio knew his eyes were focused on some one armed black haired waif. Such a tiny looking frail thing... Tulio might have been tempted to lust over such a cute looking thing but his Psychi caught his eyes first.

"Yes Lieutenant?" He replied with a bored sigh.

"You want a go at this?" He gestures to the concubine in his lap who looks at him confused. Cyrus looked over clearly uninterested before Tulio purred out, "Might make sure you don't... break your little waif... if you get some of that eager passion out. Whole point of this orgy really... don't need any of my closest men sobbing about breaking their new toy."

They ignored the concubine trying to get an answer to beg for her master's affection and Tulio could have ignored her but he looked down at her boredly, "You were always on loan to me my dear. I just tend to get possessive of my things." He says grabbing her chin and pushing her lips together, "However, I'm about to get a tight new toy..." He says before brother Cyrus grabs her and drags her into a side room.

The wine ran down his throat so smoothly cleaning away the acidic feeling from gorging himself earlier. He looked at the empty goblet holding it to the side and just gently rolling his hand as he watched his timid little Psychoula come over to fill the glass. Her cheeks flushed from the debased acts and the pleasured moans... perhaps glances from the women to entice them to join in and enjoy.

"What do think about this my dear?" He trilled to her watching confusion crawl across her pretty face slowly like a body divided below the waist... refusing to die and dragging it out like intestines across the ground.

He watched her mouth open slightly a few time as her eyes darted around trying hard to look away but knowing that she had to maintain eye contact with him. "I... I... its... it's not exactly... my first choice?" She tried her best not to stutter and if it was anyone else he would be offended at the lack of respect given to him. Tulio knows he'll teach her better manners she's just not use to his divinely gifted aura yet. Few mortals could manage to not be intimidated or struck with fear the first few times meeting him.

"Oh?" He cooed to her moving to him now lounging on his side giving her his attention. The saliva clinging to his cock has dried off and he was eager to replace it with something else. One of his hands began a languid stroke, "What brings you such hesitations Psychoula?" Tulio did his best not to have a predatory grin as he could see the other rewards looking at her with pity and fear as they tried to ignore the mewling and moaning throng in the center of the room.

His eyes dilated for a moment watching her pink little tongue wet her dried and chapped lips. His eyes wandered down to the front of her stolla where the fabric revealed the tattooed symbol of the Ultramarine's on her collarbone like all slaves. "It... it looks rather violent." She just says uncomfortably, he could tell she wanted to beg to be dismissed but she was trapped.

"Oh it is. But," He pauses taking a drink, "they are modified to handle such carnal appetites. Only the prettiest things can become like them..." Tulio leans in watching her start to shake but like a good girl she doesn't move, "I think you're pretty enough to become one." He whispers into her ear pulling back to watch her stiffen with fear. Those tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she whimpers just biting on her bottom lip resisting the urge to beg for mercy.

Tulio stops playing with himself and sets his goblet down as his clawed hands grab her feeling the barest of resistance as he pulls her into his lap. This lower set of arms pulls on the low quality fabric apart causing her to start crying as everything below her waist was now revealed... he could feel how boney she was. One upper hand retrieved his gobelt... the other upper hand worked on throwing the last bits of her ruined stolla away... one lower arm was groping her ass, his cock twitching with excitement, as his other worked her breasts.

"You're so small zoi mou." He stated as her breasts were small from lack of food... lack of nutrition... oh they wouldn't do. Two of his hands rushed down and grabbed her ass with a smack causing her to yelp as he felt up the slightly boney thing, his cock leaking again with excitement at her being in his grasp and his hands felt up her body. "This won't do at all." He said tutting softly as he grabbed her chin. He loved to watch her cry... it stirred something noble feeling in his chest. She was a soft and frail thing that needed someone to protect her and he was going to be that one to do so.

"You'll fatten up soon enough and have breasts as enviable as any of the other concubines getting ravaged here." He made her look at one of the women face down on the floor with a pleasured look on her face as cum oozed down her thighs while one of the battle brothers was roughly rutting with her. She was too speechless only making whines of pleasure... he could smell the shameful arousal from Psychi... "Fat breasts for me to grope and hold," he whispers in her ear, "fattened hips for me to grab and feel my balls clap against." He turned to have her look at him, "You want to be in that position, dont you?"

He watched her shake her head and just chuckled, "I can smell you." He poked her nose like some amused child and not a being of twisted transhuman dread and the simple dread of the profane gifts he has gotten. He pushes her against his cock and she jerks in his grip.

"Please you're too big my lord please! Mercy!" She finally sobs and Tulio shivers, one of his hands gathering up his cum on some fingers.

"Hmm you're right... how about we change that." He leans her back slightly pouring the far too rich wine into her mouth. She lets out a sputtering noise as his cum covered finger pushed into her. She pushed the goblet away and coughed as the red wine stained her skin and wetting her hair as Tulio worked his finger in and out of her at a fast beat smearing just a light coating of his thick cum into her unprepared sex.

She felt her body relax and react to the way his finger moved in and out of her quickly and filled her with a thickness akin to a cock. Tulio's barbed tail twisted and coiled around itself in its own way to express its master's twisted glee. "Yes," he dulcetly crooned, "be a good girl and relax for me." A clawed hand moved over her stomach... claws gently tapping against those visible lower ribs of hers. Tulio loved the way she cried... the pitiful expression she wore just stroked something in him. Tulio felt that same sentimental twinge itch in the back of his mind... was this what loyalists felt over their charges?

He drags out a gasping moan as his index joins his middle finger. He pulls her dirty hair free of the frazzled braid and watches it spool out over the lounging chair. His eyes all focus on her... drinking in the full picture of her pleasure... his hands dance over her body. He held a memory covetously close to his wicked hearts... having seen her smile. Having seen her express a pure spark of joy even in hell. Her smile made such a frail looking creature like herself look radiant and glowing.

She whimpered under his ministrations as she writhed on the large lounging chair unable to stop squirming. Her eyes screwed shut as she was torturously close... Tulio leaned in as his long thin black tongue glided out of his mouth like some predatory beast and it moved into her... finding her clitoris... she squealed as she orgasamed and she tasted like he was expecting... unhealthily... but he wasn't a fully selfish lover... she'd taste like dark chocolate to him one day... that delightful bitter and salty combination mixed with an essence uniquely her's.

He knows she should have asked if there was anything else he needed... but his answer would have been a yes. His hooves touched the stone floor as he grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her to another room, her legs seemingly failing her. She caught those pitying looks from the others but they would soon have to worry once the concubines were sent away with cum filled cunts. The sexual frenzy of his brothers would end soon... but he was going to indulge in his reward first.

Pressing her hands against the wall in the second room he rocks his cock against her back as he takes his time letting his eyes meander and wander over her body... again far too thin for his liking... he'd find out what fruits and sweets she'd like and help her indulge... oh he certainly was feeling the high that others got from the Prince of Pleasure. She was surly placed in his path by him to keep Tulio from giving it all to Khorne... just as the Weaver of Fate kept his mind sharp... and the loving Grandfather kept him hearty and hale... he would return to balance with his now continued indulgence of his dear Psychoula.

He tossed the empty metal goblet away as all of his hands moved over her body, two hands grabbing and squeezing her breasts on the edge of being too much for her body he could feel her try to flinch away but she was very much well trained... hardly flinching away at all. "I'll enjoy breaking you in... have you begging for my cock again."

She whimpered choosing to remain silent... Tulio clicked his tongue feeling a bit ignored. The way her eyes widened in horror as his palm talon shot out and punched a hole into the metal wall. How her body trembled against his as Tulio leaned in whispering, "I expect you to answer when I tell you something zoi mou. I'm being oh so very nice," He hissed into the shell of her ear, his hands on her breasts shifting to let his nails dig into her oh so frail flesh... "I could rip your flesh right off your body." That got a sob out of her, "Answer honestly my dear..."

He savored with sick delight as her mouth opened and closed as tears were flowing down her cheeks like rain. "Please just don't make it painful." She managed to squeak out of her without sobbing.

"Awww, zoi mou, is that what you're worried about?" He said grabbing her chin and having her look up at him. Of course, she'd be pain adverse for their first time together... perhaps they would work up to that... or not... Tulio just wanted her to be begging for his cock. To see her smile at him with a coy lustful grin in his bed as she wiggled her ass and bare sex to him just wanting to fill her. "I will do my best to make this a moment you want again." He kissed her temple.

She could feel the pointed head of his cock force its way between her prepared folds... it started out thin but got thicker towards the base. She pressed her forehead against the wall, forced to the tips of her toes as Tulio sunk inch after inch into her. Tulio on the other was clenching his jaw trying his best to not just break her and rip her apart for his first time with her. He had to be gentle...

His eyes snapped open, he didn't realize he closed them all, he licked the inside of his mouth as he adjusted his hips and began the slow thrust in and out of her divine sex. It's how he didn't burn himself out... he savored each time he had sex keeping them far enough apart that it made it feel so wonderful and new... he probably would be indulging so much more often if this is what was waiting for him.

Psychi whimpered as he picked her up, hands still on her breasts on the edge of being so painful. The way he wrapped his arms around her... she could feel him starting to squeeze... more and more. Her moans became less and less sure as the distraction of the sex was waning and the impending dread returned.

Tulio tilted her back and started to squeeze causing her to thrash around him, her walls fluttering around his cock causing him to groan as those tears rolled down her cheeks, "Lord Sydo! Lord Sydo please!" She screamed fearfully as she has seen what an Astartes can do to normal human flesh...

"Tulio." He hissed, "Call me Tulio... moan that out for me!"

"Tulio! Tulio!" She screams trying to moan but she just sobs as she can feel the pressure against her body... she was going to die.

"You say my name so sonorously how I am compelled to listen." He trills to her before tossing her naked body onto the bed in the room . He watches her try to recover but he is upon her swiftly and he plunged his cock back deep into her as once again she feels it dance on the edge of painful but Psychi can't help but moan slightly.

Tulio has been a kind lover... as he is certain she has orgasmed at least 4 times since he started giving her attention. The soft whimpers as his cock gently grinds against her cervix... perhaps he lied a little promising that this time wouldn't hurt... it would hurt a bit... one of his upper arms traps her in a headlock, he watches those eyes look at him with fear.

He promises zoi mou! Just let him breed you right now! You will come to love this! He thinks deliriously as his body suddenly floods with the right cocktail of chemicals and neurons firing. The tip of his cock pushes against the very back of her being... Psychi feels something move inside of her before she feel the pressure and she starts to just scream as it hurts. She claws at those ceremite ridges on his arm holding her, she's thrashing as she feels something move inside of her as Tulio's profane biology goes to work flooding his system with hormones as he lets out a soft groan as he finally releases inside of her.

I can't breathe! Is Psychi's last thought as it's too much for her... the racing of her heart... the painful pressure... his arm around her. She cannot hear the bellowed order from Tulio then the screaming from the "gift" mortals. No she gets no closure... as it all... fade... to ... black.

For the first time in her miserable short life... everything feels quiet... everything feels safe. She can feel sleep languidly pulling away from her but whatever she is on is soft. A gentle clean breeze kisses her cheeks and she can feel a gentle warmth on her skin that feels so comforting like a babe's blanket. She does her best to ignore the gentle light that dances across her eyelids occasionally.

She lets out a contented sigh and feels like all of that hardship... it was all a dream and she was finally dead. Something rustles behind her and a warm voice... strong... assured of itself... but it whispers to her, "Welcome Home." The voice says before gentle kisses are pressed against the back of her neck coaxing her back into the deep slumber. Home... what a funny word to here but if this was home... then she never wanted to leave.

Tulio Sydo Lieutenant of the Tyrannic division of the Traitor Primarch Robute Guilliman's Ultramarine legion... sighed contently watching his new wife, consort, concubine, possession. Return to her sleep as they were back in the Ultramar system and he was back home. He once more pressed kisses to the back of her neck as he thought how she would be modified soon... for now he would just enjoy finally having his zoi mou all to himself. His tail lazily swayed behind him as he closed those grass green eyes of his and trilled contently.

#oc: Tulio #oc: Psychi #Loyalty Swap #warhammer 40k #yandere space marine #space marine #yandere ultramarine #ultramarine #traitor astartes #traitor ultramarine #tw: dubcon #tw: dubious consent #tw: noncon #tw: yandere

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hyunbunlix · 3 months

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Belonging [seraph soldier!Hyunjin]

Characters: Hyunjin, fem!OC Rating: A/O for Adults Only Content Warnings/Tags: mentions/depictions of war/battle, winged characters, explicit sexual content, inexperienced Hyunjin, switch Hyunjin, blowjob/facefucking (+swallowing), fingerbanging, multiple orgasms, back-to-back orgasms (f), cunnilingus, unprotected penetration, dirty talk/banter, hickey (m. receiving), raw male orgasms Word Count: 10,575 Summary: As a member of the Misbegotten—an army made up of the angel Emperor’s bastard children—Hyunjin has long since accepted his status as cannon fodder. As casualties in the war with chimaera worsen, commanders from the Dominion army are sent to bolster the Misbegotten ranks. The last thing he expected was one of the Dominion to inspire him to dream of a different life. Note: Based on the world of Daughter of Smoke & Bone by Laini Taylor.

Once upon a time, a soldier forgot what he was made for, and chose to love instead.

Seraph soldiers came in three varieties.

The first: The Dominion, the best of the best, soldiers that served under the Emperor’s brother and carried out the will of the royal family most directly.

The second: Aptly named the Second Legion, this force was what most people would call the standard military. For the most part, any angel who wanted to join the cause but was not truly exceptional was in the Second Legion.

The third, and final: The Misbegotten, a military force made up entirely of the Emperor’s bastards. It was drilled into their heads from a young age that they were not people, but weapons; they had no rights, only a purpose. Angels lived for hundreds of years, and the Emperor had sired thousands of bastards. It was said he had a harem full of women, and that he called a different one to him every night.

Hyun Jin could confirm that to be true, because he’d been born in the harem, and had witnessed the nightly ritual, the way women would be escorted out, and when they came back, they were exhausted at best and broken at worst. It was cruel, how Hyun Jin could remember the aura of fear in that place better than he could remember his own mother’s face.

Was his mother still in the harem, he wondered? Did he have other full-blooded siblings in the Misbegotten army that he didn’t even know about? Naturally, every Misbegotten was at least his half-sibling, but were any of them more than that?

Hyun Jin hoped none of them were. He hoped, at best, that his mother had been able to escape. He hoped, at worst, that she’d finally been allowed the mercy of death. He knew which was more likely.

Since new Misbegotten were conceived nearly every single night, this was the military branch that always got sent in first, and therefore the one that withstood the most casualties. Recently, they’d taken heavy losses against their chimaera foes. The war had started hundreds of years before Hyun Jin was born, and, being one of the Emperor’s many bastards, he was not allowed the luxury of an opinion on that matter. He would fight the chimaera until he died, or he would attempt to desert and be hunted for sport. His end would be the same no matter his choices.

Hyun Jin hadn’t been alive at the beginning of the war, and he likely wouldn’t be alive at the end of it, either. He’d been around long enough, though, to know that things were horribly wrong. The chimaera had always been a peculiar group of races, part or even mostly animal, but the chimaera they were fighting as of late . . . they were wrong. They had become hulking nightmare creatures that could not possibly occur in nature. Hyun Jin had seen and fought several; he wasn’t short by any means, but some of these monsters were nearly twice his height.

Suffice it to say, the Misbegotten were forced under the brunt of the assault, and had suffered heavy casualties.

When Hyun Jin found out that several ranking officers from the Dominion were being sent to bolster their ranks, he was shocked. Surely this couldn’t be the Emperor’s idea; he was just fine with using his bastard children as cannon fodder. No, someone must have talked enough strategy to convince him to do it out of necessity.

When the members of the Dominion arrived, the Misbegotten camp did their best to welcome them out of respect (or fear of insult). They didn’t have the resources for anything so fancy as a banquet, of course, so they determined to have a feast instead. They all had to eat, after all, so it allowed the Misbegotten to be respectful of their “betters” without being wasteful about it. Hyun Jin even volunteered to be on the hunting party. It was nice to do something that didn’t involve wading into an active warzone for once. Though he fought mostly with swords in combat, he wasn’t half-bad as an archer, and taking down game was much easier than taking down chimaera soldiers.

Hyun Jin mostly kept to himself during the feast, rarely venturing away from his team. He paid attention, of course, when the officers were introduced, and made his snap judgment of each. Most of them seemed as arrogant as he’d expected, and a few even seemed downright cruel. There were a few others, though, that didn’t leave much of an impression at all, and Hyun Jin prayed his team would be assigned to one of those relatively inoffensive individuals. For once in his life, the Godstars felt up to answering his prayers, because his team ended up with one of the milder-seeming officers, a female lieutenant named Da’el who, throughout the night, kept to herself and minded her business where many of her comrades contented themselves with antagonizing the Misbegotten at every opportunity. The latter treatment was to be expected; everyone who was in frequent direct contact with the Emperor was more or less a horrible person. Who was this seraph, that she’d managed to avoid the Emperor’s corruption?

He told himself he was reading way too far into it. Maybe she just had a lot of restraint or was a really good actress, and she’d prove herself to be just as horrible as the others when training started in the morning. After all, it was so much easier to be cruel with a blade in your hand.

At dawn, the Misbegotten rose, ate, and reported to their new honorary commanders. Hyun Jin tried to put the trepidation out of his mind, but it was difficult. When he saw their new commanding officer standing on their practice pitch, her wings glowing in the new morning light, he tried to get a better read on her. She had the same nothing-expression on her face that she’d had the night before. When he and his team lined up, as they were supposed to, he realized she was nearly as tall as him. She looked over the lot of them with eyes similar to her wings, which was unusual. Most angels either had blue eyes, like the Emperor and those he surrounded himself with, or dark brown eyes like the common folk that, for the Misbegotten, made up a majority of their mothers. Even green eyes were more common than hers, which looked like they were on fire, and Hyun Jin couldn’t decide if it was a trick of the sunrise or not.

“Pair off,” she said. “You may use any weapon you like. I want to see what I’m working with.”

They did as she said, and Hyun Jin belatedly recalled that his team was an odd number after . . . recent losses. He felt bad for the man that got stuck with the commander, a soldier named Lorn who was a few years older than Hyun Jin. Lorn looked terrified of the lieutenant, but, to Hyun Jin’s surprise, she didn’t react to that at all. He’d expected her to be at least a little smug.

Two at a time, they sparred, leaving Da’el and her unfortunate partner for last. Da’el fought with twin swords, while her opponent chose a pike. Hyun Jin knew Lorn’s fighting style, and the pike was not his weapon of choice. He often fought with a claymore, but perhaps, upon seeing what the lieutenant would be using, had chosen something with a faster fighting style despite being personally unaccustomed. Hyun Jin wasn’t sure that was such a good strategy here.

He expected the fight to be over quickly; he expected a member of the Dominion to act the way they always did, by making short work of their opponents, humiliating them in the process. Hyun Jin was stunned when that didn’t play out.

Instead of disarming Lorn promptly and berating him for his sub-par skills, Da’el checked her own skill level to just above his; he wouldn’t win, but he would get a good fight out of it. It was obvious to Hyun Jin that she was holding back, but he attributed it to his own skill with swords rather than an obvious telegraphing of her movements. Really, she was doing quite a good job of not embarrassing the soldier; she could have easily used her restraint to mock him. Hyun Jin really only knew the difference because he saw the openings he himself would have taken to disarm Lorn, and watched her pass them up.

Eventually, after letting Lorn put up a good fight, she disarmed him, and put her sword tips, crossed right over left, on his shoulders. The message was obvious: had this been a real fight, it would have ended with the soldier losing his head.

“Good,” she said, withdrawing her blades and replacing them on the rack. Hyun Jin hadn’t registered at first that those weren’t even her swords; they were regular practice blades. How much better was she when using blades weighted for her swing? Were swords even her weapon of choice?

“I’m pleased to see that a good many of you are adaptable, but a lot of you still need work. It’s my understanding that the Misbegotten have taken heavy losses recently. Why do you think that is?”

She asked the question in such a way that expressed actual curiosity, like she actually valued their opinion and insights. There was nothing patronizing in her voice or expression; she wasn’t trying to denigrate them by blaming them for their defeats. It was extremely unlike one of the Dominion. Honestly, even the Second Legion, whom the Misbegotten served alongside more often, didn’t really care what the Misbegotten thought and tended to mock when they did dare to express themselves.

“You could start with the fact that the chimaera are ten feet tall now,” answered one of the soldiers. Da’el looked thoughtful.

“That shouldn’t affect your results this much. Being large tends to slow a body down, not to mention you all have wings. It’s not as though you can’t reach their heads. What else?”

“They all fly now,” Hyun Jin said, surprising himself. She turned those burning eyes on him, and he almost lost his nerve for a second. He’d forgotten entirely for an instant that she was Dominion, and his current commander. She’d spoken like this was just a conversation between comrades, and he’d responded in kind without thinking. It wasn’t like him to forget himself in such a way.

“Was every victory in the past predicated on aerial superiority?” she asked him, directly. She didn’t move her eyes to include the other seraphim in the question.

“No,” he answered. She didn’t remove her gaze, prompting him to continue. “Not every victory,” he elaborated. “There have always been races of chimaera that can fly. We’ve never been wholly unchallenged in the air. But we’ve also never been this challenged.”

She nodded, and moved her eyes to the other seraphim. Hyun Jin nearly sighed in relief, which confused him. No Dominion had ever had the ability to rattle him before, and all she’d done was ask a question.

“What else?” she asked of the group.

“There’s a difference in tactics,” said Lorn. For an instant, the edge of Da’el’s mouth lifted toward a smile. Hyun Jin felt a peculiar stab like jealousy. He hadn’t gotten a partial smile for his answer.

“Different, how?” she asked, addressing only Lorn now.

“It’s like they know us, what we’ll do,” he said. “We’ve been fighting this war for hundreds of years, always had a familiarity with one another’s tactics, but this . . . It feels as though they know us personally.”

She gave one deep nod in response. “Excellent observation. Anything else?”

The rest of Hyun Jin’s team started to pipe up their experiences, too, anything they thought might help form a clearer picture. Now that they all felt they could speak freely without repercussions, they offered up everything they knew. She took every piece, built on every answer, asked clarifying questions to draw out extra details.

“After observing your fights today,” she said at the end, “I can tell there are several of you already internalizing these concepts, which is probably why you’re still alive.” She gestured to Lorn, the soldier she’d sparred with. “Lorn knew that his usual strategy—his usual specialty—wouldn’t be effective against me. I saw several of you make similar choices in your fights, as well. Lorn lost today, but he showed the adaptability necessary to overcome and win in the future. I’m going to teach all of you how to do that. Your current skills alone won’t save you, but they’ll provide the proper foundation for the new ones you’ll accrue. Think about where you’re starting from and where you wish to go. If you’re uncertain, ask me and I’ll help you. Any questions?”

Hyun Jin knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help but take this like a personal reprimand. He’d chosen his usual swords for today’s spar, and in so doing, felt as though he’d failed a test. Did their commander think less of him now for his inability to consider creative solutions?

And, perhaps, more importantly, why the fuck did he care?

She dismissed them and told them to return after the midday meal with their new weapon of choice in mind. The team wandered off, and all of them seemed to be in various stages of bewilderment.

“She made it sound like she actually cares whether we live or die,” said one of the soldiers.

“I don’t buy it,” said another.

“What reason does she have to put up an act? I’ll bet the others aren’t.”

That, at least, seemed to be true. When they met up with a few of the other teams for lunch, they didn’t need to ask to know. Plenty of the other Misbegotten were sporting minor injuries, bruises and cuts that proved their new commanders hadn’t taken it easy on them.

But . . . that wasn’t the right language, was it? Hyun Jin didn’t feel as though he’d gotten off the hook easily. He’d still worked hard, and he was ravenous by the time he’d gotten his food. So, what, then? What was the difference?

At first, a few of the other Misbegotten teased them for their softer treatment. They asked who their new commander was, and upon hearing it was Da’el, several of them became confused.

“They were calling her the witch last night,” offered a woman from another team. “That doesn’t sound like the kind of nickname one gets by being merciful.”

“Perhaps they call her the witch because she’s the only person left in all of Astrae with a working brain in her head,” offered another. That drew laughter from most of the circle.

Hyun Jin kept his view of things to himself. Perhaps she was simply wise enough not to stress the things around her until they broke. The chimaera did plenty of breaking. What good was it to harm their allies when their enemy could do it just as well, or better?

That, however, looked a little too much like mercy, which was something seraphim, and those close to the Emperor especially, were not known to have in excess. So, how? So, why? How had she come to be one of the Dominion without succumbing to the ethos that thrummed from the very heart of the empire?

Hyun Jin was among the first to finish eating; he stood and turned to go. He still had no idea what to choose for his secondary weapon, and . . . he had the urge to speak with Da’el, alone.

When he made it back to the practice pitch, she was already there, sitting in the shade and eating her own meal. This struck him as immediately strange. He’d seen the pavilion where the other Dominion were eating together.

“Am I here too early?” he asked, testing the waters. She glanced up at him, but remained seated. Strange, incredibly so. With him standing and her sitting, he had the appearance of every advantage over her, and the Dominion valued their appearance very much. They wouldn’t be caught dead in the perception that they were beneath a Misbegotten.

“Not at all,” she said. “Did you need help choosing a weapon?”

“Yes, but . . .” But what? What else could he possibly be here for? He sat down across from her, and saw . . . something . . . flicker in her firelight eyes. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

She looked at him curiously. “They don’t suit my idea of companionship,” she said simply. He blinked at her, and she took another bite of her stew.

“Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but you’re not how I expected you to be,” he said before he could really think it through. She made a soft sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh, the edges of her mouth curving. Hyun Jin’s chest tightened, and he felt foolish for it.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. He nodded.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he clarified. “You’re just . . . not like the other Dominion I’ve known.”

“Thank you for noticing,” she said, smiling fully now. “They tried to beat it out of me, but that just made me more determined to endure.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant beat literally. Knowing the Dominion, she probably did.

“How is it you came to be where you are, then?” he asked, forgetting himself again. Talking to her felt like talking to a friend, or at the very least a comrade he’d known much longer than one day. “I thought the Dominion—the empire—valued homogeneity. How is it that you’ve risen to where you are if you refuse to act like them?”

“Because I’m good at what I do, and the Emperor has enough beasts to fight without creating new ones on this side,” she said. Hyun Jin felt like a bowstring released, her words triggering a vibrating resonance within him.

That . . . sounded almost like a threat. It sounded almost like dissent. The empire was the way it was, and one either fell in line or was disappeared. Da’el spoke as though daring it to try.

He must have been silent for too long, stared for too long, because she turned her attention away from him, back onto her food. If there was a double meaning there, his silence likely made it seem like he hadn’t caught it.

Hyun Jin could feel the crossroads of this moment, the fork his life could take. He could ignore what she’d just said, or he could say something just as crazy, just as risky, something to show that whatever she’d meant, he was on her side, that his heart could hold the same insane dream she’d implied to be in hers.

“Well, at any rate,” he said, willing his voice to sound light, normal, “what weapon would you recommend I learn to best dispatch opponents with wings?”

Her eyes seemed to burn brighter as she looked at him again, and he knew she’d caught the meaning, that he’d heard and echoed her correctly. Not chimaera. Not beasts. No, only opponents with wings. It could be anyone.

It could be his own father.

“I think,” she said softly, “you’d be best suited choosing a heavier weapon, like an axe or a claymore. That way, you might clip their wings for good with a single stroke.”

Da’el had not said the words explicitly, but it was all Hyun Jin could think about while he tried to sleep that night. All his life, his two choices had been laid in front of him with no deviation. Die fighting the beasts, or be killed deserting the fight. There was no option in which he might get to live or die for anything other than war.

Now here was a Dominion, silently proposing that he could turn his blade the other way, that he might choose to cut down those that foisted such an ugly, losing choice upon him. His crime was his bastard birth, and he’d never spent much time thinking about the unfairness of it, because what was there to be done about it, anyway? Nobody cared about the deaths of bastards.

But maybe . . . maybe others could be persuaded to care about their lives.

Hyun Jin had never had a secret before. He was one of a legion, a weapon with singular purpose, always training or fighting or on the move. There was no life for him to live, no attachments for him to form, and no chances for him to accrue secrets. But as the days wore on, he found himself in possession of not one, but two.

The first was his unspoken agreement to attempt a coup against the Emperor. Part of that involved feeling out his comrades, an attempt to determine who might be sympathetic to such a cause. Another part was Hyun Jin’s training with axes. He started out with a regular battleaxe, eventually expanding his horizons to the pole axe. Hyun Jin’s sword style had always relied more on speed than brute strength, and while his body had been honed muscle before, the frequent use of heavier weapons made his upper body a bit bulkier in a way he hadn’t thought to expect.

In order to further his training as well as keep himself on track with his new cause, he spent as much extra time as he could reasonably steal with Da’el. He would show up early to training, or linger late after. Occasionally, he would even find excuses to step away and eat with her. He learned more than just weapons skills from her, and from therein came his second secret.

Being one of the Misbegotten was a lonely lot. They had each other, of course, but since they had all been sired to be weapons and nothing more, they were not allowed to have homes or families of their own. Not to mention that, since every Misbegotten had the same father, it was impossible for any of them to form anything more than the bond of comrades who might die the next day.

Simply put, Hyun Jin had never developed feelings for another person like what he’d developed for Da’el. They consumed nearly every waking moment and even some sleeping ones. All this was compounded by the fact that they truly got along, that the more time they spent together the more at ease they were. She spoke freely of things she’d seen and experienced in the heart of the empire, and he answered her with the grueling alternation of training and battle that had been his life up until now.

Up until now. As though there was a neat demarcation to denote the time before Da’el had come into his life and the time after.

It took him a sizeable chunk of time for him to realize that what he felt for her was not just camaraderie or companionship. It took him so long because he didn’t have anything to compare it to. Ever since he’d been taken from his mother and placed into military training as a boy, fighting alongside his half-siblings was all he’d known.

Now here she was, someone who didn’t share his plight, and, much more importantly, didn’t share his blood. No, what he felt for her was beyond simple friendship. It was a stirring in his stomach when he saw her, and a tightening in his chest when he thought of her. It was the way she stuck in his unconscious mind, visiting him in his dreams.

It was the feeling of finally having something to look forward to.

This was so much more than an alliance, a plot, a burgeoning rebellion. This was everything Hyun Jin had never even thought to dream of.

The more time Da’el spent getting to know Hyun Jin, the more he started to seem like two people sharing one skin. Most of the time, he was the soldier she’d met on her first day amongst the Misbegotten, stoic and mostly silent, graceful and terrible to behold in battle. In training, he was a marvel, and in combat, he was a nightmare, especially with his newly acquired heavy weapons skills. She’d once witnessed him take a chimaera’s head off with the creature’s own battleaxe.

But in the times between, when it was just the two of them? In the quiet moments when he lingered after a dismissal, or during the meals they sneaked away to eat together? That Hyun Jin was a completely different person.

That Hyun Jin had eyes wide with wonderment, listening closely when she told him stories about the capital, or of the way she’d risen through ranks in the Dominion. That Hyun Jin bent his head close to hers, and had a bright smile and a warm laugh, and spoke with her like they were old friends. That Hyun Jin had a gentle voice and a gentler spirit, speaking animatedly about the bright spots in his life, his half-siblings in the Misbegotten whom he considered his closest friends and who made his life bearable.

That Hyun Jin, whose eyes would glaze over when he recalled that not all of those half-siblings were still alive.

That Hyun Jin, whom she wanted desperately to reach out and touch but wouldn’t dare to.

Sometimes, when she left her thoughts unguarded, she looked at him and all she felt was pure, unfiltered want. All seraphim were born beautiful, but Hyun Jin was a cut above. Whether he chose to wear his features with warmth or severity, he was breathtaking.

And that was just his face.

Long-limbed and nimble, he was a flawless blending of grace and power that commanded her attention, especially now that he had taken on heavy weapons. His swords had kept him trim, yes, but thanks to the hefty battleaxe and the unwieldy pole axe, his arms, shoulders, and back showed his effort in their new solidity. There was not a feature of his that didn’t stand out, that didn’t feel perfectly tailored to attract her.

She tried to put it out of her mind, and often failed.

So when they found themselves talking long after the sun had fallen, the soft glow of their fiery wings illuminating their faces, their heads bent near so they could keep their voices down, she did her best not to notice the softness in his eyes, the endearment in his smile. If she listened to his tender voice for too long or gazed into his unguarded face too often, she might swear she saw the same ardor in him as lived in her, and that . . . that simply could not be.

At least, it shouldn’t be. Of all the things that could complicate a budding rebellion.

But then, a lull in conversation, and his expression changed, turning serious. She let her eyes wander away from him, paranoid that she might stare at him for too long, or even that she may have already.

When he spoke again, though, her attention snapped back.

“Why do the other Dominion call you ‘the witch’?” he asked, his voice somber but firm, as though the thought of the Dominion insulting her stirred something in him. His expression, the way his gaze seemed to look into her, implied the same.

“It’s the eyes,” she said. He was already looking at her eyes, and his own narrowed a bit, trying to puzzle out the connection. “They look a lot like the eyes of the seraphim who live on the other side of the world. The Stelians. They say that every last one of them is able to do magic, the kind of magic that hasn’t been seen in the Empire for a thousand years.”

“Can you?” he asked. She tossed him a questioning look, and he clarified, “Do magic, I mean.”

This was a crossroads. She’d trusted Hyun Jin enough to recruit him to her cause, but this . . . Her deepest secret? Did she trust him that much?

She wanted to. Oh, she wanted to.

“Not as far as the Dominion know,” she said softly. His eyes widened slightly, immediately taking her meaning.

“Then, you’re Stelian?” he asked next, his voice softer now, which had the side effect of making him lean closer to her. He was too close. He wasn’t close enough.

“Officially? No. But I must have their blood in my ancestry somewhere . . . Though I couldn’t tell you how far back, or how it got there. I don’t really know anything. Only that I am what I am, and what I am is different.”

His eyes flitted away for a moment, his lips briefly pressing together. She paid far too much attention to the motion, and was glad for his averted focus. He looked like he wanted very badly to say something, but was putting much of his self-control into holding it back. She knew the feeling. And she wanted to save him from it.

“Can I burden you with one more secret?” she asked, her voice little more than a breath. In an instant, his eyes were back on hers, letting her take up the whole of his focus, his mental turmoil forgotten. It was that simple. Why did he let it be that simple?

“No,” he answered, his voice as low as hers, a volume that made her cant her head just a little bit closer to his, “but you can gift me with one.”

Hearing him like that, and hovering so close to him that they almost breathed the same air, the secret she meant to tell felt suddenly and utterly unimportant. She discarded it, at the very least to be told another day, and instead closed the space between them, and kissed him.

Whatever thoughts had remained in Hyun Jin’s head fell away when Da’el’s lips touched his. His hands rose of their own accord, wrapping around her upper arms and drawing her closer, needing her to know that this was all right, that he wanted this. He’d wanted it so badly, and felt delirious to get it, as though this were one of his dreams.

She parted her lips just slightly and he mimicked her, letting her mesh their mouths more closely, giving him the slightest taste. He made a soft sound—of want, of gratitude—and her hand alighted against his neck while she tipped her head, claiming him more ardently.

When she pulled away a few moments later, Hyun Jin’s breath was short in a way it shouldn’t have been given the brevity. He panted softly against her lips; her eyes watched him closely. They darted, distracted, when he swallowed, and he felt the beginnings of a flush in his entire body.

“Can I add one more secret to the collection?” he murmured. She nodded. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Did you like it?” she asked, barely a whisper, a question he wouldn’t have heard if he’d been any further away from her.

“Yes,” he answered, perhaps too quickly. She’d hardly completed the question before he’d already answered it. That little smile of hers pulled at her lips, and he couldn’t take it; he put his mouth back on hers, shifting them closer, heat to heat, body to body. She was practically in his lap now, and she did nothing to get away from him. In fact, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her forearms brushing the upward curve of his wings, and he shivered.

This was all uncharted territory for him. He wasn’t stupid, of course—he knew what it was that amorous adults did when they disappeared together—but he’d never had the opportunity to experience it himself. It wasn’t conscious thought that made him grip her hips and grind her down where he needed her most, but rather instinct, and the resulting shock of sensation made him break their kiss with a moan.

For better or worse, that seemed to jolt Da’el to her senses. In hindsight, it was probably a good thing that one of them still had their wits, and it certainly wasn’t Hyun Jin.

She swallowed hard, and seemed to be putting very much thought and effort into holding herself back from him. He didn’t try to pursue another kiss—he knew then with certainty that he could never bring himself to do something she didn’t want, in any context—and instead simply stared at her. She was so fucking beautiful, and even when she gently removed his hands from her hips, he didn’t feel rejected. Her gaze swept around them, and he gradually became aware again that they were outside, that anyone could happen upon them at any time.

“We’ll figure something out,” she said as she shakily got to her feet, offering her hands to him to help him stand. “But we can’t do it here.”

He nodded, hope blooming in his chest. It wasn’t a rejection. He wasn’t losing her. But it would look horrible should they be caught, and according to the Empire, she was worth a lot more than him. In being so careful, in planning ahead, she was effectively protecting him.

He cast a quick glance around them to make sure the coast was still clear, then leaned in to kiss her one more time. She kissed him back without hesitation, but made sure to break it before they could get carried away again.

“Goodnight, Hyun Jin,” she said softly, and they parted ways.

Over the next few weeks, they were almost found out multiple times, and every single time was Hyun Jin’s fault. Why? Because he couldn’t keep himself from kissing Da’el every time he thought the coast was clear.

Being affectionate with someone was brand new to him, and awakened a host of emotions he’d never been meant to feel. Butterflies of nervous excitement whenever he knew he would see her, shocks of anticipation whenever he leaned in to kiss her, and finally, the warmth and tightening in his body whenever she kissed him back.

She usually kissed him back, and any time she pushed him away, he knew it was for his protection. After all, of the two of them, he was the only one breaking any codes of conduct and therefore would be the only one punished. Whether she returned his kisses or shied away to shield him, the end result was the same: Hyun Jin could feel how deeply she cared for him, and he only wanted to be with her more.

Things got a little easier when they were called into reserve and allowed to go back to the capital. This meant the Misbegotten barracks for Hyun Jin and Dominion officer’s quarters for Da’el. It wasn’t much more private than being in an encampment during active duty, but there were, at the very least, better places to hide.

Tonight, for example, they’d stolen away amongst the racks of weaponry. Few people would be training at the midnight hour, and even fewer would be milling about the armaments. Da’el had glamoured both their sets of wings invisible, ensuring their glowing light wouldn’t give them away. Hyun Jin’s hands were tight on her waist, holding her against his body while his mouth worked with hers, their tongues teasing. Her arms were around his neck, and when he moaned into her mouth, she made a soft sound in return.

His cock strained against his pants like it always seemed to when he was allowed to kiss her for more than a minute straight. She had to be aware of that, but she never seemed to acknowledge it directly.

Until today.

She slipped one of her hands between their bodies, rubbing at the imprint of his cock. He broke the kiss with a long groan, his eyes lidding halfway at the friction. He’d taken care of himself in the past, of course, but those jaunts were few and far between, given the way Misbegotten always bunked in groups. There were some people who were just fine relieving themselves where others could clearly see or hear, but Hyun Jin wasn’t the type.

To put it simply, opportunities for masturbation were few for him, and that was accounting only for his own two hands. He’d never been touched by someone else before, and it was like lightning through his whole body.

Da’el tucked her face into his neck, kissing the sensitive skin while she continued to palm his erection, drawing soft sounds of desperation from him.

“Hyun Jin?” she breathed against his neck.

“Yes?” he scraped out, prepared to do whatever she asked of him.

“Do you want me to take care of this?” she asked, gently squeezing the shape of his cock. He trapped another broken sound behind his teeth.

“Yes,” he said instantly, then thought to add, “please.”

She took his hand then, and they both turned fully invisible. He told himself to remember to ask later how she did it, how her magic worked, but right then, his thoughts were preoccupied.

He followed her to her lodging, unseen. Only once they were safely shut inside her quarters did she drop the glamour completely, their wings visible again, too. As a highly ranked officer, she didn’t have to share living space with others at all times the way Hyun Jin did, unless they were in the middle of a campaign.

She turned to look at him again, her expression gentle and open despite the heat in her gaze. She looked almost as starved as he felt.

“Have you ever been intimate with another person, Hyun Jin?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I haven’t.”

She smiled then and squeezed his hand, motions meant to put him at ease. He appreciated it, but it wasn’t necessary; he already trusted her implicitly. After all, he’d never felt this way about anyone else; he only wanted her.

“Then, would it be all right with you if we took things a little slowly?” she asked.

“How slowly?” he asked almost suspiciously, and she chuckled. Clearly, his need was apparent.

“Not that slowly,” she assured. Then she opened her mouth and lolled out her tongue. The implication was unmistakable. Hyun Jin’s eyes widened a little, his cock twitching insistently in his pants.

“Yes,” he said. She put her tongue away, grinning now with mirth and mischief.

“In that case, why don’t you take those off and have a seat on the bed?”

He nodded, undoing first his boots, then his pants. She kicked off her boots, too, and let her hair free of its braid, shaking it out. He sat on her bed, as instructed, and she knelt between his thighs.

A needy throb went down the length of his exposed cock, and her eyes watched it with singular attention. Finally, she dragged her gaze up to meet his again.

“You’re sure?” she asked him, and her care struck him in the softest part of his heart. He brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her face and nodded.

“I want it to be with you,” he said, convicted, like he’d laid his beating heart out in front of her. She smiled at him one more time, and he knew his heart could not have found safer hands to hold it.

Then she touched him, and rational thoughts were pushed away to make room for the carnal. She wrapped her thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft, then put her tongue to his underside. Just the slight motion, warm and damp, was enough to make him tense. She drew her tongue all the way up his shaft, and he shuddered.

“Good?” she asked.

“Good,” he breathed.

She went on licking him, coating him in saliva a little at a time, making him easier to work with. He couldn’t help fidgeting, but he did his best to hold still; he didn’t want her to think he was greedy, even if it was the truth.

But when she took his cockhead into her mouth, he couldn’t help the shuddering groan that escaped him along with a shallow thrust to get more of himself in her mouth. Thanks to her prior work, it was a smooth glide with little resistance. She hummed around him, and the vibration was extra sensation. He made a throaty sound of pure want.

She seemed to understand that, and started bobbing up and down his slick shaft, taking him a little more deeply with each repetition. He pushed her hair back from her face, coiling it in his fist to keep it out of the way. That only seemed to make her motions more rigorous until finally she was taking all of him into her mouth with every stroke, acquainting his tip with the back of her throat.

Along with the glide of her lips and the suction of her mouth, her tongue was hard at work, most times dragging along the underside of his cock with each motion, but occasionally drawing along the sides of his shaft or even stroking over his tip. He did his best to keep his volume down, but it was just so much sensation that he had no prior frame of reference for.

Then, as though that wasn’t enough, she pulled off his cock with a wet pop, seamlessly moving into jerking him off instead while she ducked her head to lick his balls. The bolt of pleasure was immediate, making him drop his head back and moan.

“Still good?” she asked between motions, her voice huskier now, likely thanks to the abuse of her throat.

“Still good,” he groaned, leaning his head to the side instead so he could continue looking at her. He could barely process it all. He realized she’d switched tactics so she could get her breath back, and once she had, she put his cock right back into her mouth, frazzling his brain yet again.

He found himself unable to keep still, the coiling of pleasure so tight in his body that he couldn’t focus on anything besides his cock in her mouth and how badly he wanted to come, to come for her, to show her exactly how incredible she made him feel. He bucked his hips along with the motions of her head, forcing his cock as far into her mouth as it could possibly go. She gagged quietly but didn’t stop moving, her hands tight on his thighs.

“I’m so close,” he whined, and she hummed in answer. One of her hands moved to cup his balls, massaging gently, and he was done for.

With a loud, desperate groan and several shallow bucks of his hips, he came into her mouth. He made himself keep his eyes focused on her, watching her take it, feeling her tongue working along his length to ensure she got every drop out of him. When he’d finally emptied, panting little moans the entire time, she pulled off of him, taking the entirety of his mess with her, and held his eyes while she swallowed it down. Hyun Jin groaned again, letting his head fall back. His cock twitched despite being spent for the time being.

“How do you feel?” she asked, getting up from her knees and joining him on the bed. He looked at her, dazed.

“Like the luckiest man in the world,” he answered, a little bashful in his honesty. She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, and he faintly tasted himself on her mouth.

When she pulled away, he met her eyes again, earnest and determined. “Now it’s your turn,” he said softly. She looked surprised, and Hyun Jin tried not to feel insulted. Did she really think he was so selfish as to leave her unsatisfied?

“You don’t have to,” she said. “I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”

“I’d be happier if you let me do this,” he insisted. “Teach me how you like to be touched.”

He saw on her face then what she must have seen on his a minute ago, which was her brain momentarily refusing to work. She stared at him, then heaved a ragged sigh.

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” she murmured, standing up and slowly stripping her clothes off, letting him get a good look while she did. Not to be outdone, Hyun Jin pulled his shirt off, too, leaving both of them naked.

She climbed back onto the bed with him and reclined against the pillows, spreading herself open for him. Hyun Jin sighed deeply, almost unable to believe she was this wet because of him.

“Give me your hand,” she said, and he obeyed.

If she’d thought Hyun Jin was beautiful while clothed, then he was a vision naked. His dark hair and dark eyes were perfect complements to his golden skin and firelight wings. He was the perfect combination of lean lines and hard-earned muscle, and his cock had almost been too much for her to comfortably fit in her mouth.

Simply put, he was perfect.

He gave her his hand, and she guided him to gently drag his fingers through her wetness, coating his fingers and her heat in the process. He had big, gorgeous hands; she’d imagined his fingers filling her on more than one occasion, and she could hardly believe she would actually get it.

“Start easy on me,” she said softly, and he slipped one finger inside her, making her sigh. She kept her hand loosely on his wrist in case she needed to make adjustments, but so far he was doing fine. There was a difference between being inexperienced and being clueless, and Hyun Jin definitely wasn’t the latter. He pumped his finger in and out of her at a leisurely pace, splitting his attention between her face and her cunt.

“Now curl it forward while you’re nice and deep,” she said, and when he complied, she shivered, an approving moan passing her lips. Of course he’d be able to easily reach her tenderest spot with fingers like his.

He didn’t speed up, but kept targeting that same spot, causing a slow build inside her. Perhaps too slow.

“I need to be fuller,” she said, and with a faint smile on his lips, he added a second finger. She groaned, letting her eyes fall shut for a moment. It was during that moment that she heard him shift, and then his mouth was on her breast. She gasped, eyes springing open to look down at him. His eyes were half shut while he sucked on her, sending bolts of pleasure through her body. All the while, his fingers kept moving, stroking her inner walls and probing that sensitive spot over and over.

Once she was able to move through the haze of pleasure, she realized Hyun Jin was starting to get hard again. She bit her cheek, choosing not to say anything about it right away. No matter how tantalized she was by the prospect of his cock filling her up, she didn’t want to pressure him or ask for too much too soon.

Besides, his fingers and mouth were plenty.

“Hyun Jin,” she gasped, writhing when he moved away from her breast only to take the other in his mouth. “Faster.”

He complied, ramping up the pace gradually until he was fucking her hard with his fingers, hammering that one spot repeatedly while she moaned her pleasure, unable to keep quiet. He refused to pull his mouth away from her breast, his tongue running over her nipple again and again. One of her hands viced tight around the bicep of his working arm, dizzied even by this minor display of his strength, while her other splayed across his broad back between his wings, fighting not to dig her nails into him too hard.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, the build so intense she could feel her nearing end. It hit her hard, accompanied by a sharp cry and the arching of her body under his, open-mouthed gasps and moans following after. He did exactly as she said and refused to relent in his pace, though he did pull away from her breast just to watch her while she fell apart. Through bleary eyes she watched his face, his expression a perfect cross between blissful eagerness and darkened need. He was proud of what he’d done, but it wasn’t enough.

Thanks to the brutal pace she’d made him set, she came twice in a row on his hand, the second accompanied by an extra gush from her cunt, making a worse mess of both the bed and his hand. He made a sound that was part appreciative hum and part needy moan. Then, despite her lack of command, he removed his fingers from inside her and brought them immediately to his mouth.

She whined while she watched his tongue work, and much like she had, he held her eyes the whole time.

“I hope I tasted that good,” he murmured once his hand was mostly clean. She groaned, closing her eyes and nodding. She was still working on catching her breath when she heard him moving again, felt the bed shift with his weight. Her body jolted violently when she felt the long lap of his tongue up her dripping center.

“Fuck, Hyun Jin,” she hissed, looking down at him to find him already looking up at her. He went right on licking her, his eyes lidding with pleasure.

“It tastes good,” he murmured, as though his actions left any question as to his thoughts on the matter.

“I’m happy you like it,” she said breathlessly.

After a couple of minutes, he pulled away, wiping his mouth and chin on the back of his forearm. She bit her lip as he sat up and she realized he was fully hard again.

“It was my intention to clean you up,” he mused, “but I think I made it worse.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but most people are going to stay wet if the man they’re infatuated with insists on putting his tongue to their cunt,” she teased. At least, she meant for it to be teasing, but the effect was wholly lost on him thanks to her word choice.

“I don’t want you infatuated with me,” he said, frowning slightly. “That implies the feelings are going to end.”

His words struck her directly in the heart, and she sat up, rising onto her knees in front of him so she could take his face in her hands. He looked at her pensively, like he feared she might break his heart.

“That was the wrong word to use, you’re right,” she said, feeling it prudent to start there and alleviate the worry she’d caused him as quickly as possible. “I feel much more than infatuation for you. I feel wholly connected to you in a way I’ve not felt with companions in my past. You’re the man I want at my side as we remake the world, the man I want to spend my life with.”

His eyes were widened now, taking her in as though determining whether she could be lying to him.

“I want you with me, Hyun Jin, whether we escort peace into the world or die trying. You make me feel more alive than anything else has in years,” she said, drawing her hands gently down his neck to rest on his sturdy shoulders.

A smile pulled at his lips, and he asked, “More alive than magic makes you feel?”

“I think love is its own kind of magic,” she answered honestly, watching the way his eyes widened again when she used the word love. “I think we are our own kind of magic.”

He wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing close and kissing her, deeply, eagerly, over and over. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She was wholly prepared to lose herself in kissing him, but as he tugged her body close, flush with his, she had to contend with his erection sliding between her thighs, rubbing against her already hypersensitive folds.

She whimpered against his mouth, and something in him snapped.

It was everything he’d ever wanted to hear, every feeling he’d ever wanted reciprocated. To know that he’d finally found his person, that she wanted to be by his side as badly as he wanted to be by hers. He couldn’t help himself after that; overwhelmed with emotion, he’d needed to kiss her again, to attempt to express it to her.

Then she made that sound, and he went half-feral as he remembered what they’d been doing before they’d paused to talk, that his cock was still aching with the need to be inside her. Her mouth had been its own kind of ecstasy, but he needed more.

Swiftly, easily, he pushed her down onto the bed. She didn’t fight him; Hyun Jin knew she could have if she’d wanted to, and the small rational part of his brain still operating understood this as permission. He went down with her, his body stretched over hers, the head of his cock dragging along her lower abdomen, the contact making him hiss.

She stared up at him, chest heaving. His right hand was clamped around her left arm, pinning it down, his left planted in the bed to keep his full weight off her. He lowered himself closer, grinding his cock between her abdomen and his. Moaning desperately, he let go of her arm, dropping his forehead to her shoulder while he rutted against her stomach. The friction felt good, but it wasn’t what he needed.

“Tell me what you want, Hyun Jin,” she said, her voice so soft and close to his ear that he shuddered.

“I want to be inside you,” he groaned.

He expected her to say yes, to give him verbal permission. Instead, she used her impeccable command of her body and knowledge of his to shift under him just enough that when he moved again, it was to enter her.

He made a choked sound, his mind going utterly blank for an instant. She felt so good, hot and snug and so fucking wet. He straightened up, gripping her hips as he desperately thrust in and out of her, watching his cock pounding into her repeatedly. She was making those little sounds again, whimpers and whines, her nails digging into his thighs as though she was afraid of him backing away, of him refusing to fuck her.

He couldn’t fathom the idea of either, not until they were both completely spent.

When he’d gotten his fill of watching himself sink into her, he became possessed by the need to go deeper. He’d seen her fight both in practice and for real, and knew there were few positions her body, strong and flexible, couldn’t withstand. He clamped his hand to her thigh, just under her knee, and pushed her leg back until her knee touched the bed. Then he leaned over her, hips snapping down into her with a nearly primal frenzy, the change in angle giving him exactly what he wanted, letting him embed himself deep inside her, splitting her open with every stroke.

He knew he was doing a good job because her sounds changed, going from soft whimpers to louder whines, breathless in their frequency.

Then she licked his neck, and his whole body seized, throwing off his pace. She gripped the back of his neck, keeping his body down and close to hers while she kissed the column of his throat, then nipped at his tender skin. He shuddered, his body threatening to arch, failing only due to her grip on his neck.

“I can’t focus when you do that,” he whined, his rhythm gone entirely.

“Then let me,” she purred, and he shivered from her voice alone. His cock twitched inside her, and her walls clenched around him in response, making him groan. He nodded, and she let go of his neck, allowing him to straighten up and pull out. Before he could complain about the lost sensation, she put him on his back and, without even using her hands, slipped his cock back inside her. He made a strangled sound as he bottomed out inside her, his eyes rolling back for a moment.

“How the fuck do you do that?” he gasped. She laughed, riding him hard, driving the thoughts out of his head to the point where he barely remembered he’d asked a question, rhetorical or otherwise.

“Fuck, Hyun Jin,” she moaned. “I had no idea you’d fill me so well.”

“Yeah? You like it too much?” he said, goading. He wasn’t going to last long if she kept fucking back on him like that, and he wanted nothing more than her voice talking him through his orgasm.

“I should have guessed when my jaw got sore earlier,” she said, pretending like she was complaining. “You’re lucky it all fits.”

“Not lucky,” he shot back. “I think you were meant to take it.”

She moaned, her face flushed from her efforts. “You’re right,” she whined. “I was meant to take your cock, and take it all.”

“Fuck,” Hyun Jin hissed, gripping her hips hard and bucking up into her. She made a sound that was almost a shriek, her nails digging into his chest. He’d felt her come on his fingers earlier, and he was suddenly desperate to feel it on his cock before he fell apart.

“Please, love,” he moaned, keeping up the brutal pace himself now, “I need to feel it.”

In the end, he didn’t give her a choice. He’d paid astute attention when she’d directed him earlier, and he knew the best angle to get her to come. With a broken cry, she nearly collapsed on top of him, shuddering while her cunt fluttered around his cock. He let up a little then, giving her a chance to ride out her newest high and get her bearings back.

He didn’t want to break her. After all, they weren’t finished yet.

She pushed her hair back out of her face, her bare chest heaving. Hyun Jin swept his gaze over the whole of her, body battered from multiple orgasms, his cock still sunk deep inside her. A pulse went down his length and she shivered, whimpered.

“Think you can take more?” he asked, needing to be sure.

She nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I said I could take all of you. That means your size, your stamina, and your semen.”

He groaned aloud, his cock pulsing again at her vulgar word choice. “How do you want it?” he ground out.

Gingerly, she lifted off him, leaving his cock soaked in her wake. Then she laid down again, her touch ghosting against his hip, coaxing him.

“I want to see you,” she said as he climbed over her again. “I want to be under you, surrounded by you. I want your body, hot and slick, all over mine. One last push, until you finally fill me the way you’re supposed to.”

He moaned, lining himself up and pressing into her slowly this time, watching her squirm as she took every inch.

“Think you can do that for me?” she breathed. He nodded, sweat dripping off his chin and onto her chest. She chuckled. “Off to a good start.”

She smoothed her hands up his back, and it was all the urging he needed to move. He fell into his rhythm quickly, understanding better now the way their bodies fit together. She held her thighs wide open for him, and he leaned over her, chest to chest while he snapped his hips into her, chasing his high. Her moans were right next to his ear, spurring his need. She drew her nails down his back and he moaned, too.

“I need it, Hyun Jin,” she whimpered. “I need you to fill me. I need you to do this for me.”

“I want to,” he whined, every muscle in his body wound tight from his efforts. Her hands ran along his thighs, his sides, his shoulders, and her touch was like fire. Every contact point between their bodies was slick with sweat, and despite how many times she’d already come for him, there was no shortage of slickness between her thighs, still just as aroused now as she had been at the start.

Her mouth was on his neck again, kissing and nipping while he moved. He groaned.

“Mark me,” he said, impulsive with need.

“Someone could see,” she protested, and he shook his head, his damp bangs falling into his eyes.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I need you to mark me, please.”

He didn’t care what excuses he’d have to make up, what he’d have to do to cover it. He needed lingering physical evidence that he was hers, needed something to remind him this hadn’t been a dream. He had no idea when they’d get to do this again, and that scared him most of all.

Her lips closed against his neck, sucking the sensitive skin, making him groan, a shudder going down his spine.

“Oh— Fuck—”

It was as she marked him that he came apart, moaning incessantly, over and over, spurring needy little bucks of his hips before he finally pressed as close as he could and stopped moving, letting each pump of his cum empty itself deep inside her. Despite using her mouth earlier, his orgasm wasn’t any less intense this time; he didn’t come any less hard. Her lips left his neck, tingles still shooting through his body while he panted, his high tapering.

He propped himself onto his elbows just enough so he could see her face, but he refused to remove himself from her, refused to pull out. Her hands rubbed his lower back, apparently in no hurry for him to move, either.

“You’re sure that was your first time?” she teased. He laughed, leaning down to kiss her.

“I’m a quick study when it counts,” he said. But then he sobered a little, watching her face, her eyes, the care and concern in her open face.

“What is it?” she asked softly, brushing his sweaty bangs back from his face.

“This won’t be the only time, will it . . . ?” he asked. They’d gotten lucky this time, that no one had caught them at the practice pitch or in the halls. Hell, they hadn’t exactly been quiet. He was praying at this point that nobody quartered near her knew him well enough to recognize his voice.

“Of course not,” she said immediately. “Even if I have to glamour us both and fly far away from here, we will do this again.” She paused, smiling, and gently touched his neck. “You’re mine now, remember? You’re not getting away that easily.”

His chest tightened at the word mine. Godstars, he’d always wanted to belong. He burrowed close to her, burying his face in her neck.

“I’m yours,” he confirmed, truly content as her arms folded around him. “It’s the only thing I want to be.”

#kpop smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin x oc

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madarasgirl · 11 months

Note

hi! i don't know if you will read this but today is my birthday and i would like to make a request for a dirty - obscene madara that has blood kink (period blood) .

i hope you are well and have a nice day ❤️ your writing is always beautiful, ily

Dirty Blood Kink Madara Scenario

Madara was also requested to be horny and needy. *rubs my hands together.* Alright! I have my instructions! Hehehe thank you for this ask and the kind words. And happy belated birthday! I hope this short scene satisfies you.

Tags/warnings: 18+ NSFW, Madara x Fem!Reader, period sex including oral and vaginal sex, blood kink, somnophilia. No violence against the SO.

But come on, as if some blood would turn Madara off. Some people will find the bloody murder sex in this gross. You have been warned! (Mads was horny and didn't notice whatever menstrual product the SO was wearing, okay?) Words: 1540

Madara gazed down at the lush forests of Konoha from his mountaintop perch. The vast expanse of stars blinked like fireflies in the night sky, the sounds of nocturnal animals filled the warm air. His gaze fell on his home in the distance. It was good to be back.

It was a brutal mission spanning several weeks. No, he didn't enjoy the kills he inevitably had to make, but the enemies put up an excellent fight against him. What a battle the cumulation of this mission had been. Madara felt alive, the thrill of battle still thrummed wildly in his veins.

He stepped off the cliff and landed lightly on his feet whilst thinking of who was waiting for him at home. He couldn’t wait to see you. His woman. He needed to fuck.

It was protocol for shinobi to report to the Hokage tower upon returning from missions, but Madara could care less about the rules. He had to see you first if he was to remain civil with whoever he was obliged to deal with next. Besides, who was going to enforce the 'rules' on him? Everyone knew strength ruled in this world. The fool Hashirama wasn't going to pester him for going home to see you first and Tobirama could kiss his ass. If Tobirama took issue (he will), Madara was convinced the younger Senju must just be jealous that the Uchiha was going to have a better night than he.

With the easy decision made, Madara dashed through the empty streets, the summer breeze in his hair elevating his high spirits. He was alive. His senses prickled with awareness of his surroundings. There was a cat stalking a rodent in the alleyway around the corner. A drunkard stumbled down another. Thousands of nameless shinobi and civilians alike slept blissfully in their own beds. He sensed your presence before he arrived at his destination. Taking a well-practiced route that took him directly to his bedroom, he landed silently on the roof and was through the window instantly in a flurry of smooth motions.

Madara paused.

He was filthy, covered in the viscera of his foes. He was bloodied himself, with dirt matting his hair and his clothes torn. He was a hot mess and loved every second of it. He thought of you again －your gentle curves, the arch of your spine when you moaned and tried to take him deeper. Your voice as you found release. He longed to fuck you right now, but it felt wrong, sullying, to be in your presence and smearing the filth of others onto your body if he took you now.

His gaze landed on a lump in his massive bed. You were tangled in the sheets and fast asleep, completely unaware of the danger that lurked in the shadows. His expression softened, though his cock throbbed from thinking about your body. He thought of you again, of your bright eyes and smile whenever you saw him return home as you ran to greet him at the door. He almost growled out loud, but managed to contain himself. He made quick work of tossing his ruined garments and cleansing himself for you before he joined you in bed.

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

Madara nearly laughed as he explored your pliant body. Were you really a kunoichi? You were such a deep sleeper you haven’t even stirred despite how he handled you. He copped a feel of your squishy tits and wrapped his arms around your limp form to snuggle you. He sighed. How he missed this these past weeks.

His cock twitched again when he caught the scent of your hair. It was something lightly floral. He needed more of your body.

Upon feeling your ring around his probing fingers, he hissed. Only a few weeks apart and you were already this tight. He couldn’t wait to get inside you. Madara kept scissoring his fingers into your soft hole, pressing his nose to your neckline and inhaling hungrily. He missed everything about you greatly.

He wanted to be gentle…but now was not the time. Your runny slick provided ample lubrication and though he was large, you would be able to take him. He pulled his digits from your opening, only to be hit by the pungent smell of iron.

What’s this?

Excitement clouded his mind as he realized you were menstruating. The rabid Uchiha lapped up the fluids coating his digits before rational thought could stop him. The taste of blood filled his mouth, almost like he was still in battle. He groaned, fisting his steel cock as he debated whether to plunder his conquest now or to eat it first. Your essence was absolutely delicious.

He needed more of you. He got between your legs and gently eased them apart, then started feasting. Soon, the exquisite mixture of your arousal and blood flowed as he got you wetter and wetter. What could make one feel more alive than this, being surrounded by his woman’s pussy slick and her essence of life?

He buried his tongue to the hilt up your sheath. He relished the metallic tang and silken slime melting on his tongue as he kept drinking. Your fluids slid down his jaw and crept between the crack of your bum, soaking into the snow white silk of the sheets. A problem for tomorrow.

“Mada?” You jerked awake in alarm before feeling the familiar signature of your love’s powerful chakra. You could barely make out his shape in the darkness, but you knew it was him. You felt his excitement buzzing in the air.

"Shhh." He reassured you that everything was okay and flicked that sinful tongue on your clit before diving back into you to taste and smell your blood surrounding him.

The fog was slow to clear from your mind (some ninja you were). He wasn't expected to be home tonight, the mission ended early? Then again, it was very like Madara to make sure his enemies were thoroughly vanquished so he could rush home to you sooner.

You remembered it was the heaviest day of your period and clenched your thighs around Madara’s spiky head. The naughty, taboo act was embarrassing, but even you couldn't deny his skill. He eased the cramping and discomfort of your monthly.

Your lover kissed his way up your abdomen to capture your lips and share his delight. "Missed you," he whispered.

You didn't enjoy the taste of blood like he did, but you dreamed of being back in his arms for weeks. You returned his delicate kiss, matching it when it turned feverish. A hard length prodded your rear and you shifted to line up with it.

He buried himself in a single lunge. Your frame tensed, but the shock of the stretch passed quickly and pure euphoria set in. Bracing yourself up on your elbows, you urgently threw your hips back onto his in a sloppy meeting. The two of you moved as one. He gently palmed your face and stroked your cheek, despite the need in his own expression. Faster and faster he threw himself into you and you responded by grinding hard on him with a shudder.

Madara growled and pulled you to your knees with animalistic hunger, the bottom half of his face stained with a runny crimson, stabilizing himself on the headboard with one fist as he kept up his brutalizing pace. He was more beast than man right now. You squealed when he dragged across your sweet spot, making your fluids squelch with every thrust.

Your fingers caressed along his plundering shaft and made their way up your drooling slit to find your nub. You stroked yourself while he pounded you from behind for what felt like an eternity. He finally tensed, grabbing your hips to bury himself fully before shuddering. Your inner thighs that were already soaked in fluid were soiled by the rivulets of hot cum leaking from your tired, overstuffed snatch. The cooling liquids on the sheets were cold against your overheated skin.

His eyes were closed when he filled your core. A low, vibrating moan made its way from his throat, which could be felt against your back. Madara’s hands were everywhere -he petted between your legs and stroked down those limbs and back up to your hips. He licked your earlobes and brought his hands up to wrap around your waist to give you a hard squeeze before fondling your chest and wrapping a paw around your throat. He kissed you passionately, your tongues sparring once more as the sun rose to welcome a new day.

Daylight penetrated through the edges of the curtains to illuminate the room. The aftermath of the night looked like a crime scene. Your naked bodies and faces were covered in palm-width streaks of blood. Hand prints adorned the headboard, the fingerprints clearly discernible between each stain. Thank goodness the headboard was dark leather. It should be washable. The space you were lying on was drenched with dried, dark red pools across the entire bed at crotch level.

You giggled. You love Madara, but he only thinks with his dick once the hormones start running. What were you going to do with your ruined bed sheets and mattress?

#madara #uchiha madara #madara fanfiction #madara x you #madara x reader #madara smut #madara uchiha #madara headcanons #answered ask #madara scenario

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moonlight-prose · 9 months

Text

FOR THE LOVE OF DANGER

a/n: i have been wanting to write for miguel for awhile now, but it has taken quite some time to see the movie. but i finally managed to watch it when it dropped on digital. this series really is just me picking apart miguel's brain and emotions, because he's so fucking interesting. it's rough and haphazardly written, but hopefully y'all enjoy it.

summary: you loved him once...before the accident. what comes next strays far enough from canon to catch his attention again.

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

each chapter comes with it's own warnings but this story is 18+ only!

inspo tag | playlist

EARTH-928; NUEVA YORK 2099

╰┈➤ #01: one last time

╰┈➤ #02: fall down love

╰┈➤ #03: la luz de mi vida

╰┈➤ #04: time breaks all

CANON-ISH TIMELINE

╰┈➤ #05: catch & release

╰┈➤ #06: friend v. foe

╰┈➤ #07: bandolero

╰┈➤ #08: TBA

╰┈➤ #09: TBA

OUT OF CANON TIMELINES (aka what pisses miguel off)

╰┈➤ bonus #01: the kitchen

#miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara series #my writing #across the spiderverse #this has been sitting in my drafts for months #so i'm excited to finally write it

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outofangband · 5 months

Text

Comparing the Captures of Maedhros and of Húrin thoughout versions

Note: I did not include all volumes of HoME in this however with the exception of Volume Eleven which contains The Wanderings of Húrin there are few meaningful differences. I will make a later post for more HoME content

Second note: I also have a post comparing the fates of Morwen, Aerin post Nírnaeth and Dor-lómin generally which I also will work on to revise and republish

It is notable to me that Húrin and Maedhros are among the only named figures Morgoth successfully orders the capture of by name. I wanted to explore the similarites and differences between varying versions.

Here are the two that are probably considered most canonical, from The Silmarillion and The Children of Húrin respectively

Maedhros was ambushed and all his company were slain but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth and brought to Angband (The Return of the Noldor, The Silmarillion)

...but they took him at last alive by the command of Morgoth who thought thus to do him more evil than by death (The Battle of Unnumbered Tears, The Children of Húrin)

Morgoth’s intentions for Húrin are far more clear than for Maedhros. He knows ( “by his art and his spies”) that Húrin had the friendship of the King (Turgon in this case). It’s not entirely clear yet if Morgoth has heard rumors that Húrin had been to Gondolin but he certainly knows of the brothers reunion on the battlefield with Turgon and makes some quick connections. The conversation between Húrin and Morgoth spans almost the entirety of chapter three and has some of the most dialogue for Morgoth in the entire Legendarium

@tolkien-feels once made a joke about the conversations between Túrin and Sador in chapter one being like forced to go through the Athrabeth with a child and I think The Words of Húrin and Morgoth function almost in a similar way; some of the deeper philosophical questions of the universe involving mortality and fate and the reach of the gods are raised in these horrifying circumstances.

(I won’t go into it too much here because there is so much to say about this, but I’ll link a couple of my posts on it just for my own reference and organization here and here

Morgoth certainly tried to use the capture of Maedhros to his own advantage when he sends word to his brothers claiming he’d release him if they retreated but this attempt is rather perfunctory and I don’t think he truly thought it would go anywhere. At best, the Fëanorians might be spurred or goaded into further recklessness trying to recover Maedhros. At worst, nothing would happen for some time.

A fascinating difference between the notes of Tolkien that later became this part of the published Silmarillion is that in the original notes, two more words are added to the quote above. Maidros was ambushed, and all his company was slain, but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth, and brought to Angband and tortured. (HOME V, p. 274)

In the version in the Book of Lost Tales, Maedhros is captured at the gates of Angband during a siege. He is tortured for information on jewel making, no word given on the success of this interrogation, and then released alive though maimed in an eerily vague afterthought. I have more on this in my BoLT tag, I find it fascinating for the ways it mirrors Húrin’s release in later canon

In the Lays of Beleriand Maedhros is mentioned only briefly though interestingly, most of his mentions include note of his torment, the most prominent appearing in The Lay of the Children of Húrin

in league secret with those five others, in the forests of the East fell unflinching foes of Morgoth Maidros whom Morgoth maimed and tortured is lord and leader, his left wieldeth his sweeping sword

Both the use of the name Maidros as well as the specifications of ‘maimed and tortured’ appear to take after the Book of Lost Tales version however the Lays goes further and confirms that the maiming left so vague in BoLT did indeed include the loss of Maedhros’s right hand. And of course it’s notable that Morgoth did this, not Fingon during rescue.

Húrin‘s capture and imprisonment remain fairly consistent throughout the more known versions of the story, that is, in the Silm, in the Narn, and in the unfinished tales. Even in BoLT and the Lays the general outline is similar. In the Silm and the Narn, the story is consistent though of course much is cut out in the Silm version. Unfinished Tales has no significant changes to this section of the text.

In BoLT which is not considered canon, Úrin as he’s called there is captured during battle and both threatened with torture and offered great riches to betray Turondo (Turgon). When he refuses, Melko sets him in a ‘lofty place of the mountains’ and curses him to watch the doom of Morwen and his children. (”at least none shall pity him for this, that he had a craven for a father”). Húrin has not been to Gondolin in this version. This version is notable in this regard for a few things: One, Morgoth spends far less time with Húrin and no mention of physical torture apart from threats of it is noted prior to his imprisonment in the mountains and the curse. Two, the actual dialogue between them is rather different and briefer. Morgoth tries to take advantage of the poorer views by the elves towards humans by offering employment to Húrin but without success.

The version in the Lay of the Children of Húrin is more similar to the Narn and Silm. There is more extended contact between Morgoth and Húrin (though the contents of their talk is still different). It’s also perhaps the most vivid in descriptions of torture and imprisonment and the only version where actual methods of torment are mentioned or implied (namely whips and brands).

I definitely want to go into this version more later! As always please feel free to ask more! I will also go into more versions throughout HoME of both these storylines if there’s interest!

Final notes:

No version of Húrin in Angband will be as disturbing to me as Húrin’s imprisonment by his own kin in Brethil in The Wanderings of Húrin

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #maedhros #Húrin #in the iron hell #musing and meta #BoLT #HoME #the lays of beleriand

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yoursecondfirstlove · 2 years

Text

🌘Little muffin🌔

P.2 P.3 P.4 P.5

Moon boys x f!reader

(Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader , Jake Lockley x reader)

(Y/n) thinks Steven is just the cutest little thing leaving Steven a blushing mess and Marc and Jake seething

Word count: 1598 words

Warnings: f!reader, light description of violence/gore, reader has powers (never specified what), FLUFF, Steven being a little cutie, Marc and Jake being jealous little goblins

(Y/n) had been working with Marc for a while. If he (or anyone else that knew her for that matter) needed anything he called her in. She was powerful, powerful enough to hold her own against any avenger, and while Marc knew he could handle most things himself he always went running to her when he needed things to be easy, when he couldn’t afford plans to not go without a hitch. That’s exactly what got her here, poking around some documents recording some ancient Egyptian structure.

It’s not that she didn’t like working with Marc, quite the opposite. Obviously she thought he was handsome as anything and she loved working with someone as capable as he is, in this line of work you get pretty damn used to incompetence. She did wish he was a little more open with her though. They’d been working together for years and she only recently found out about his DID.

It happened a few months ago. He’d called her in for some random job or another, Marc had been surrounded but assured (Y/n) he’d be fine and she had to leave him to do what she needed to do, she was reluctant of course but the urgency in his voice convinced her. The second she was finished she rushed back to come to his aid to discover he didn’t need it, body’s littered the ground that surrounded him, clearly beaten with animalistic aggression. Then she saw his face, just looking at him she already knew he wasn’t Marc. His eyes were so primal, she knew Marc, she knew despite his situation he considered it incredibly important to retain some level of composure. But the eyes she saw held no composure, only untamed rage. After a moment of staring at each other his eyes rolled back and his demeanour changed entirely. He looked around, disguising the fact he had only just discovered the scene for himself. “We gotta go, come on” he said as be began speed walking away. (Y/n) refused to leave the incident unaddressed “who was that?” She was hot on his heels as he attempted to get away from her “who was who?” He shot back dismissively. (Y/n) caught Marc’s wrist in her grasp, he whipped around to face her, “I’ve known you far too long for you to pull the wool over my eyes now” he knew he was trapped so he told her everything.

She likes knowing what was up with him of course, he was her friend, a friend she had a massive crush on, but her friend nonetheless. She hadn’t become acquainted with the rest however, she had never seen Jake outside the of the (ahem) “incident” and she had never met Steven at all, but safe to say she was eager to. So imagine her delight when a task needed a certain level of Egyptology knowledge and they had no choice but to have Steven tag in.

(Y/n) sat lounged in an arm chair, completely held together by mending stitches, in a beaten down flat that (Y/n) had taken as a kind of safe house, filled with weapons and “trophies” she had taken from an memorable foes she’d taken down. The place quite frankly was a mess, a mess of papers and stolen files, the table was heavily battered and messily repaired from the times she’d had to use it as a shield from any attacks, hell the bed wasn’t much of a bed at all, it was a mattress placed atop storage drawers and pushed up to use the wall as a makeshift headboard. Some would say it was grim but (y/n) would persist that it simply had personality.

A familiar patterned knock echoed from the door before it opened and Marc came in. “What’s going on” he knew the look on her face, her bottom lip grasped in her teeth, he eyebrows furrowed, she even had her leg extended to rest her foot on the wall, marked black from how many times she’s been in this exact position before. Despite her clear irritation Marc still had to stop a moment to just…look at her. He had been silently pining for her for damn near as long as he’d known her and seeing her all grumping and brooding made a small smile too hard to resist. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked, a slight laugh caught in his tone. She looked up at him “this shit is a puzzle” an amused scoff tore out Marc’s throat “what?” (Y/n) swung her leg back from over the arm of her chair and stood up walking over to her war damaged table, she pointed to what appeared to be some blueprints, they were old and tattered, she slid them over to him. He looked at them and his brain could hardly put together what in gods name he was looking at. “This is where your artefact is being kept, but, the whole building is a puzzle” Marc turned his gaze to her incredulously “the whole building?” “Yes” “a puzzle?” “the whole building is a puzzle yes” “the WHOLE building?” “Jesus fuck Marc yes, the whole fucking building.” Marc put both his hands on his face and groaned “okay…yeah okay we’ll figure this out” he said as he dawned a tight jawed thinking face. After a few seconds his expression softened as he abruptly said “no.” (Y/n) immediately figured he must have been talking to one of the others “what are they saying?” She leaned in, eager to hear any solutions. Marc caught her gaze with his own before looking away “Steven says he could figure it out…” oh if she wasn’t excited for a solution before she certainly is now. “Perfect! Let him at it!” Marc quickly reeled his head back as if it was the most ridiculous suggestion he’d ever heard “no! No that’s a bad idea” (y/n) squinted at him suspiciously “why?” Marc let out a heavy breath “because…because if you meet him or Jake like…officially things they just. They just get complicated.” She stood for a second, she didn’t care if it got complicated, not that she even thought it would, all that would change is she’d have two more incredibly good looking friends. Marc knew better though, he knew that from what his other two headmates had seen they too had developed their own crushes on her. Whispered praises of how amazing or beautiful she was in certain moments from Steven and frustrated shouting from Jake to ‘just fuckin kiss ‘er already!’ No, he knew if either of them got to actually interact with her they’d only become more helpless to her charm. That being said, he didn’t possess the knowledge to decipher this bitch of a puzzle but with how complicated it looks it would even take Steven a while, if Steven tried to solve it from the inside he’d run out of energy quick and they can’t afford to go slow enough for him to recharge. In all honesty Marc didn’t have much of a choice. It was at this point Marc realised he hadn’t spoke. In a while and (y/n) was just stood looking at him expectantly, he glowered for a moment, clearly frustrated as he finally huffed out “shit! Fine okay, fine” immediately surrendering control.

(Y/n) felt her excitement bubble up as Marc’s stance and demeanour shifted instantly. He brought his hands from his hips to lightly intertwine in front of him, his face softened more than she’d ever seen and he brought his legs in making his stance less boxy and more meek. He politely smiled before giving Marc a sweet “cheers mate!” He immediately got to work examining the tatter blueprints. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion but not like angry brooding look Marc gets, more like a kitten looking at fish on an ipad. He continues to examine the documents, occasionally scrunching his face a little and pointing at certain parts as he scrutinised them. The entire time (y/n) stared at him, she obviously knew this man wasn’t Marc but the different was staggering and the entire time she only thought one thing. After a while Steven looked up at her “my…this one’s a doozy innit?” He smiled at her. Before thinking she knew there was something she had to vocalise “you’re just a little muffin aren’t you” Steven was immediately taken aback “sorry?” (Y/n) laughed “you’re just the cutest thing in the world” immediately Stevens ears set on fire, red heat rose in his face as he laughed, completely shocked, he had never in his life received this kind of attention from any woman, especially not a woman that looked like, well….HER! “I-“ he began but interrupted himself with another huff of shock “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean” (y/n) just giggled at him making his blush even hotter.

To break out of his flushed state he decided to change the subject “you know it might be a little easier to read these if I…” he pulled a pair of reading classes out of his inner pocket and slid them up the bridge of his nose returning to his examination of the documents. (Y/n) broke even more “oh my god! You have little glasses?” She brought her hands to her face giggling a little “you’re too cute I can’t handle it!” Marc and Jake were screaming ‘give me back the body! Solve it from the inside’ ‘why the fuck do YOU get all this gushin’ Steven ignored them entirely, he may have been enjoying the attention from her just a bit too much.

A/n: should I make this a series? I’m not sure tbh

#steven grant x reader #steven grant #moon knight #moon knight x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #moon boys x reader #x reader #f!reader

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scribbling-dragon · 5 months

Text

don't turn out the lights (kiss yourself goodnight)

summary:

“Hi,” Martyn continues to grin, even as it turns awkward and even guiltier. “I'm coming over. Can I come over?” Martyn pauses on the bridge then, as though just realising his presence might be unwanted after ditching him all morning. “I don't know if I should let you,” he says. It’s not an answer either way.

(ao3 link)

(7,119 words)

[hi! talking in bold so this catches your eyes ooOOooo anyway! this is the FINAL PART of this series! it's done! this is the end! meaning, everyone dies in this fic. there's your warning! there's gonna be death, injury, blood, etc. all the fun stuff! so just keep that in mind when you read it. also! it'd be really nice if you could reblog this because it took me a long time and i put a buncha effort into it! comments in the tags are even cuter- they let me know you liked it! i write for fun but i post because i want other people to also enjoy what i make, letting me know that you did quite literally makes my day.

anyway! hope u enjoy! <33]

The Isles is almost eerily quiet.

It is expected. The losses they had experienced only a day prior are enough to stun even the loudest of people into silence. It seems their world is only mirroring their mourning, not even birds singing to greet the dawn. Instead, it leaves everyone to prepare for their day, silence permeating the air around them. Even the sun appears muted, watery, as it tiredly heaves itself over the edge of the water, already beginning to chase away the deep purples of night.

He doubts any of them will be around to see another miserable sunrise such as this one.

Scott runs a cloth over the dull edge of his sword, wiping the dried blood away as best as he can manage with only a scrap of damp fabric. It’s already stained red, beyond any kind of repair. The dried blood remains stubborn, clinging to his blade as the last few echoes of others’ lives.

It flakes away as he scrapes against it with a single, sharp nail. The dried blood of friend and foe alike clumps together as it gathers beneath his nail, forcing him to stop his task and pick it out once he can no longer stand the feeling of it. He flicks it to the ground beneath him, hoping the flecks of red will become lost amongst the yellowing grass he sits upon. He still finds his eyes picking it out, like berries nestled amongst the dry stalks of grass that are determined to catch his eyes whenever he glances over.

He pauses at the sound of creaking floorboards above him, a few grains of sand pattering down onto his head. He cocks his head to the side and listens a little more intently as more creaking follows. Martyn had still been sleeping when he got up, curled comfortably in their shared bed. Scott had been tempted to stay and enjoy the peace a little longer, but his own mind was restless.

He hadn’t wanted to disturb the last few peaceful moments Martyn would probably get before this is all over, rising and attending to small tasks that didn’t really need to be done; tasks that were there to busy the hands rather than be productive. He doesn’t have that sort of time to waste, still target number one, certainly, his clock ticking down from higher numbers than everyone else, but his time is as limited as the rest of them.

His sword had been cleaned and sharpened. The blade, previously coated in dried blood so thick you could barely see its shimmer now gleams in the rapidly strengthening sunlight.

The purple hue of the skyline has been almost completely wiped away, leaving a pink sky in its wake. The light of it dyes the ocean a deep red, churning against the edges of their island as though it can hardly wait to devour it all once they're gone.

He continues to listen as footsteps echo overhead, uninterested in continuing to prepare for murdering his friends, waiting for Martyn to poke his head through the doorway and begin chattering away. He’s always more talkative in the morning, as though he has to make up for not speaking all night.

He looks over at the sound of a quiet splash, sitting up and sword forgotten as he stands a moment later. He pokes his head out of their storage room, watching as Martyn swims away from their island and towards the mainland. He dips beneath the waves a few times, swimming quickly.

Scott lingers in the doorway, watching as Martyn emerges onto the sandy shoreline, not even bothering to rid himself of the water he’d collected on his trip over as he usually would. Instead, he looks around, searching for…something. Scott isn’t certain what it is that he’s searching for – they hadn’t even had a conversation yet that morning to go over what should be done, who to avoid, who to target – and apparently not find it as he trudges into the treeline, quickly disappearing into the murky darkness that seems to cling to any dark oak forest, still soaking wet from his short swim.

Scott withdraws into their storage room, confused and more than a little hurt. His mind races a mile a minute, barely giving him a moment to process anything before he’s thinking of another potential explanation. Did they have a conversation last night that indicated Martyn was going to do something like this? Did Martyn assume he had already left and gone searching for him?

Only, Martyn had swum over there like a man possessed, like he would die if he didn’t reach the shoreline as quickly as he did. And yet – and yet – the moment he reached his destination he had looked around, as though uncertain of where to go.

Scott likes to think that he can read Martyn quite well, after the multiple times they’ve gone through these games together, and also the time they’ve spent together on this very island. He likes to think he can read Martyn well. And the way Martyn had looked around, on that shoreline, had not been with the intent of finding something lost, it had been done with the confusion of someone that had walked into a room and forgotten what they were going to do.

But, there’s no point in catching up with him yet. No reason to dive after him and catch up; see if he can shake any answers loose from the man. Not when he still has arrows to make and a bow to restring.

They can talk later. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

=== === ===

“Now, I'm not a professional,” he tells Cleo, hopping down a few more blocks and squeezing into the gap he’d left for himself. There’s no redstone involved in this, only the tiny guide in the back of his head that’s jumping between steps as he attempts to remember how to do this, struggling to reconcile the new information he had with the idea that he’d already gotten it right.

He’d done it wrong last time, his hands still stinging from the hot blast that had gotten him before he managed to shove his shield in front of himself, letting that take the brunt of the explosion rather than absorbing it with his face.

“Never said you were,” he feels a shadow fall over him as Cleo leans down to peer at what he’s doing. “Reckon you're gonna blow the both of us up again?”

“I wouldn’t stand so close,” he chuckles, feeling rather than seeing as Cleo steps back. He slowly, carefully, places another bundle of TNT into the minecart, feeling the thing rattle with the weight of how much TNT he’s shoved into it. The sculk clings to his hands as he sets it down onto the block, gripping onto him as he attempts to pull away, unwilling to release him.

He continues pulling his hands back until the sculk accepts its loss, releasing his fingers and withdrawing back to the dirt block he’d provided for it. He watches as it curls itself into the dirt block, then simply engulfs it. He has no better words to describe the way it simply spreads over the block, too fast for him to even track with his eyes, until the entire patch is made of sculk.

He withdraws even more carefully, slowly easing himself out of the hole. He’s aware of the way the dirt clings around his shoulders. One wrong move could set off the trap he’s just spent the better part of ten minutes setting up, and he’d probably be blown to bits alongside it.

Cleo waits until he’s completely free of the hole before continuing to speak. “Where’s your other half today? Didn’t think you came as a single package anymore.”

“Very funny,” he forces a laugh as he turns to glare at them. “I don't know,” he answers. Not at all bitterly. “He ran off this morning before I could even get a chance to speak with him, went off to do…something.”

He sees Cleo frown, eyebrows creasing together. “And you haven’t tried to find him?”

“He needs something, then he’ll find me.” He dismisses Cleo’s worries easily – he’s been dismissing his own all morning, ignoring them in order to actually get anything done. Dismissing Cleo’s probing questions and slightly worried glances is far easier. “He’s been acting all funny recently anyway. If he’s gone off to sort himself out, then that’s fine.”

“Wait, Scott,” Cleo moves around him, pressing their hands down onto the small tunnel entrance and blocking him from poking around in there a little more. He leans back on his heels, knees digging into the ground as he glares up at her. “That’s not at all like Martyn. He sticks around other people as best as he can, even if it means bouncing between several groups. You're telling me he’s disappeared and you're not even worried?”

“Of course I'm worried, Cleo.” He huffs out a breath, resisting for only a moment before he raises his hands to his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. It relieves a little of his stress, and also means he doesn’t have to look them in the eye anymore. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I just have to wait and sit tight and hope he shows up.”

“You said he was acting weird,” Cleo asks, after the silence has hung between them for a moment. “Weird…how?”

“I don't know,” he sighs, dropping his hands. Cleo stares at him. “Ugh, I guess, like, spacing out? He was acting really weird after, uh, yesterday and the whole,” he waves a hand, “canary business. But I thought that was just the shock of all that, and then all the stuff after that. I didn’t even speak to him this morning, but there was this weird air around him. It was really fucking strange, Cleo, and I don't even know what it means!”

“Yeah, alright, alright,” Cleo hesitates for a moment, before patting him on the shoulder. “I think that’s just how he gets at this point. I think he was like this last time? I’d have to repeat myself several times for literally anything to get through to him.”

“I keep forgetting you were partnered with him last time,” he huffs out a laugh. “So he just gets like this every time? Why doesn’t anyone say anything?” He pauses. “Have you said anything?”

“To Martyn? No.” Cleo glances over at a shout from the Clock Tower, then back at him. “To anyone else? …Also no. I didn’t think it was my place to pry or ask around, and I guess that’s the common sentiment. Maybe he’s done it every single time. Maybe he only started doing it last time. Who knows? Maybe he's just gone insane.”

“Pretty sure that’s Joel you're thinking of,” he jokes, and then regrets when it opens up a pit in his stomach.

“Maybe go find him,” Cleo says. They both ignore the slightly heavier air around both of them, the mention of Joel souring their moods rather quickly.

“Yeah,” he brushes the dirt from his hands. “Yeah, I will.” He stands, eyeing the inconspicuous path ahead of them. “Thanks, Cleo.”

“No problem. Hope you find him.”

So do I, Scott doesn’t say. Hope you're still kicking around when I’ve found him, he keeps to himself too. He knows the Clockers aren’t doing well for time, all of their clocks far lower than his own, even after donating some of his time to Scar earlier.

He can feel Cleo watching him. Maybe they're giving him some of their own well wishes.

=== === ===

Going onto Skynet is never his favourite thing. But he’s been poking around on the ground for long enough that he’s rather certain Martyn isn’t hanging around there. Unless he’s dug himself into a hole underground as it currently hiding there until his clock runs out, he’s not on ground-level.

Meaning, into the skies he goes. The ladder is wonky and the rungs are thin enough that they threaten to snap under every step he takes upwards.

He can feel his hands growing sweaty the higher he ascends, nervousness making him glance down and come to terms with just how high he was in the air. With nothing to support him but a quickly and shoddily built ladder to nowhere.

He hauls himself up onto the main chunk of Skynet, grateful for the ground beneath his feet; solid despite being a thousand feet in the air. A drop from here would definitely kill him. A real risk, he realises, when an arrow thunks into the ground at his feet.

He glances over in the direction where it came from, dropping into a crouch. He’s not certain whether that shot was a mistake or a warning. It could have been fully intended to send him stumbling backwards and over the edge. But another arrow doesn’t follow, leaving him staring across the gap between their bridges, the group of three staring back at him.

…Three?

He can just barely see Etho crouched behind the makeshift wall he’s thrown up, the very tips of fuzzy white ears peeking over the edge of the dirt barricade, and Tango beside him is distinctive with his hair aflame. Meaning, no, his eyes are not deceiving him; Martyn really is crouched over with the other two, watching as they shoot at him.

He straightens up, almost planting his hands on his hips and yelling across the gap then and there. For Martyn to just ditch him earlier, and then for Scott to find him with people that have been relentlessly hunting him? Unacceptable. He only holds his tongue because shouting across such a wide gap is embarrassing, and not at all conducive to a proper conversation.

He stares across the gap a little longer, before holding a hand up in the universal gesture for wait.

He then takes a very brave step away from the main landing pad at the top of the ladder, the bridge narrowing even further and leaving him running quickly across the thin branches of Skynet. He keeps his shield held loosely at his side, and can only pray that Etho and Tango – or, gods forbid, Martyn – decide to get in an easy kill and shoot him.

He gets onto the same bridge as them before they start shooting at him, close enough for Scott to start talking to Martyn, even if it means he has to yell to be heard.

“Etho!” He jerks to the side as an arrow skims past his face, close enough that he can hear it whistle as it passes him. “No need!”

He hears Etho chuckling easily enough, even hunkered down behind his own makeshift shelter, only daring to peek over the edge once a moment has passed and his heart no longer threatens to leap from his chest. Martyn, Etho and Tango all peek back at him, lined up near perfectly. Scott might be tempted to take a photo if he wasn’t so irritated.

Another arrow shoots past his face and he scowls, pulling his own bow out and firing right back at them. He sees Tango jump in place and duck down as the arrow goes right over his head, far too high to actually hit anyone.

Several arrows embed themselves in the front of his small defence within a few minutes, making it easy to reach over and collect them up, adding them to his own quiver. “I've got arrows for days!” he calls over to them, grinning and urging them to continue shooting at him.

He notches another arrow, back pressed against his barricade before popping back up again, aiming and ready to fire.

Martyn visibly startles when he reappears, halfway across the bridge connecting them. He almost falls, Scott thinks, teetering dangerously on the edge as he readjusts his balance, shield held cautiously but not protectively in front of himself.

“Martyn,” he warns, not releasing his arrow but not dropping the bow either. He keeps it carefully trained on Martyn’s face, even as Etho and Tango continue to watch the two of them curiously. Martyn glances upwards from where he’d been watching his feet, smiling guiltily. Good.

“I don't know if I should let you,” he says. It’s not an answer either way. Something that Martyn seems to realise too, as he doesn’t keep moving forward, remaining rooted in place on the stupidly thin bridges that TIES built on a whim and everyone else decided to use. “Why are you with them?” He jerks his bow towards Etho and Tango, taking it off Martyn for a single second.

A single second which is, apparently, long enough for Martyn to run across the rest of the space and drop down beside him, both of them huddled far too close behind this too-small barricade. His knee knocks against Martyn’s, their legs pressing together when he lets them. He’s twisted awkwardly to continue aiming the bow at Etho and Tango, reluctant to take his eye off of them even if Martyn demands his attention with pleading eyes.

“Because I've not seen you yet today,” Martyn’s hand is warm on his arm. Near burning at the point of contact as he pulls at him, urging him to lower his bow. He holds the string of his bow tense for only a moment longer before heaving a great sigh and loosening it gradually, allowing the arrow to fall free from where it had been notched and into his open palm. Martyn continues, seeing him giving in, “I woke up and there was no-one here. There, wherever,” Martyn shrugs. “And then I just…” he trails off, eyes sliding to the side.

The hand on his arm slackens a little, turning from a comforting grip to a weight on his arm. The point of contact no longer burns, his skin warming up and adjusting to the sudden heat of another person.

“And then you just…?” Scott prompts, frowning when Martyn doesn’t give him a response. He’s still watching something off to the side, but when Scott turns to look where he is, there’s nothing there. No person trying to kill them or mysterious floating entity that would cause the kind of look Martyn currently has in his eyes.

“Hey,” he waves a hand in front of Martyn’s face, frowning when that continues to get no response from him. He rests his hand on Martyn’s cheek, growing even more concerned when that fails to get a reaction from him, sliding his thumb along Martyn’s cheekbone. His hand slips lower to cradle Martyn’s face, bringing his other hand to pat him on the cheek, like trying to wake someone up.

Martyn blinks, eyes refocusing, and then jolts. Scott holds onto him, keeping him in place as he regains his bearings from…whatever the hell just happened.

“When’d you get so close?” Martyn asks, clearly going for joking and missing it by miles. He lands somewhere around confused and worried instead, which only concerns Scott more.

Scott pauses for a moment, considering his next step. “Aw,” he tilts his head to the side, thumb still brushing against Martyn’s cheek affectionately. “Don't tell me you got so caught up in seeing me that you forgot to pay attention?”

Martyn laughs, leaning in a little closer, close enough that their noses are just shy of touching. His eyes are completely focused now, not drifting over Scott’s shoulder to look at something only Martyn can see. It eases something in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was so tight until it loosened all of a sudden.

“Well, it really is quite easy to get lost in your eyes. The depths of them are like an unexplored ocean-”

He shoves Martyn away from him with a laugh. “Don't you start with that,” he warns, mock angry as he wags his finger at Martyn. “That’s a terrible pick-up line, and one that doesn’t even work right now! My eyes are as red as they can be, so don't be silly.”

“Then your eyes are like the ocean in the morning,” Martyn counters. “Did you not see how red it was this morning? Like the sunrise itself had spilled into the waters.”

“How romantic of you.” He doesn’t mention how this morning was the only time the waters were dyed such a colour by the rising sun. Martyn wouldn’t know that, as a late riser, but Scott has watched those waters shimmer beneath the sunrise every morning since they were dumped here.

“Get a room!” Etho very bravely yells over at them, still hiding behind his barricade. “We wanna get past you!”

“Run on past then!” Scott yells back. “What’s there to be scared of!”

“What we might see!” Tango contribute, popping up beside his teammate. “I don't know what you two’re doing behind that!”

Scott scoffs in disgust at the idea. Not only is the entire place made of dirt, but they're also miles in the sky. Not exactly something he’d jump at the idea of.

“Go the other way then!” he yells, getting to his feet. He pulls his shield up just in case, but no arrows come his way. He offers Martyn his hand as he watches half of TIES (two-thirds, his brain supplies helpfully. Two-thirds.) deliberate over their next course of action.

“Cowards!” Martyn yells as Etho begins retreating.

Scott laughs at the offended noise Tango makes, loud enough for them both to hear it. Laughing is easier than thinking about what just happened. Easier than turning Cleo’s words over and over in his mind.

Easier to take Martyn’s hand and lead him away as though none of that happened at all.

=== === ===

He can see Etho watching him as he climbs, ears twisted backwards and crossbow held at the ready. He’s just as pleased to be up here as Etho is. All roads lead to Skynet, apparently, meaning he’s back on the hellish thing, praying that nothing breaks.

“We’re just here to talk,” he assures, crouching on the lip of cobblestone just above the ladder, reaching a hand down slowly for Martyn to take. He feels it slot into his hand easily, burning hot against freezing cold.

“Promise?” Etho keeps his crossbow held tightly in his hands. Not that Scott blames them. This is the time for temporary alliances, certainly, but he doubts anyone is above faking a temporary alliance to get closer to someone just to kill them.

“Promise.”

Martyn settles onto the ledge beside him, though Martyn sits down, legs swinging off the edge as he watches Martyn. Scott remains crouched, one hand flat against the cobbles, hunched over like some kind of gargoyle.

He probably looks like one, too. Fish-like spines and fins make it rather hard to hide the changes he’s undergone since going red. The scales layering over his skin and remaining thick until his elbows make it even more so. He can only be glad that he still has his legs, or that It didn’t decide to give him some kind of tail to weigh him down further.

“Okay,” Etho takes a step closer, and, in an incredible show of good faith, tucks his crossbow away so none of them have any weapons. “Let’s talk, then.”

Scott grins, more than a little satisfied with himself. It’s always risky reaching out for another alliance this late in the game, but taking the risk is better than leaving the ending unknown. This is a way for them to have a better shot at winning.

“The biggest hour- time, thingy, is the Nosy Neighbours,” he starts. “Pearl and Grian have the most time right now.”

“And they're a pretty strong team,” Etho glances over in the direction of the Neighbours’ tower, expression considering. “There’s three of them in it.”

Martyn hums something that vaguely sounds like agreement, but when Scott looks over at him, he’s staring off into space again, not at all registering the space around them. Scott shuffles a little closer to him, pressing his hip into his side in the hopes that the contact can bring him back from wherever his mind has wandered off to. Contact has helped, in the previous moments where he’s been like this.

“And we’re two sets of two,” Scott says. He feels momentarily guilty for pointing it out when Etho looks saddened by the reminder that Tango is gone now, too.

“Well,” Etho rocks back on his heels. “I can’t find Impulse at the moment- not a clue where he’s wandered off to.”

Maybe Etho’s words summon him, because Scott watches a blur plummet down onto the Mansion, disappearing under the water for a moment before resurfacing. Even from their distance, he’s able to make out the distinctive yellow ‘i’ on his shirt.

“Grian fell from Skynet,” Martyn says, blinking back to reality.

“Uh, no,” he gives Martyn a confused look from the corner of his eye. “That’s Impulse.”

“I- what?” Martyn glances over at the Mansion, “Oh! Yeah, yeah, that’s Impulse. Yeah.”

Etho gives them a funny look, eyes squinting as he studies Martyn.

“We can summon him over here,” Scott says, distracting Etho before he can ask too many questions. He’d been hanging out with Martyn earlier, could have seen his spacy-ness. Could identify it as something to be used later. Something that Scott would prefer him not to do. “Tell him we have Etho.”

“Like some kind of hostage situation?”

“Ooh, yeah,” Martyn nods along with Etho’s suggestion. “Let’s take him hostage.”

“Or we can just go down and meet him?” Etho suggests. He doesn’t look excited at the hostage idea, go figure. “I don't want to make him climb all the way back up for nothing.

“I don't really want to climb all the way back down there,” he complains, but its for nought as Etho clambers up to where they're sitting, leading the (very slow) charge down to the base of the ladder. His arms feel shaky by the time he reaches the bottom, from both exertion and exhaustion. He feels like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.

Scott taps out the message on his comm, feet firmly planted into the nice sandy ground below him. It’s a comfort, to be back on truly solid ground again, even with the TIES’ wonky tower casting a slightly uneven shadow over them all.

<Smajor1995> come to us

He follows behind Martyn and Etho absently as he continues to type, hopping over the small blast craters easily and circling around the larger ones just as easily. He has to pause for a moment to bat away a zombie, sword slashing straight through its chest and sending it dissolving into a pile of dust.

<Smajor1995> we have etho

He knows its an ominous message to leave it on, especially when the two of them have been separated for who knows how long. Etho chuckles a little at it, but doesn’t send a message to reassure his teammate. A sense of urgency makes for swift feet, and they want to deal with the Neighbours as quickly as possible, he supposes. Better to do it now than when their timers are about to run out.

“What do you mean you have Etho?!” Scott spins on the spot to greet Impulse.

“As a friend!” he calls back. “We have Etho as a friend!” A skeleton shoots him as he speaks, managing to actually hit him when he’s sluggish on putting his shield up. It’s enough to make him realise how surrounded by mobs they’ve gotten, closed in on all sides, each of them beating back at least two mobs at a time.

“Let’s go!” he calls out, looking around for a place for them to actually go. He only manages to spot the little cave entrance by chance, remembering the little nook beyond that they can hunker down in for the night. Martyn catches up with him quickly when he realises where Scott’s heading. “Told you framing it like we had Etho as a hostage would work.”

“Yeah, wasn’t you he tried to run through with his sword.” Martyn mutters.

“He didn’t try to run you through with his sword,” he rebukes softly, speaking quieter as they enter the cave, aware that their voices will echo over to the following pair.

“He was thinking it,” Martyn says darkly. “I could sense it; hear it in the air.”

Scott doesn’t even get to ask what the hell that means, because Impulse is suddenly slamming the door shut and saying something about “not letting the zombies in too!”

The plan is laughably easy to make, once they get over their bickering and the small taunts they throw at each other. It’s hard not to point out Impulse’s attempts to blow him up earlier, something that Impulse receives with good grace and lets go as water under the bridge.

It’s only worrying how often Martyn spaces out, only ever chiming back in with something that nearly has Scott questioning how he knows Grian is currently away from the base, or that Pearl is up on Skynet, nevermind that all of them are underground and have been for the better part of twenty minutes, formulating the plan they're going to use to try and eliminate their biggest threat. How Martyn knows this is a mystery, but not anything that anyone is questioning, for some reason?

It doesn’t stop Scott from inching a little closer, until they're close enough to touch. So Scott can make sure he’s still real, still there. Not yet gone and seeing things that only the dead are meant to see.

It’s unnerving, how Martyn’s eyes go far away when he thinks about something, considers a question that he realistically shouldn’t have the answer to.

It’s terrifying when he tilts his head to the side, as though angling himself to listen to something more intently.

=== === ===

Oh this is new, he thinks, when he enters the tower that he knows BigB is in, and there’s no-one there. He holds his sword steady, laughing a little as he looks around.

He’s not invisible, no small swirls of smoke giving away his position as he moves. There’s absolutely no indication of where BigB is, other than the faint impression that there’s a person right in front of him.

“Oh, you're invisible,” he says aloud, mostly to himself.

“Am I?” BigB’s voice comes from a little to the left, and he swings for it, sword sweeping in a wide arc as he hopes it catches on flesh. It jerks to a stop as it embeds itself in…some part of BigB. He stares hard at that spot in front of him, but his eyes refuse to focus, sliding away whenever he tries to look for longer than a second.

“You are,” he confirms, ignoring BigB’s small grunt of pain as he yanks his sword back towards himself, holding it up defensively. This entire fight just got a lot harder if BigB isn’t the one doing this. It can only be one other doing this, sabotage against him. Something to make him fall a little easier. He loses track of where BigB is, the empty tower around them making his footsteps echo and hard to track. “I'm sure this fight will be easy enough, though.”

“No it won’t!”

Gotcha.

He swings around, spinning on the heel of his foot to make it quicker, flipping his sword at the last moment and slamming the blunt edge of his blade into BigB’s side, winding him rather than slicing him in half.

He swings his sword up to block at the shing of a blade being unsheathed, feeling the invisible weapon press down against his hands, heavy and forcing him to bend beneath it. He bends his knees, sinking a little lower. BigB laughs, excited at this upper hand he’s gained.

Scott holds it a little longer, ignoring the way his arms begin to shake from the strain. Only when he’s certain BigB is pressing most of his weight down against him does he slip away, dropping his sword and darting out of range as fast as he can.

‘As fast as he can’ is apparently not fast enough, feeling the cool metal of a blade dig into his back before he manages to slip completely away, hissing through clenched teeth at the burning sensation that quickly spreads over his back.

“Hah!” BigB cheers at this small victory, even as Scott turns back to face him. The wavering outline of something vaguely resembling a person is all he has to go off of. It’s like the wavering air above stone on a hot day. “Still confident?”

“Of course,” he scoffs. He ignores the way he has to readjust his grip on his sword, hand sweaty as he backs up another step. Whatever invisibility gift this is, it’s not fair. He has a rather good idea of who is doing this, and he cusses them out silently in his mind. Maybe They’ll be able to hear his swearing. “You think I’ll go down that easily?”

He can feel the blood soaking through his shirt rather quickly. For a surface wound, it’s bleeding a lot, and really quite painful.

He still swings when BigB comes at him again, the sound of feet on the cobbles his only indicator. Swinging in such a wide arc wrenches something in his shoulder, and he swears he can feel the flesh tearing further, strained apart like the threads of a garment, stretched beyond breaking point.

In the end, BigB catches him unawares. A rather easy feat, considering he can’t see the other man.

He gasps at the feeling of a blade piercing his flesh, stumbles back – tries to stumble backwards, finds himself stuck on whatever weapon he’s just been impaled with. The weapon he can’t see, but his mind still registers the pain pain pain of a slow death. Still registers the blood blossoming around the puncture.

He can see his insides, vaguely and through a distorted lens. It warps, as though he should be seeing something other than the tearing of his blood vessels and his parted flesh. He can see organs you're not meant to see, curled around himself in the way that he is, can see the puncturing of these probably vital organs which is not a good sign for his continued survival. His flesh is darker than he thought it would be, and bleeds for far longer than he expects.

He lasts far longer than he expected, shallow breaths wheezing out of him as he crumples to the ground.

“Woah, hey,” hands he can’t see lay over his arms, the faint feeling of pressure against his skin the only thing his mind registers. He can see his skin indent where hands press against his forearms, idents that can only be created by hands holding onto him. Hands that he cannot, for some reason, see. “It’ll be over in a sec, I’m sure.”

Scott tilts his head back and allows himself a small groan. He’s bleeding out slowly and sluggishly, he thinks he can afford a singular moment of pain amongst this shitshow.

He almost reaches the point of asking BigB to just slit his throat when the room spins dizzying circles around him, and words are coming from an unseen mouth, unseen hands brushing up and down his arms in what is probably meant to be a reassuring gesture, but is actually just unnerving.

He chokes on the blood in his mouth, and wakes with it still coating his teeth.

=== === ===

“Do you want to get BigB again?” Martyn asks, turning to him with a gleam in his eyes.

Scott hasn’t decided whether he likes this new Martyn yet or not. The Martyn of earlier, with his listless expression and drifting thoughts was not fun to deal with nor exciting to observe, but the Martyn of the here and now, the Martyn with an anticipatory gleam in his eye and a pep in his step at the thought of killing someone else is also not reassuring.

“Not really,” he replies, as casually as he can. “I got my time back from him.”

“And you don't want more?”

“Uh, not really, no.” He and Martyn are alone right now, Impulse and Etho splitting off from their little group momentarily. He doubts they’ll join back together again, everyone’s clocks hanging far too low to trust someone you only made a temporary alliance with.

(For just a moment, Scott wishes they’d come back. Come and act as a buffer between him and the ally that he no longer recognises. The gleam in his eye is dangerous, it warns. A herald of what is to come. He considers, briefly, slipping away into the night and disappearing until his clock runs out of time. Until that last grain of sand in his hourglass slips through and buries him completely. He’s not sure he wants to see what will happen if it’s just him and Martyn. When it’s just him and Martyn.)

“Alright,” Martyn drags the word out, as though he doesn’t believe him. Maybe he doesn’t, with the red-blindness that seems to descend onto everyone at this point, looming over their shoulders like a particularly grim reminder. He can almost hear the clocks ticking down, beat by beat, moment by moment. “If you say so.”

“I do,” he says. “I do say so.”

Martyn considers him for another moment longer. Watches him with those red eyes that seem to hold nothing but calculations behind them. A measure of how long it would take to overpower someone, how long it would take to bleed them dry of their blood and their time. How many arrows to divert someone from their chosen path. How many swings of the sword before their time can be claimed, like the spoils after a hunt.

Scott hates it. Hates this. Hates what his friends become. Hates what it is – who it is – that makes them do it.

Martyn shrugs and turns away. His walk is casual, deceptively so. He moves quickly, off to kill whoever it is that he’s set his mind on. Possibly the Nosy Neighbours, eyes set on them as a target, like a dog with a bone, relentlessly gnawing on it as though that will force it to produce something more.

Ah, yes. That’s what it is.

Martyn watches him as though his heart no longer beats, as though he is nothing more than a chunk of flesh to be devoured for the benefit, what he might gain from it.

Scott walks in the opposite direction to Martyn and hopes, rather selfishly, that they don’t have to cross paths again.

=== === ===

All paths lead back to the clock. All lead back to the timer ticking down, hanging heavy over their heads and around their necks; a slowly tightening noose.

Perhaps it is fitting, then, with his clock at a negligible amount that they arrive at the Clock Tower. Built at the centre of their little world. Everything revolves around the clock, and the Clockers have made sure they cannot forget that.

The face of it peers down at them, despite Scott not being able to see it from where he stands now. He can feel it. Can feel the ticking of the hands, the shifting and grinding of the gears that allow it to turn. Will allow it to turn long after each of them is dead.

Martyn and Impulse watch each other warily, watch him warily. He watches them back, far less wary than either of them.

He can see how this plays out, can see the end already in the tight grip of a hand upon a sword. Can see the way such a hand refuses to release the last weapon he holds, refuses to give up his one advantage here. Can see how the hand hesitates when moving to unstrap his armour, to unbuckle the plates and let them fall loosely to the ground.

Scott undoes the strap in one unceremonious movement, only grimacing slightly at the clatter as it hits the ground, rolling uselessly around his feet.

Martyn watches him, suspicion misting his eyes. His hand continues to falter, resting over his heart and over his chestplate. One that has still to be removed. Impulse’s armour lays on the ground, too, scattered around in pieces as though he’d simply tossed it aside carelessly in his eagerness to get it off.

Scott tilts his head to the side, almost imperceptibly, watches the way Martyn tracks the tiny movement. The way Impulse does not.

There is a question in his eyes, one that he is not sure Martyn can read anymore. The Martyn of yesterday would have been able to. The Martyn that still cared to scrub his hands free of blood, the one that cared enough to clean beneath his nails, so not even the slightest speck of blood would continue to stain his hands.

The Martyn of today is not the one he has spent time getting to know better. He is not the one that could read a question in the tilt of his eyebrows or the squint of his eyes. He is not the one that would be able to read the question in his eyes right now, swimming just below the surface. Maybe Martyn reaches for that understanding he once had, but the explanation slips away easily, a fish disappearing beneath the surface once more.

So maybe he doesn’t read the implicit permission. The silent question that doesn’t need an answer. Because Martyn might not be able to read his eyes, might not be able to read anything from him at this point, but Scott can still read him. Can still see the plan in his eyes, the way it whirrs in his brain as he smooths out the crinkles and finalises it.

Still, despite Martyn’s plan being finalised, set in stone and ready to be carried out regardless of what anyone says, Scott gives him a small nod that he might not catch. A granting of permission. A better you than anyone else. Martyn might not understand it. May have lost the ability to read him entirely.

He still ends up with a sword through the heart, pulled out slowly, longingly. Blood coats the inside of his mouth, and when he coughs, feels it spilling over, it feels like a parting kiss.

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