#but the thought of them having to deal with the aftermath right away while under the same roof…

[southbedfordstreet]

“i don’t know what i’m going to do without you.” -> “i don't like it anymore than you do.” -> “it’s not nothing.” -> “you do matter to me.”

oh, it’s on the tip of eddie’s tongue. and he doesn’t even fully recognize what it is, but he knows that it’s been weighing heavy in his throat and that it’s made it a little hard to breathe lately. knows that he really needs to get it out and that buck needs to hear it. and somewhere in between el paso and los angeles, it will happen- he will reach a tipping point that will make it all come pouring out of his mouth. and it’ll likely be without his permission but par for the course with eddie diaz, it will still manage to be both the most devastating and romantic thing we have ever heard.

[kurogxrix]

Under Wraps

Bruce Wayne x Wife!reader

IN WHICH Bruce and you deal with the aftermath of your kidnapping.

WC: 1.8k

warnings: ANGST, mentions of kidnapping, injuries, PTSD, soft!Bruce.

A/N: Ive l’ost all motivation in writing as of recently and had to FORCE myself to write this for a whole ass month😭 so it’s really nothing great.

The tense silence that lingered between you two was suffocating, albeit all windows in the room being wide open. You just couldn’t get yourself to speak, and Bruce just didn’t know what to say. He never does, but you love him either way. it’s funny to see the cocky billionaire flaunt all of his riches out to the world while he softens for you.

You sat upon the edge of your shared bed with your head in your hands, unable to make out whatever you husband was fumbling with behind you. The feeling of being in the opposite man’s grasp was so fresh to you, like a new scar that your brain harboured. Not only mentally, but the haunting mark across your wrists and neck were yet another temporary reminder of what had happened to you that night.

Oftentimes throughout the night you found yourself being ashamed for a reason or the other. Your husband’s been through worse, so have your sons, and yet your brain couldn’t help but replay the disturbing images of the moment you’d lost Bruce at the gala. You sighed in the comfort of your hands, forcing your eyelids shut impossibly further than they already were to try and shoo the nightmares away. 

Your clothes laid messily somewhere across the floor, a bloody and muddy mess that Bruce had quickly drawn off of you before ushering you into a warm shower. He’d then dressed you in a silky robe, and that was the end of it before you’d end up on the edge of the bed, alone with your thoughts despite your husband being in the same room as you.

Your ears fell deaf to the sound of constant rustling of cloth, so much that you failed to hear him crouch before you as he settled comfortably on his knees. 

Rough hands gently pried at your own, pulling them away from their protective stance around your face. The sudden lack of covering made you scrunch your nose in dismay, but a quick look from those hazel eyes before you had you relaxing. Bruce made a quick work out of the situation, silent as ever as his hands came to undo the knot around your robe that he himself had previously tied. 

You didn’t complain as his hands pushed at your robe, revealing the naked torso that Bruce had seen so many times before. The soft sigh that escaped your husband didn’t go deaf to your ears, and you closed your eyes once more as you awaited for the tingly feeling of his fingers. Seconds passed in sterile silence before you finally felt the scarred skin upon your own, except instead of balm covered fingers, you were met with his warm, bare ones. 

You opened your eyes to the sight of your dishevelled husband staring down at your bruised torso, the balms and bandages that were once in his left hand now abandoned beside you on the bed. His right hand held onto your side like an anchor, wide thumb pressing against your stomach. Bruce kneeling between your open legs was a sight that you’d never get tired of, but this time you could only pray for it to end. 

Hazel iris traced the dark spots littering your torso with a shame that was beyond their ability. Tiny hairs across his hairline stuck to his forehead due to cold sweat, and you brought a hand down to smooth them behind, little to no care for the tacky fluid rubbing onto your hand. Slowly by slowly, you began caressing your way down his face, smoothing out the wrinkles accumulating on his face before stopping on the edge of his jaw. 

The feeling of your fingers, alive and warm upon his freshly shaven jaw caused his fingers to involuntary clench on your side. The painful hiss that escaped your mouth was enough to snap your husband out of his stance, fingers almost immediately unclenching from their grip. 

Masochistic as it was, you were somewhat glad for the pain. It reminded you that you were alive and well, there in the mansion with your husband. It also managed to get those brown eyes that you loved so much to snap upwards towards you. They held so many feelings in there that you believed you could not be able to tend to them all in one night.

“I’m sorry,” it left his lips faster than your brain could comprehend, and you were left dumbfounded yourself at those two little words. Meaningless in most relationships, those words were nothing that you’d ever hear coming on of the one and only Bruce Wayne’s lips. He was cocky, always flaunting his riches to those who seeked. 

“It’s okay, it only hurt for a second.” you lied, because the throbbing pain still coursing through your right side threatened to sell you out. You could tell that Bruce wasn’t buying it, so much for being Gotham’s greatest detective. Nevertheless, your hand resumed its delicate caressing upon his cheek, a ruse to take his mind away from the little slip up. 

You could practically see the gears turning inside his head, trying to decipher why in hell you would be lying to him about this out of everything. Yet again he’d worried far too much over you in one night, you wouldn’t let his mind collapse over something so minor. 

Bruce didn’t wait for your approval before shifting on his knees, hands grabbing at the balms that looked humorously tiny compared to his large palm. The cold paste spreads smoothly upon the tip of his fingers, and soon they’re on your skin. The sensation made you flinch, but the reassuring hand that laid on your knee made you calm down. You thought it was crazy how such a simple thing could make you relax so easily, yet again marriage and love were another crazy thing of their own.

Your fingers clenched on their own as you felt

your throat tightening. No. Hell no, you wouldn’t let Bruce see you cry after the hectic course of fucking hell of days that you’d put him through. That selfless side of you that was present most of the time was yelling at you to stay strong, and yet the sight of your burly, rough and yet caring husband doting after you following your accident, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

You fingers clenched into a fist, nails digging little crescent moon into the skin of your palm as

you gritted your teeth together to hold in a loud sob threatening to escape past your lips involuntarily. From his spot on the floor, Bruce froze at the sight of the soft, rhythmic movements that swayed at your chest. From the corner of his eyes nevertheless, and in the dimness of the enclosed room, his senses never failed him.

Tilting his face up to meet your own, his fingers unwillingly clenched around the poor tin can of balm upon his hands. The tears that you were trying so hard to keep in pooled at your waterline, entangling in your bottom lashes before escaping on their own accord. He watched as your chest shook, exasperation taking over your body before you could even cry to him. Yet you weren’t doing it, and for some reason Bruce knew that he had some part to play in it. 

He remained silent as his hand came to clutch onto your own. Then, the sobs shook you and you just couldn’t hold it in anymore. You jumped from your seat on the edge of the bed and straight into his awaiting embrace, arms thrown tightly around the broad neck. Bruce felt his heart squeezing at the sound of your distraught cries, like the Joker himself had his heart placed and chained on some sort of death carousel. 

Nothing was more painful to Bruce than family. The bad and the good hurt. Like when happiness would grasp at his heart so hard that it’d physically hurt. Only family could achieve that for him, yet life wasn’t always favourable, and the bat knew that better than anyone else. He could make a list of things, one shittier and more tragic than the other, that’s happened to Bruce ever since he was but a little boy, and yet, his heart never got more of in a twist than at the sight of a member of his family hurting. 

Your breath staggered, and your husband felt the warm exhale of you trying to stabilise yourself upon his neck. A large, ringless, and warm palm found its way to the small of your back like a collarless dog chasing home. Suddenly, another bare hand fell upon your back as Bruce embraced you against his chest fully. 

The room was void of any noise save for the agonising sounds of your pained sobs. Bruce didn’t need to ask anything, he didn’t need to inquire to know that you were hurt. All the more scared and traumatised after your encounter with the Joker. His large palm rubbed comforting circles along your back as you laid motionless in his warm embrace. 

“You’re home now,” he muttered, as though it would help appease all of the new scars and fears that you'd acquired in the span of a few days. 

“I’m glad.” you breathed out from your position in the crook of his neck, feeling like you’d break down again if you spoke too much. The both of you occupied your positions on the floor for far longer than normal, only splitting apart to rejoin the comfort of the soft mattress after you’d whined in pain following a slight movement to adjust yourself on his lap. 

Bruce made a quick and effortless job of carrying you back to bed, pausing in his movements when you’d told him you’d feel better to sleep with the side lamp on tonight. The frown on his face deepened at your comment, yet he didn’t allow you to see it as he kept his back to you despite complying. Settling in bed was even harder for you than you expected, unable to wrap your arms around the muscular torso of your husband and rest your head upon his chest as your injury unabled you to. 

Sleep didn’t come easy either, plagued with nightmares that previously didn’t exist in the far back of your mind. Bruce was here with you through it all, his sleeping habits aiding him to wake by the moment you’d stir awake. That night, Batman slept but Bruce didn’t, but the feeling of your pulse regaining its normal beat as you laid with your back against his chest erased Bruce’s ability to care. Safe and sound under the wraps.

-

anyways that was that….

[coffee-in-rain]

Vulnerable Hannibal Fic Rec List

Updated 5/12/2025 with one new addition located at the bottom of the page! A few of these fics are mine, but the rest are some of my favorite fics I've ever read that feature vulnerable Hannibal in various seasons, AUs, and post-canon.

shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn):

Will begins to notice a change in Hannibal's behavior post-fall. He's become something akin to a fretting housewife.

The Ache Against The Wind (Rewritten):

3x13 AU: Will travels into an alternate dimension after plunging into the Atlantic and is confronted with the unexpected aftermath following the removal of Hannibal's toilet in the BSHCI.

Pareidolia:

Six weeks post-fall, Hannibal suffers from a seizure during dinner.

Je Te Laisserai Des Mots:

Six months have passed since Will pulled them over the cliff. Even in light of their progressing relationship, much of Hannibal still remains a mystery to Will. For reasons unknown, he’s begun to pull away. (A sequel to Shrike--my housewife Hannibal fic!)

Between The Hour Of Reprieve:

At the cliff house, Hannibal receives a much-needed-hug.

A Cabin In The Woods by KoolJack1:

Hannibal is thirteen and runs away from the orphanage when he feels that a fate of the elements will be better than the fate of abuse. He finds a small cabin in the woods, thinking warmth will be all he finds. He also finds Will. But who changes who?

this is absolutely amazing. i've never read an AU quite like this. a true masterpiece.

Recipricol Alchemy by Scifibabe:

In the silent echoes of his dreams, Will Graham treads a line blurred between control and chaos, each step drawing him inexorably towards claiming Hannibal as his own. It's a perilous dance on the edge of darkness, where the thrill of possession whispers of a transformation too profound to resist.

one of my faves. i can't even describe how perfect this explores their season 2 dynamic. such a unique trajectory and i am living for it.

Hold Me, Don’t Let Me Go by sourweather:

It's a few months after the Fall when it finally hits him. Hannibal has barely been touched in 3 years. And Will won't let it go on for another moment.

so precious omg. love it

Hosanna In The Highest by sainthannibal:

During the fall, Hannibal receives the brunt of the injuries, which leaves him unable to care for himself. Will discovers how much he enjoys taking care of him.

the post-fall whump is immaculate 🤧 love it

You Made Me Soup by itsybitsylemonsqueezy:

Hannibal comes down with pneumonia while incarcerated. Will decides to make him some soup. Absolutely no one thinks it's strange that Will comes to give his ex soup when he finds out he's sick. No one at all finds this suspicious. At. All.

god, i love this one so much. sick hannibal being hand-fed in the BSHCI? wailing my heart out

The Boy Under The Monster’s Bed by Wr4tttttthh:

There were deep wounds that needed healing, new and old, physical and otherwise.

one of my faves. Will finding Hannibal hiding under the table? a gut punch 😭

Delicate Ghost by hannigramcracker & TimmyJayBird:

She was different- not the ghost of his memories, but something about this bloodied child ripped right at Hannibal's chest, and left him drowning in a cold snow he thought he had left in his childhood, that he had locked away within his skull. Drowning, with only one hand to grasp at, one body to cling to. One man to work him through the trauma and remind him what life was.

so amazing. a unique perspective of how Will would deal with Hannibal becoming distressed while on a case together. one of the first vulnerable hannibal fics i've ever read 🥺

You With Those Nails, Me With This Cross by TheBitterKitten:

Will goes too far.

wailing into my pillow omg this had the perfect amount of angst.

The Distance Is Quite Simply Much Too Far For Me To Row by softhan:

Hannibal is having a rough time recovering from his injuries post-fall, and retreats into himself to avoid confrontation with Will while he's still weak and ill. Having to play happy husbands hardly helps.

my all time fave Hannibal whump fic. the way he's scared Will is disgusted by his accident? eternally sobbing. forever recommending this to anyone who is searching through this rec list.

Silk and Lace by jonnimir:

Bedelia leaves Hannibal and Will a gift at the house on the cliff.

crying because this was so tender and sweet. touch-starved hannibal at the cliff house. chef's kiss.

Not So Fast by scifibabe:

Hannibal wakes from a heated dream with a need that can’t be ignored—and Will, half-asleep but all too eager, is more than happy to help. What begins as a midnight indulgence quickly spirals into an overwhelming game of push and pull, as Will’s relentless appetite pushes Hannibal to the edge and beyond. Kinktober Day 10: Overstimulation + Face-Sitting

desperate and needy hannibal. need i say more? loved it 🤭

Hush Now by scifibabe:

What starts as Will stitching up Hannibal's latest hunting injury turns into something else entirely when a teasing "let Daddy take care of you" slips out. It's meant to be a joke--until Hannibal's reaction tells a different story. One playful push leads to another, and soon enough, they're both realizing they might be into this a little more than they expected. Kinktober Day 19: Fisting.

I truly cannot recommend Hush Now enough! It'll live rent free in my mind and heart for the rest of my life ♡

The Antidote To Grief by incidentsofunkownorigins:

On Will's idea, they visit Mischa's grave. What Will had hoped to be a healing moment of closure breaks something in Hannibal and he is the only one who can put the pieces back together.

this is such a beautiful take on Hannibal and Will visiting Lithuania together and how that would impact Hannibal. ♡

Pulse Point:

Post-Fall, an injured Hannibal awakes from an erotic dream, desperate and needy, aching for Will's touch.

Marveling at a Spoon by scifibabe:

After a gourmet dinner, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter decide to indulge in something a little more... pedestrian—a joint. As the smoke settles and their usual control begins to loosen, Hannibal finds himself experiencing a sensation he never expected: a heightened sensitivity that unravels him under Will’s teasing touch. What starts as a curious experiment in relaxation quickly turns into a surprising discovery, one that leaves even the meticulous Hannibal completely undone. Will is all too eager to take advantage of his newfound knowledge, and Hannibal, for once, is too overwhelmed to resist.

god, i loved this so much.

We Are Now Among The Ruins by ADeedWithoutAName:

Hannibal survived the fall, but not unchanged. He intends to give Will the only gift he now can, and Will intends to honor him in the only way that matters.

i rarely read MCD, but this one is so worth the pain. i am eternally sobbing from this 😭 i also cannot recommend this one enough!!

Something Sacred by scifibabe:

In the quiet aftermath of their survival, silence has taken hold. Hannibal hasn't spoken since the night they washed ashore, his voice swallowed by their shared trauma. Will, haunted by the absence of words and the weight of unspoken things, has learned to reach Hannibal through touch, through the quiet rituals of care. When the strain of Hannibal’s pain becomes too much to hide, Will draws a bath—an unspoken offer of comfort. But today is different. Today, beneath the surface of familiar rituals, something stirs. As the warmth of the water surrounds them, walls begin to crack, and a fragile trust, once guarded so fiercely, blooms into something more intimate and vulnerable than either of them anticipated. In the quiet steam of the bath, two men find solace in each other’s arms, where tenderness can no longer be ignored.

this was so beautiful and soft omg. forever wailing about Hannibal asking Will to join him in the bath. ♡

A Pinch Of Salt In The Wound:

Renderered mute and bedbound post-fall, Hannibal begins to spiral.

You Believe Me Like A God:

Hannibal becomes severely injured post-episode 3x13.

compimento by cervviidae:

Hannibal learns what it's like to be Will's husband.

one of the most beautiful fics i've ever read that explore post-fall hannibal being loved with genuine tenderness and affection by Will. one i'll forever recommend.

Solace In Being Heard by air_of_the_Waterfall:

Hannibal is having terrible nightmares, and Will comes up with a rather unexpected method of helping him get a full night’s sleep.

i love that this offers such a unique look into Hannibal's childhood trauma and how it would impact his sleep. can't recommend it enough!

Bright Burn by Shotgun_sinner:

Hannibal suffers life-threatening injuries post-fall. Will makes decisions to save Hannibal, while trying to recover the life with him that he's only just realized he wanted. How far will he go to keep what's his?

the whump is immaculate in this post-fall fic too 🤧

crave, then succumb:

Hannibal receives a second hug post-fall, while high as a kite on morphine, and ends up unraveling in Will's arms.

chimera of the chapel by bleakmidwinter:

When Will Graham wakes up from a coma three months after the fall, Jack reveals that Hannibal Lecter didn't survive. Outside the realm of Hannibal's influence, Will decides to discover the full truth behind the world's sudden and seeming falsehood. Everybody seems to hold their own opinion on Hannibal's fate, but Will knows better than anyone that trust and honesty are as elusive as death.

incredible. i can't even express how much i loved this. the tender moments and development of their relationship is so beautiful 😭♥️

Keep Me Warm by nbcravenstag:

Will arrives home after walking through a blizzard, fully expecting an angry husband, but instead finds a traumatized little boy, terrified of the cold and haunted by what he's already lost.

the hurt/comfort in this was amazing. love it so much.

Beauty Not Needed Here by kralbellen:

“I know you are in love with me.”

It's not a question but not fully a statement either. A certain amount of doubt colores Will's tone, giving the sentence a nervous lilt.

Hannibal's first instinct is to deny it, in some half-hearted, last effort at self-preservation. He almost smiles – there is no self-preservation left for him when it comes to Will.

Hannibal is asexual. this was so tender and sweet. eternally wailing into my pillow. as someone who's ace this was like a breath of fresh air.

O Holy Night by memequeen1127:

Hannibal gazes at him right back, smiling as if he knows exactly what Will’s thinking. And considering how they know each other inside and out, he very well might.

“Merry Christmas, Will,” he says softly.

Will smiles. “Merry Christmas, Hannibal.”

the sweetest oneshot i've ever read. Hannibal regresses during Christmas and Will is so patient and caring. wailing about this until the end of time 😭🩵

The Perception Of Reality Through Language by Angelic_Disaster:

Hannibal can recognize the factors of trauma in others but not in himself. That's why he denies that there is a reason why he doesn't speak Lithuanian.

sobbing at this for eternity. Will speaking to Hannibal in Lithuanian and then Hannibal breaks down in his arms?? i couldn't ask for anything more beautiful than that in a fic.

Living With A Ghost Of Summer by itsbeautiful:

Based on a requested prompt. Where Will is an idiot, ahem, I mean Will loves Hannibal and tries to surprise him by making a home cooked meal using dishes from Lithuania. Fails spectacularly to lie his way out of it and everything goes horribly wrong. And then they cuddle. The end.

one of my favorites. Will cooks Lithuanian food for Hannibal, who ends up becoming an emotional mess.

Know Me See Me by incidentsofunknownorigins:

On the way to the cliff house, Will makes a decision for himself. Once they get there, he acts on it. But he finds Hannibal is much more deeply broken by his stay at the BSHCI than either of them realized. This time Will must put the teacup back together.

the premise of this fic is something i've been searching for and craving to read for so, so long (eternity, basically) because there can never be enough cliff house fics that explore Hannibal being touch-starved and vulnerable and dealing with the effects of being isolated for three long years. ♡

between here and there by hannigramized:

Will's name is the last word Hannibal spoke in his presence. That was two months ago, directly after the fall, and Hannibal has not said a single word since. Now Will has to navigate through their lives together without Hannibal's voice to guide him.

love this so much! it's the most amazing mute!Hannibal fic i've ever read.

Take Me The Way I Am by Thinminted:

Will didn’t miss Molly, not really, but he occasionally missed who he was when he was with her.

A story about learning to trust your partner with all of yourself.

a very beautiful exploration of Hannibal and Will's developing relationship post-fall.

èclair by cerviidae:

Hannibal touches dough instead of skin. Hannibal is kissed by the feeling of flour on his lips, accidental and impersonal, instead of by the mouth of the man he loves. Three years in confinement had starved him, and now, though his body is healed, his soul remains ravenous. He cleans most of what he can of the whipped cream, scooping it back into another piping bag as he wills himself not to be irrational about this. This mess, this imperfection—it means nothing at all.

amazing post-fall fic about Hannibal's insecurity about being enough to satisfy Will in everyday life and also explores their developing physical relationship and how Hannibal's touch-starved state would have an impact on that. so beautiful. genuinely left me speechless.

Home Is Not A Place by shotgun_sinner:

Post-Fall, Hannibal recovers from his injuries. Will takes care of him, and their relationship evolves much more easily than Hannibal thought it would. The only issue is that Will is a constant presence, and he hasn't had alone time in three years. It ends up not being an issue at all.

one of the first post-fall fics i remember reading years ago that touched on Hannibal's touch-starved state and i've been hooked on that trope ever since lol. always a fave to re-read from time to time.

and the first time that you kissed me, i drank dry the River Lethe by cerviidae:

“Would you like me to come over?”

Silence stretches between them, taut and trembling. Then, the faintest sound—a throat clicking, a breath stalling. Hannibal can already see the war in Will's mind, the reasons she is telling herself not to accept. The burden she is convincing herself she must not be. Hannibal does not give her the chance to refuse.

“I would not mind.” A pause. A breath.

Then, finally, “Yes.”

*this is not a fic focusing on Hannibal's vulnerability, but it is one of my new favorites i've come across.* it's a genderswap AU of an exploration into their physical relationship. Hannibal and Will are both desperate to satisfy the other and it is so tender. this may be hands down the most beautiful smut fic i've ever read?!

earl grey and honey by cerviidae:

Will’s tenderness is a constant. And what a gift it is. Will conjures summer itself through sheer will, as though he could pull Hannibal out of winter’s grasp and set him down in a field of green and gold. Hannibal knows nothing of the ache of bones any longer. His days are filled with cooking and cleaning, the motions of care and love. He kneads dough with his mother’s frantic energy, channels her restless hands into feeding Will, keeping him full. And Will, in turn, keeps him warm. It is love.

any time i read anything by this author, i know i'm about to be wailing my heart out. this is incredible and so lovely.

Verisimilitude by becks:

Will Graham can't believe it when they tell him Hannibal Lecter's dead.

Good. He shouldn't.

(Or: An experimental lobotomy and its unanticipated aftermath.)

i remember reading this years ago and it was so incredible! i've never read a fic with this plot and it was executed perfectly. the end of the last chapter? an absolute masterpiece. i was on the edge of my seat. it's incomplete, but i hope one day the author returns to this fic because it's one of my favorite ever and such a unique exploration of Hannibal and Will's relationship.

Saint Valentine by cerviidae:

Vampire Hannibal Lecter learns what it’s like to love and be loved.

Y'ALL I HAVE NEVER BEEN MOVED TO TEARS BY MORE THAN ONE OTHER FIC. BUT THIS ONE??? I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF READING THIS RIGHT NOW AND I'M GENUINELY ABOUT TO WEEP, BLINKING BACK TEARS BECAUSE THIS IS SO STUNNING AND TENDER AND EVOCATIVE. might also be the fact that i'm listening to Hozier at the same time lol. I CANNOT RECOMMEND THIS ENOUGH. VAMPIRE HANNIBAL BEING LOVED BY WILL SO THOROUGHLY THAT HE'S MOVED TO TEARS?? PERFECTION!! 😭🩷

i don't want to set the world on fire by cerviidae:

Will and Hannibal celebrate Valentine's Day stranded in a fire lookout tower

everyone, go read this asap because it is the most unique and beautiful and perfectly orchestrated exploration of their post-fall dynamic i've ever read. Hannibal's longing for Will in this is so palpable and the desperation he shows for Will when their relationship turns physical? ABSOLUTELY EXQUISITE AND HEARTWRENCHING!! i quite literally just finished reading this and damn was it stunning. still wiping tears from my eyes 😭

i have loved you in a tame way & i have loved you wild by cerviidae:

Will tells himself it don’t matter that he’s got company for this job, tells himself he don’t mind having the kid around, even if it does feel off. He knows he can’t afford to be picky—not in this kind of work, where jobs are hard enough to come by. And maybe if the boy’s just gonna keep ignoring him, they won’t have to cross paths all that much. He’s fine with that. Easier to keep his head down, get through the summer without any trouble. They won’t see each other.

Out of sight, out of mind.

-or-

A Hannibal fic inspired by Brokeback Mountain

Y'ALL, GO READ THIS RIGHT NOW because it contains mute Hannibal and it is one of the most beautiful AU explorations of their relationship i've ever read. chapter 9 in particular made me ugly cry. Will helping Hannibal try to learn to speak again was so unexpected (and i've never seen that happen in a fic before??) also, the progression of Will's struggle with his sexuality and eventually accepting himself and his feelings for Hannibal is so, so beautiful and raw and real. Will treats Hannibal so lovingly in this fic and whenever Hannibal's vulnerability is at the forefront, it never fails to make me weep.

wring me of all the blood i shall bleed:

Post-Fall, Will is growing more and more distant by the day. Hannibal, on the other hand, is unwilling to speak—be it a result of brain damage or a self-imposed state of mutism. Life on the run is as peaceful as it can be. Until Will enters a new relationship in an effort to stem the curious glances and endless questions from the locals.

Lithuanian Words:

Will is trying to find Hannibal to consult with him on a case. He finds Hannibal drunk into an emotional stupor in his study, speaking in a language Will doesn't understand. Filled for a prompt on the Hannibal kinkmeme. Hurt/comfort.

omg this was the very first vulnerable Hannibal fic i read years ago and i can't believe i found it again?!! god i love this so much because Hannibal regresses to speaking Lithuanian when Will stops by (and it's so rare to see in season 1/season 2 fics).

Chiaroscuro by anhthr:

Will carefully adjusted the sling over Hannibal's shoulder, fingers lingering on his skin, sensing when that perfunctory touch transformed into something more profound. The source of this change was nearly impossible to discern. Feeling the genesis of something while being blind to its root was as relieving as it was destabilizing– much like faith.

Hannibal’s gaze fell to the gentle pressure of Will’s fingers as they glided down his arm, casting a wistful look.

"Will your care stem from the same thread as your forgiveness?” Hannibal murmured, his voice cracking from disuse.

omg this post-fall fic is so incredible and beautifully written.

it takes two to burn (it takes one match) by chaplinesque:

Achilles wanted all Greeks to die, for him and Patroclus. His Will wanted to take Patroclus and himself from the Greeks.

or

Hannibal and Will post-fall, where imprisonment affected Hannibal more than either of them thought.

omg the angst and whump in this is perfect, y'all

Guide Me Through Morass, My Love:

Post-Fall. Hannibal wakes up in the Republic of Ireland with amnesia, and is mentally 18 years-old. He finds himself stowed away in a cottage bordered by farmland with a man who knows him intimately—a man by the name of Will. Falling in love and losing one's virginity beneath the scorching sun is not at all intentional, but it feels akin to being revived and bared and bound into new skin—a rebirth.

I fall to pieces (when I’m with you) by misc_agere:

“Is this important?” Will asks.

“You can decide for yourself,” says Jack. “Hannibal has officially been transported to his cell at Baltimore Hospital. They did a few…standard intake assessments upon his arrival.”

“You can’t diagnose him,” Will says, almost automatically. “There’s no label for what he is.”

“They didn’t. But one of the intake assessments was a classification test. His government records indicate that he’s a neutral. Well, this test revealed that he’s a little.”

Will freezes in his chair, his mind reeling.

—

No one knows that Hannibal is a little until he goes to prison. Will doesn’t think about this at all. No, really.

omg this was so sweet and precious and heartwarming!! loved every moment of this fic with little Hannibal finally being able to be open and vulnerable around Will 😭🩵

Caught On Tape by CestPasDuBaudelaire:

Recordings of Hannibal Lecter's therapy sessions from age 13 to 17 find their way to Jack's desk and the scarred man has no other choice but to suffer through them, with the haunting ghost of the Ripper flying and laughing over his head. But Hannibal is one of those creatures for whom the more you learn about them, the less you understand. Reaction fic where Jack watches videos of young Hannibal with his psychiatrist.

omg i looove this one!! read it many years ago and it's so interesting and still one i'll always think about. one of the most perfect fics i've ever found showing Hannibal's childhood. <3

[genshin-obsessed]

Breaking Up hcs | Genshin & HSR

Have I done this before? I know I made that "what if we broke up?" post but I don't think I've done break up hcs before? I hope not anyway cuz i'm doing them now! Also, maybe I went overboard a little cuz even I felt bad lol and I usually don't feel sad when I write angst.

Characters: Aether, Diluc, Wanderer, Caelus, Jing Yuan, and Aventurine (lol I'ma try)

☽ Aether

That break up took a toll on him, more so than even he thought at first. Sleeping became his least favorite activity because he was constantly seeing your faces in his dreams. Constantly.

The entirety of Teyvat fell apart for the short time their favorite errand boy refused to do anything for them. Honestly, Aether didn't do anything for the first week or so. He was barely eating, barely sleeping, barely alive.

It was hard adventuring too, Paimon no longer wanted him to go because sometimes he'd just get distracted and take unnecessary hits. It was kinda bad. Eventually, she got Katheryne to no longer give him any combat requests because he just wasn't doing good enough.

All he wanted to do was talk to you, but you didn't want to talk to him, so that led him to just remaining in his teapot alone. He didn't even allow visitors for a short while. Paimon did her best to try and comfort him, but there were so few words that could actually get through that sorrow he was dealing with.

It took maybe a month before he allowed people to come visit him and under no circumstances were they allowed to bring you up. Mainly because he'd cry. Everyone did try in their own way to help him, even people like Wanderer or Arlecchino tried to give him some "words of wisdom". It... didn't work mainly because Aether wasn't receptive to it anymore.

☽ Diluc

He really did busy himself with work like he said he would. It's almost all hours of the day. He's rarely even seen at home anymore.

Ironically, Diluc is still very careful about getting hurt because if he did, then he'd need to remain at home and be on bed rest and he genuinely couldn't handle that.

He no longer sleeps in his bed either. Usually, he comes home later, collapses on the couch for a few hours until some dream about you wakes him up and he's back to work. He can't stand sleeping in that bed because you used to lay right beside him.

No one, I mean no one, is allowed to even say your name. Truth be told, Diluc is barely hanging on by a thread, someone saying your name and bringing your image to his mind's eye would ruin him.

Even Kaeya doesn't tease him. Actually, Kaeya keeps away because Diluc is quite irritable and not many people wanted to deal with that. While they understood the break up upset him... it was just too much.

☽ Wanderer

Oh boy. Breaking up with him was hard because he was angry and yelling (at the situation apparently), and just saying no. Eventually though, he relented and agreed. You didn't want to be with him and... well, it wasn't right to force you.

The aftermath was pretty bad. He was angry, didn't want to talk to anyone, and just up and vanished for a while. It wasn't until Aether and Paimon accidentally stumbled upon him while adventuring that they learned a little about what happened.

(W/n) explained that he never thought he'd lose you. Out of all the people he was "friendly" with, he never thought you would up and leave the way you did. It broke his heart- a heart he didn't even know started beating again.

Aether offered for (w/n) to join him on some adventures to just take his mind off of things and he, surprisingly, agreed. But it wasn't the same. Both Paimon and Aether noticed the lack of energy.

He was also constantly in his own mind. Most conversations happened between Aether and Paimon because (w/n) would just mentally check out and not even be paying attention. He didn't break down and cry physically but emotionally, he was a wreck. But it was so bad, he didn't know what to do. Cry, scream, try and take over the world, he didn't know.

What he did know was that the world didn't feel right without you.

☆ Caelus

You lived on the Astral Express with him and the others. Everyone thought you were the cutest couple and everywhere you went, you two received the same compliments. So, he definitely fell apart a little when you just up and ended the relationship.

The worst part was that he couldn't have time away from you. Not in the mean sense, but if you two were breaking up, he needed (for his own mental health) not to see you every single day. But... that wasn't possible.

It was extremely awkward for everyone on board. Welt and Himeko tried their best to keep things normal, the conductor did their best to keep conversations going, and Dan Heng just didn't bother coming out of his room. Caelus took a page from Dan Heng's books and just locked himself away for like two weeks.

When it was finally time for him to come out, he took time off of the express, choosing to go visit some old friends to regain some of that normalcy. Jarilo VI was where he spent most of his time as he hadn't been there in a while. He stayed there without the others for maybe two or so weeks, finding ample time to spend with Natasha, Seele, Bronya, Serval, and Gepard.

While he didn't openly state you two broke up, everyone knew. He did go and visit the Xianzhou which Dan Heng did join him in doing which was a good bonding experience for the two. It was when he finally opened up about losing you. According to Caelus, everything felt so wrong. Like a part of him was missing and that part was so close to his reach. But every single day, he had to pretend like it wasn't.

☆ Jing Yuan

He really didn't know what to do at the moment. He kinda stopped paying attention after you said you wanted to end the relationship. He tried to convince you otherwise, saying that breaking up wouldn't give him the chance to fix it but you were pretty adamant. He couldn't just say no... so he said ok and you were gone.

He tried to act normal. He did his job normally for the first day and that's when it all started to fall apart. The second he had time alone, it just hit him so painfully. You thought him losing his old friends was painful? This was a whole new level.

The second day, he couldn't really perform his duties as well and just handed them off to the first person he saw. Yanqing was most worried and desperately tried to get anyone's help because he didn't know what to do. It led him straight to the Astral Express and unsurprisingly, no one knew what to do.

Jing Yuan didn't even want help, honestly. He'd been hurting for years carrying the memories he did, so what was one more painful one? Maybe it was some sort of divine justice? Jing Yuan wasn't the most upstanding man, right? So he probably deserved this. What right did he have to just go and fix it?

Caelus did end up finding him out and about once, having the chance to share tea with Jing Yuan. The general explained he didn't know how to fix anything anymore. While it wasn't healthy to live life this way, it was his punishment probably. Caelus' concern led him to ask that burning question: why?

"I should've done better. Treated them better... maybe then... I'd still have them."

☆ Aventurine

He almost didn't register the words that came out of your mouth. You... break up with him? You were talking, explaining why, but he couldn't really follow. It's like his brain just stopped working and all he could think was 'this wasn't supposed to happen'.

At the end of it, you were gone and he was alone. Aventurine expected betrayal in his line of work, but he never expected it from you. Your "deal" with him was special. It wasn't like his normal deals. It was one that you two emerged equally victorious and no one lost anything. Right?

Even Ratio had pity for him. Aventurine waltzed around as if nothing happened but there was such a dramatic shift in his personality. He said the same things he always did, he acted as if he always did, but there was a distinct bitterness when he spoke of being let down.

When he told people to make use of him, there was a hint of resentment laced in his words. While he claimed he expected to be exploited at some point, there was still a twinge of fear. It never hurt before but for some reason, it scared him now.

He did briefly open up to Ratio, who was just berating him as usual, and it even took him by surprise. Aventurine didn't say much, but he did say how he figured everyone in the world to want to set him on fire for one reason or another. He just didn't expect it would be you to light the flame. Veritas called him an idiot and said you had every right to leave, which Aventurine wholeheartedly agreed with.

You did have every right to leave. You just didn't have the right to take whatever made him feel normal.

[crazyyluvr]

Hello(different anon), but I have a kinda angst idea for male Ravenclaw reader x James! During a quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, maybe Slytherin’s beater(let’s say Mulciber for the sake of this) hit the bludger toward Ravenclaw’s seeker and reader hit it, but the slytherin’s beater hit reader with the bat to take them out of the matches for a while. James sees reader get attacked and fall from his broom and whatnot and the aftermath.

I really liked your writing of James for this fic and I would love more of it if you could so! No pressure and love your writing!

You're Just a Bit Less Graceful than Icarus When Falling from the Sky, but It's Okay!

summary: As James crush on you continues to grow, you play Quidditch against Slytherin. I think we can all guess where that goes, especially when Mulciber seems to have it out for you.

note: I have given up on putting my oneshots in a layout. nonetheless, thank you so much for the request anon! sorry if the writing is bad, this is the first thing I've written in a while. enjoy!!

wc. 2.6k

cw. injury, fighting, cursing

my other james x male!ravenclaw!reader: part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Over the course of the next few days, James had the wonderful opportunity of getting to know you better. He quickly learned that you were quiet but you had your moments were you said things that made James turn red. He didn't like feeling embarrassed, but he could deal with the feeling as long as he heard your laugh.

Today was another break from school, since it was time to resume the Quidditch Cup. James didn't have any matches this weekend, but you had one against Slytherin. James didn't have friends in Ravenclaw and definitely not in Slytherin, but he told his friends that he was watching the match.

He didn't even have to say that it was for you, since they already knew. If Remus's knowing smile and Sirius's teasing smirk was any implication of that.

It didn't exactly matter to him what his mates thought of his "down bad behavior" (Sirius's words, not his). All he really cared about was supporting you, since you had expressed your nervousness for Quidditch now that you were made an official Beater of the team.

"I don't know how you can deal with this type of pressure James." Your tone was lighthearted, but James knew that you were feeling antsy about the upcoming Quidditch matches.

"It takes a lot of practice to get used to it, but I know you will," James replied. You were both in the library, studying Potions until a few conversations led to your schoolwork being momentarily forgotten on the table.

It was easy to forget things that were right in front of James with you sitting close to him, so close that your shoulder brushed against his when you used your hands while talking.

You sighed, leaning back against the comfortable cushions of the couch. "I better get used to it soon, or else Connor will skin me alive."

"Oh I would love to see that."

"How you wound me, Potter." You put a hand on your chest in mock hurt.

You both snickered like high school girls until you fell silent after Madam Pince's severe shushing.

James glanced around. He was waiting for you to leave the Great Hall so he could wish you good luck one last time before the match began in a few minutes. Peter, Remus, and Sirius were already in the stands, saving him a seat in the front so he could properly watch the game.

You finally emerged through the large double doors, and you spotted him almost immediately. He felt his chest warm when he saw how you relaxed at the sight of him.

"You guys go ahead, I'll be in the tent in a bit," you told your other teammates. They whistled and 'ooh'ed in response, making you roll your eyes and wave them away.

"Ignore them," you said once you were alone and closer to James. "They're always like that with everyone."

James shook his head, his lips donning a fond smile. "Don't worry, I'm used to it from my own mates."

"Mmm, they seem like the type," you chuckled, making James laugh under his breath.

He took a moment to look at you from behind his glasses, studying your expressions carefully. He may not be as observant as Remus, but he liked to think that he knew you well enough to recognize when you use humor as a distraction from your nervousness.

"How are you feeling?" He finally asked.

You let out a breath. "Like I'm gonna shit my pants while I'm up in the air."

James let a quiet laugh escape him, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you closer into — what James hoped — a reassuring, friendly hug. It was a bit awkward with the height difference, making you bend down a bit, but it worked. "You got this." He said with surety. "You're the best Beater I've ever seen. You'll do well out there."

"You better make sure Black doesn't hear you, or else it'll destroy all the progress I've been making in getting closer to him," you teased.

James laughed again. He didn't see the way you quietly admired him and the way his facial features crinkled to accommodate the sound of joy that left his lips.

You cleared your throat, smiling down at James slightly. "I better get going," you said. "The team's waiting for me."

"Alright." James reluctantly let his arm slip down to his side and watched you leave. "Good luck!"

"Don't laugh at me if I fall off my broom!" You called back, disappearing from his view into the crowd pouring into the field without letting him respond.

He let out a breath, running a hand down his face to calm his racing heart.

Having a crush sucks.

—————

You exhaled sharply as you swung your bat, the thick wood hitting the Bludger with a mighty thwack as you sent it sailing towards a Slytherin Chaser.

Your hit landed on its target, sending the Chaser off-course and making her let go of the Quaffle. Your teammates caught it before it could hit the ground and quickly scored another point.

"As Ravenclaw scores another ten points, Captain Harlow makes a deep dive! It seems like he has his eyes on the Snitch!"

Your eyes immediately looked for your captain. You knew Seekers became an even bigger target when they were in pursuit of the Snitch, so you followed Harlow a few meters away, batting stray Bludgers towards other Chasers while also keeping a close eye on your Seeker.

"You're fucking annoying!" Mulciber, your opponent Beater, sneered, shouting your name around twenty feet away from you. You had been deflecting his hits throughout the entire match, no matter how hard he's been hitting. He wasn't used to being opposed and he obviously didn't like it.

You didn't reply, simply trailing behind Harlow. The Slytherin Seeker was hot on his heels, but you trusted your captain to get to the Snitch first.

Thwack!

Your body moved on instinct, like you had become one with your bat and broom as you raced forward and swung as hard as you could before the sailing Bludger could make contact with Harlow. Your arms hummed from the heavy impact, but you were able to counter the hit with your own strength, sending it towards the Slytherin Seeker.

It made contact with him, stopping his pursuit and letting Harlow grasp the Snitch.

"Harlow has the Snitch! Ravenclaw wins the match!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, numerous students in blue and silver jumping around in the stands as they shouted for their house.

Harlow turned around and gave you a grateful grin before pumping his fist enclosed around the Snitch in the air victoriously.

You were about to let out a laugh when you heard a cry of outrage behind you.

"LOOK OUT!"

You didn't get to react before you felt something hard hit you at the back of your head and make your world fade into darkness.

—————

Before James could even fully process what he was doing, he found himself on the field, pushing himself through the players that crowded over you.

He saw everything; how well you performed, your accurate bats, up until Mulciber threw his club right towards you out of anger.

He wasn't fully aware of his actions, even as he cradled your head in his hands to check if you were conscious, or alive even. All he could think about was how Mucliber had gone out his way to severely injure you even when the game had already ended, when Ravenclaw had fairly won.

He snapped back to the present when Madame Pomfrey appeared behind him and someone pulled him onto his feet.

James felt something warm on his hands. He looked down at them to check, and he swore his heart stopped.

They were red with blood.

Your blood.

"Prongs," Sirius was saying — he was the one who pulled him up to his feet.

"Pads," James said hoarsely. He slowly turned to face his best friend, and Sirius saw his hands, eyes widening in shock.

"Where the fuck is Mulciber?" He managed to get out behind gritted teeth. Sirius looked around, and James knew he spotted him when Sirius's jaw clenched and his face contorted in anger.

James didn't hesitate. He turned and once he saw Mucliber, he ran towards him and rammed him to the ground with so much force dead American football players rolled in their graves.

One hand wrapped around the neck of Mulciber's Quidditch jersey while he swung the other towards the Slytherin's face, making contact with a satisfying crack.

He pulled back, ready to hit again, before a hand wrapped around his arm, stopping him from continuing. Another hand grabbed his other arm, tugging him away from Mulciber while yet another set of hands wrapped around his stomach to keep him from throwing more punches.

"You fucking bastard!" James shouted out, thrashing in the hold of who he faintly recognized as your teammates and Sirius. He saw Remus and Peter jogging towards them in the corners of his eyes, but he didn't care.

He didn't care, because you were hurt, and the fucker who hurt you was right in front of you.

"JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!" He heard Professor McGonagall's roar, and it was enough to stop him from struggling, breathing heavily. He would have continued, but he's never heard the professor sound that severe before.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention for two days," she said harshly, glaring at him from over the rims of her square glasses.

"But Professor —!"

"Say anything else and I'll make it fifty points and a week's worth of detention."

James closed his mouth, but he pulled himself out of the arms of the Ravenclaw players.

The professor turned to Mulciber, who was being hauled to his feet while he moaned in pain. "Eighty points from Slytherin and a month's worth of detention with Mr. Filch," she all but spat at him. "Your actions were absolutely reckless and caused severe injury to another student who did nothing wrong except win a Quidditch match. Your punishment will be discussed among the teachers soon."

She turned to James, eyes just a tad softer. "He's in the hospital wing now," she said. "I suggest you pay him a visit before visiting hours end."

Not that it's ever stopped you before, James knew what McGonagall was implying. He gave her a nod, shot a heated glare at Mulciber, and stormed away to the hospital wing, too mad to even say a word to the other Marauders despite their questions.

He needed to make sure you were okay, then he would be okay too.

—————

The first thing you noticed when you regained consciousness was not the bandages around your head, or the pain, or even the chill that creeped up on you from the gaps of the blanket around your body. It was the weight of a hand over yours, warm and gentle, as if worried your hand would break under more pressure.

It was a struggle to raise the heavy lids over your eyes, but you were successful nonetheless. Once your eyes adjusted to the darkness in the hospital wing, you saw the one and only James Potter, leaning face-down on the side of your cot, his back rising and falling evenly from his breaths.

You pushed yourself up to a sitting position, squeezing one eye shut at the pain that pierced the back of your skull from your movement.

Your hand slipped away from James' as you shifted, and it was enough for him to jolt awake, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose and curly hair even messier than normal.

"What're you doing here this late, James?" You asked, your voice raspy from the lack of use.

James decided to leave your question unanswered, handing you a glass of water from the side table before speaking. "Do you remember what happened?" He asked carefully.

You tilted your head a little, trying to recall what caused your unexpected stay in the hospital wing. "I remember winning against Slytherin, and then something hit my head."

You shivered a little, and James scooted closer to you as if trying to provide you with warmth even from a distance.

"Did you see what happened?" You asked. "Did a Bludger hit me in the back of the head or something?"

James didn't speak for a moment, debating with himself. You sensed his hesitation, and that was all you needed to understand what had happened to you.

"Someone threw something at me, didn't they?" You leaned back on your cot. “Who?”

"Mulciber." You felt a bit taken aback at the venom in the boy's voice as he said the name.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair before pausing as a flare of pain emanated from the back of your head. “I expected as much. He seemed pretty pissed when I knocked their Seeker away from the Snitch.”

James watched you with an incredulous expression. “How can you be so calm about this?” He demanded. “You could’ve been hurt worse because of Mulciber.”

“I know,” you said placatingly, trying to soothe James’s rising anger. “But honestly, would you have expected anything less from him? He’s a sore loser, always has been.”

“You don’t understand.” James said your name with a tone much more serious than you’ve ever heard from him. “You fell off your broom. You could have died!”

You were once again caught off guard by his words. You paused, reaching your hand out to pat the back of James’s hand that was still on your cot.

James felt his cheeks heat up, both from your touch and the way you looked at him. Eyes soft, lips slightly upturned into a reassuring smile that was doing wonders at calming him down.

“I’m sorry you had to watch that,” you said genuinely. “But I’m alive. I’m living and breathing in front of you, right?”

James nodded reluctantly. “Right?”

Your smiled widened. “See? It’s gonna take more than Mulciber and his pettiness to kill me.”

James finally let out a small chuckle, and you felt your chest warm victoriously.

You pulled your hand back. “You should go back to your dorm,” you said. “I don’t know what time it is, but I’m fairly sure visiting hours is over and Madam Pomfrey would have your head if she knew you were still here bugging one of her patients.”

James moved before thinking, hand moving forward to grasp yours again. “I’m not going anywhere,” he declared with such emotion it made your heart stop and you cheeks slightly warm. “I’m staying here until you get better.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You sure? That could take a while.”

“I can wait,” James said simply, flashing you a smile that made your cheeks feel even warmer. “For you, I can wait forever.”

You smiled at that, leaning your head back and trying to keep your eyes open despite the drowsy spell that was suddenly laid over you.

James noticed your struggle. “Sleep,” he said, adjusting his grip on your hand so it would be more comfortable for the both of you. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be, Potter,” you said in a joking manner, but James knew you meant it. He knew that you often hid your yearning for human contact with jokes and crooked smiles, so he knows how much him staying there with you actually meant to you.

It’s just proof that he’s getting to know you pretty well.

“I will,” he reassured, shifting in his chair so and leaning back, while still keeping his hand with yours on the cot.

Staying true to his word, he was still there when you woke up.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

It’s hilarious how Vaggie made herself a ‘sinner’.

How that linked her up with Charlie is such a weird, round about truthful way, even when she was lying by omission about it.

And how amazingly dumb it all makes Adam and Lute look.

Thousands of helpless souls killed by her, but she didn’t do anything ‘wrong’ until she wondered if what she was doing was right. The divine powers in her life only took her wings and condemned her to hell after she doubted their orders, their idea of justice, and quietly chose not to completely follow them.

“You fucked up” they tell her “your mistake” she “left the band” “tried for a solo career". It’s so pathetic. They're so butthurt over the idea of one of their own having a mind of her own.

It’s also so funny, because they spin her simple act of whispering “Go, run. Now!” to demon kid she’d been holding at spear point like it was big defiant move- which makes it into one- even though she never challenged them openly, or threatened them.

Hell, Lute’s “You always were weak” plus exorcist Vaggie always frowning while her murder sisters all grin with glee as they kill sinners- it paints a picture of Vaggie never having been as into exterminations as she ‘should’ have been. Too weak to be a proper exorcist no matter how good at killing she was, not just “the traitor” but also “the failure”.

And she was scared of that. She didn’t want anyone seeing her spare that child, whispered her words to them in a back alley, out of sight.

She was scared of what would happen and didn’t even fight it when Lute took her eye and wings- she was scared and no threat in any tangible way, but apparently refusing to do one single murder is enough to freak Adam and Lute the fuck out.

One woman. Doesn’t do exactly what she’s told. After who knows how many decades of being one of the “top girls” at murder, a “bad bitch” named after “the best thing ever”, and they still get spooked by that tiny moment when she wasn’t under their total control. Like it's such a betrayal to them, her daring to so much as think this level of violence isn’t justified actually, and for a split second act on that thought.

It’s an instant ticket to ousting her from the exorcists AND from heaven, while they fly the fuck off again.

“If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky-”

and they do. After doing that to one of their own. They did that, to someone who was supposedly meant to be in heaven. They didn’t wait for divine justice- took it, and her eye, and her wings, and her halo, into their own hands and tore them away from her. Then happily, they spend the next three years up in heaven, slurping smoothies and doing more murder sprees.

until Vaggie comes strolling back with the princess of hell, there supporting her girlfriend and the idea that all the shit she did for so long really was and IS wrong.

oh and Adam and Lute are pisssssssed about it. They take her being there PERSONALLY, wanna solve it with VIOLENCE

She hurts them without even trying. Without even noticing they're there.

They're told to fix the princess of hell situation and they have no concept of forgiveness, of caring about sinners, so they guess (rightly) that Vaggie hasn't told Charlie about her past and bet (wrongly) that Charlie would never forgive her if she knew, and also assumed (rightly) that Vaggie would be terrified of that

But they don't get that she's scared of hurting Charlie. Of Charlie being hurt by her. It's a selfless thing. That's her whole PROBLEM.

Her running to hold Charlie after the reveal- her NOT breaking down when Charlie takes alone time in the aftermath, respecting that right up until she thinks Charlie's actively in danger- afraid FOR Charlie when the deal with Alastor is made, no crumbling that Charlie went to someone else for help, when being helpful to Charlie is basically her raison d'étre- agreeing to go alone to an overlord, after learning she can DIE and THIS OVERLORD knows how to do it- all this for the sake of Charlie's dream, their shared goal, their hotel. Their friends, resigned to despair in the hotel lobby, losing hope and maybe hours away from losing their lives

No shit she was never going to bow down to the blackmail?? It'd be like turning herself inside out. Charlie isn't just some "little hottie" or whatever, they're partners. They're in this together. Even when Charlie out loud doubts if that's true, it still is.

Lute and Adam don't GET what it means, that Charlie assumed Vaggie was a sinner already. That the thing she'd be hurt about was the lying, not the murder. She was scared of not really being loved by Vaggie- of everything else wonderful between them being a lie too, all that support and faith empty empty- she wasn't afraid of loving Vaggie, whoever Vaggie had been, she was afraid of who Vaggie might be now and that she'd never really believed in Charlie at all.

Charlie was angry at the thought that Vaggie didn't think she would've accepted her. The idea of not really being understood or trusted by Vaggie, that's what hurt.

And it goes against everything Lute and Adam are, Charlie actually caring about sinners while knowing what they've done- about an exorcist after finding out who they'd been- really trusting that people can change. Lute and Adam hear her say it and see her stand up for it and they just want her to shut up and die

again though, no shit she was going to stick with Vaggie after the truth came out, in the end. Once she had a moment to take a breath and step out of her head long enough for a reality check

Vaggie didn’t say to Charlie what she'd done or who she'd been. But she’s been and keeps doing what she can to follow that idea, unvoiced, from that day when she couldn’t kill a sinner- something Charlie didn't know about but now knows must have happened- A final death means no second chance and no worth as a person, but Vaggie didn’t think that, even before meeting Charlie she didn't think that.

She's always been on Charlie's side. They were on the same side before they ever set eyes on each other. All this time, for three whole years, and now she's off to go find a way to protect everything they've built together.

"-words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth"

Charlie never really stopped trusting her. Maybe she wondered if she should, but even then, she had Vaggie go to Carmilla to find the key that might save them all.

"She killed an exorcist in the last extermination. She knows how they can be harmed."

"But… I- I didn't even know that was possible."

"If you did, would you have told me?"

So Charlie asked. A pretty painful thing to say- and she said it even as she sent an angel to go find out a way to hurt other angels.

She DID trust that Vaggie WOULD tell her.

The irony of all this happening thanks to Adam and Lute trying to keep it from happening, and all of it leading up to Vaggie getting back part of what they took from her, because now she doesn't need them or heaven to be an angel anymore.

Charlie has faith in her. Enough to send her off on an important mission even after Vaggie hurt her- and send her right to the person who end up helping Vaggie get back her wings.

“The rules are shades of gray when you don’t do as you say”

Vaggie’s new fucking wings are gray when Lute sees them. When Vaggie’s standing over her, sparing her life, her wings and that one, fucking unexplained stripe separating her from the other exorcists, all of it is GRAY.

That visual gut punch of, you’re. Fucking. Wrong. You’re wrong about sinners, you’re wrong about supposedly protecting heaven, you’re wrong thinking you can just DO this shit. That imagery of an angel who DIDN’T stay in the sky because she DIDN’T think being angel meant everything she did had to be right- who’s here in hell, trying to protect sinners from heaven’s slaughter-

And Lute wanted Vaggie to “correct” HER “mistake”? Vaggie’s???

That’s Lute, admitting that people in hell can get second chances and make up for what they did. Admitting that “Sinful filth” like Vaggie can be redeemed in some way, by following Lute’s version of what’s right.

But wasn’t her and Adam’s whole thing the idea of blowing your shot? Getting no other chance after it?  

Oh yeah. Vaggie doesn’t believe that though. Not for sinners like her, not for angels like her.

She let’s Lute live. She does it to make Lute suffer, but there are a lot of ways to make someone suffer- an eye for an eye for example- and Vaggie chooses the one that doesn’t hurt Lute more than it has to, that leaves her alive, and leaves Lute’s suffering to be something completely of Lute’s own making (a HELL of Lute's own making, if you will) (Lute choosing to tear her OWN arm off to continue the fight-).

She's totally dismissive of the woman who was just going after her remaining eye like a dog after a bone.

Why is it that nothing Adam and Lute to do her matters?

Why don’t THEY matter to her at all?

Walking right past them, being so done with them up in heaven, not caving to the blackmail, only being worried about Charlie afterwards, not letting that crack in their relationship stop her from doing what she can for their hotel, Lute threatening to take her other eye and BLIND her just making her snark- even the vague threat to Charlie only gives Vaggie the oomf she needed to defend herself.

“Pathetic” she calls Lute. She’s right- they’re so pathetic, both them, Adam and Lute. They’re so scared of being wrong. So pissy over the idea of being less than great and perfect.

It breaks them. Adam’s last words are him having a meltdown in the face of not actually being hot shit. Where’s his respect, he wails, they should all be worshiping him! But they’re not. One of his random decedents stabs him to death because he would’ve done the same to her, and one of the last things he hears is Vaggie- the fuck up, the traitor, his former grumpy top girl Vagina- whooping with glee as he dies.

And Lute lives knowing that could’ve been her, too.

If it wasn't for Vaggie.

Being not all that didn’t break Vaggie. Finding out she was wrong got her to stop and think and change, not run straight on blindly into a fight that ends up with her (with HIM) dead.

Why does she go from terrified of Lute and Adam, to dismissive and annoyed and just all around not caring about them at all?

They gave up all her respect for them when they demanded the death of a child.

The father of humanity wanted a child killed. A helpless, whimpering kid, sacrificed to his ego and bruised pride, and for shits and giggles. His first lieutenant saw failing to do so as a sin worthy of hell. All this over a child. How could she ever take them seriously after that.  

She came down from high and chased the child and held a blade over them on divine command.

Then, somehow, she saw the HORNS in her own shadow above them- even though she wasn’t WEARING her MASK, and she stopped.

She was her own messenger angel.

She chose to give the child mercy, and became the sacrifice herself.

Vaggie stuck it to the man. Didn’t steal that life. And, terrified of what would happen to her next, acted selflessly. The same thing that got her left behind in hell should have earned her place in heaven, according to Adam-

heaven was shit to her though. Made her into a soldier. Sent her to kill and kill and kill. Taught her trust on the battlefield- in heaven, of all fucking places-

Timeline wise we see her very first smile when she meets Charlie. When a stranger does- again- the bare minimum for someone else.

When she’s back up in heaven later she isn’t wistful, just angry, uncomfortable, annoyed. She isn’t happy there. It’s not home to her, like her and Charlie’s room back at the hotel is. Why should it be? What good did she ever find in herself up there?

Down here though, she's happy. Hell is where her heaven started. So I guess in the end, she did find what she’d earned after all. Or it, Charlie, found her.

When “The rules are shades of gray…”

Sometimes they’re wrong, and you have to break them.  

People like Lute and Adam would rather crack under the pressure and die instead, but not Vaggie. They're out for blood. She's out for love.

Sucks to be them~

[yuri-is-online]

The Tower Stairs: Rollo Flamme

"Forget about school while you're here and enjoy a moment of respite in Fleur City." The words should not be bouncing around in your brain like a screensaver, hitting on the edges left by overblot after overblot. You wish Vil was here to remind you that not everyone who hurt you had been so callous in the aftermath.

But he's not. The only one here who is willing to point out the wrongs is Rollo. Are you wrong for being tempted to let him take advantage of that?

notes: This is fucking 10,225 words and only lightly proofread, sorry. they/them used for Yuu, SPOILERS FOR ALL OF GLORIOUS MASQUERADE, light references to events surrounding overblots, non-consensual drugging and possible Stockholm syndrome, Yuu feels isolated and Rollo has an idea just hear him out. Lots of toxicity all around please be advised This is technically part of a series, the first part features Azul. If you like those consider checking out my masterlist.

Two sentences.

Two students will be sent as attendants to the invited mages.  One monster and one magicless human, approximate measurements attached per your request.

Two sentences barely acknowledging your existence and that was it; the foolish mage in charge of Night Raven hadn't even thought to include a name or photograph (the monster got the same treatment but he could not really bring himself to care as much about that) and he hadn't even made notes about food preferences or allergies.  The attached note was a post-it scrawled in the most haphazard and uncaring handwriting that he needs to take a brief moment to breathe, turning away from his desk to throw another log on the fire and breath in the soothing scent of the smoke.  He doesn't even know what their favorite color is, those poor fools will have to make a guess while they obsess over what costume to throw at them. 

Costume.  His eyebrows twitch as he brings the handkerchief to his nose, the smoke no longer enough to distract from his disgust.  Breathe in, the gentle aroma of rosemary and lavender brings clarity though solace remains tentatively hanging in the bell tower along with all of his hopes, breathe out.  He dares not risk ruining the foolish surprise by asking, but he makes sure to take a nice sheet of paper and properly write out the notes on their measurements neatly, tacking it to the top of the stack where it belongs.  This festival was always meant to be for the virtuous, and while he may not know them, what he has seen of the others guarantee them to be the best of the lot.  The bell dutifully rings out the evening toll and Rollo takes one last look at those two sentences.  He pities you; that's the explanation he reaches for the pain searing in his chest.

~~~~

Halloween feels more like Christmas with how big of a deal all your friends are making of it, and you really lack the words to explain how strange that makes you feel.  It's not a bad sort of strange you suppose as you twirl a little of the thickly embroidered fabric in between your fingers.  Festivities bring good food, an excuse to avoid classwork, and a way to guise showing affection under holiday obligation; it's just a bit odd to see it cloaked in orange, blacks, and pumpkin carvings and not pine needles and nutmeg.  But all of these thoughts are irrelevant, meant to try and distract you from the waiting crowd outside and the social you've been pawned off on.  You take a deep breath, trying to focus on how excited Grim sounds and how cute you know he will look to avoid the terror of being seen.

"Forget about school while you're here and enjoy a moment of respite in Fleur City."

Your eyes meet Rollo’s before you shamefully turn to your friends, disappointment flashing through you with just how impassive his gaze remains despite the beauty of the costume.  It’s just a stupid “crush” on a guy who if you in your right mind you would insist looked ugly.  A real choice example of “guy you didn’t know magic could invent,” 18 going on 80, someone who if you had admitted out loud to wanting to get to know better as a friend you would be judged heavily for.  And if you are being honest with yourself it isn’t even really a crush, it’s just your stupid brain firing off a bunch of dopamine at someone offering you a genuine break and some sympathy for the troubles he assumed you’d been through.  Vil remembered.  The tiny, tired voice of reason tried to do its job at the back of your skull.  It is probably very dark and lonely back there.  Maybe guys from the Shaftlands are just built different.  Even it was overworked and making concessions.

“It looks like you are wearing matching outfits.”  Deuce’s kind smile brings you out of your head and back to reality.  

“You look like you’re matching with Riddle!”  You say and smile wide when both Deuce and Riddle puff up in pride.

“We both look like proper card soldiers,” Riddle actually bows to the Vice-President, who looks really happy to receive the praise “you must have really put a lot of thought into these.”  

“Glad you noticed!”  You see Rollo pull out that strange handkerchief and inhale as his Vice-President happily chirps away.  “Since your Headmage noted your dormitories we tried to include inspiration from the Great Seven in the costume themes!  The costumes are supposed to respect tradition, and your school has some too, we figured ‘why not combine them?’”  

“Where’d mine come from then?”  Grim doesn’t seem too fussed even though he asks, he must  really like his outfit.  “Yuu and I are the only ones who care about our dorm.”

“Yes the… note provided for you was most inadequate.”  Rollo is technically addressing the crowd, but his gaze remains firmly on you.  His eyes are beautiful, green and blue swirling in what you delusionally swear is a gentle dark gray frame that will dull and snap back to firm disinterest once he returns to your seniors.  “As such I suggested the capes but these two came up with the rest.”

“We went with purple and black since those are both NRC and NBC colors.”  The VP gives you what should be a confident thumbs up that you barely pay attention to, still caught up in the intensity of Rollo’s gaze.  

“Thank you.”  You barely manage to break away from it and miss the way Rollo seems to somehow stand taller, even if he does not say-

“You’re welcome!” The vice-president and aide continue to glow with everyone’s praise.  “We really hoped you would like them.”  

You can barely hear their words over your focus on him.  If he feels the weight of your gaze he doesn't flinch, nor does he acknowledge it, leaving Trein’s voice to cut through your stupor, startling you with an expectation of disappointment or trouble.  But it isn’t there, he simply seems concerned, and thankfully not with you.  You cannot say the same of your classmates, but then again you had also forgotten the headache you got listening to them argue over their fieldwork group names.  Seriously, how old were Azul and Idia again?  And you aren’t going to think about Malleus right now, the ibuprofen Trey had helped you pack was with your luggage not the pockets of your costume. 

“What will Yuu be doing?”  Rollo is as impassive as ever, but he once again looks at you as he asks, as if he expects you to be a part of the conversation.  How cute.

“Yuu and Grim will be with me.”  Trein turns to scold your friends and though you expect Rollo to follow, or maybe excuse himself to his duties he does not.

“Are you alright with this arrangement?”  He asks.

“Oh we discussed it before we got here.”  You rush to pacify, which startles Rollo more than soothes him.  “As long as Grim gets to eat a bunch of stuff we’ll be fine.”  If anything it will probably keep him distracted from causing trouble to keep bouncing back and forth between the groups, but you don’t say that outloud. 

“Yeah!”  Grim cheers, excited by the mention of his name if nothing else.  “This place has got all sorts of great food right?! Riddle was tellin me all about it.” Rollo seems displeased, the handkerchief comes out from his pocket but he doesn’t hold it up to his face yet, choosing instead to focus on your eyes.

“I wasn’t asking about Grim.”  Your little friend begins to make noises of protest, but they quiet as he looks back and forth between you both.  But if Rollo has more to say he is forced to keep it to himself.

“Human!”  Sebek’s shout demands your attention and you see Rollo finally lift his arm to take the deepest breath yet into his handkerchief.  “You had better not plan on keeping Lord Malleus waiting!  Have you already forgotten he specifically requested you accompany his group?!?!”  You haven’t, but you know Sebek won’t hear that.  

“Sorry, duty calls!” You give your best elegant bow and are rewarded with a genuine smile.

“Yes, for both of us.”  He watches, with a strange look in his eyes as you flicker out of his view like a wisp of smoke.

~~~~ “I was worried when Sebek started arguing and insisting that he join Malleus’s group… But honestly, I’m glad he has a proper guard.”  Jamil does seem significantly less stressed than he usually does, which in turn relaxes you.

“Of course, Malleus’s safety will always be my first priority!”  Sebek is all smiles and pride as the conversation continues towards what direction to start your tour, you find your mind wanting to join in the conversation but finding yourself unable to really contribute.  Grim is similarly distressed.

“I thought this was Group 1,” he wisely chooses to whine to you and not Trien, “not Group BORING.”

“We’ve got to respect their wishes.”  You say, wishing only slightly he wasn’t wearing such a dapper hat.  You miss scratching his ears.  “Besides, historic spots make for great tourist destinations.  You are worried you won’t get any food, right?  I won’t let that happen.”

“Most of the places I know of aren’t on tourist maps.”  Trien corrects gently, but his small smile lets you know he does not mean to come off as reprimanding.  “But Yuu is correct, Grim, there will be plenty of places to feed you as we check on the other groups.”

“Well then what are we waitin’ around for!  Let’s get cracking!”  Grim’s little shout and face is so deathly serious you can’t help but snap a brief picture on your phone, as you walk slowly between Riddle and Jamil.

“So,”  a relaxed Jamil might be a rare sight, but this teasing look is not “what did President Rollo want to talk to our little attendant about?”

“I was wondering that as well.”  Riddle asks much more earnestly, which gets the squirming reaction from you Jamil had been trying to provoke.  “He wasn’t being rude was he?  An insult to one NRC student is a slight to our whole school.”

“Oh I’m sure he was very personal.”  Laughs Jamil and you try to pass off your embarrassment with a cough.

“He just wanted to know what group Grim and I were going with.”  It has got to be enough of the truth to get Jamil to drop it, but as you turn yourself back towards Trien you are surprised to find him smirking.

“Yes, Mr. Flamm was very concerned with knowing your whereabouts.”  He has the decency to shoot Jamil a stern glance when he cackles, but the teasing point has still been made.  You have been seen (for once, the tiny voice argues, when there is something to use against you.)  Thankfully Malleus and Riddle still seem blissfully unaware of what is being implied, if anything Malleus seems deeply pleased at the mention of Rollo.

“I’m glad he was willing to invite us both.”  It is hard to ignore the puff to his chest that comes with the word invitation, your tired inner voice retreats replaced with a genuine smile.

“Me too, Tsunotarou.  It’s nice to be able to take a vacation.”  You should be concerned that Trien has led you into what appears to be a sewer alley, but the soothing melody of the river to your left drowns out all worries and Sebek’s misery at being the sole mage to have done zero research.  Well maybe not the sole mage, just the only one without a collar.

“Hey Yuu,” Grim whispers, “did ya think at all about what Rollo said earlier?”

“About relaxing?”  Please, don’t let Grim get in on teasing you too.  You don’t want to live in a world where he is more socially conscious than Riddle.

“No!  Well kinda.  I mean about what ya wanted to do.”  Grim does occasionally have serious thoughts.  “N-not that I really care or anythin, just y’know.”  Not that he ever outright admits to thinking them.  This one has him so embarrassed he starts yelling at Sebek to give up on thinking before he can hear your answer, giving you time to actually think on one.

It is a relatively easy answer, the same you always have whenever you get the opportunity to leave campus.  You want to look for a way home, but how exactly do you go about doing that?  Maybe Rollo would know this water sort of reminds you of his eyes, tired, he looks so tired but when he was able to talk to you he seemed to relax and now you hate yourself even more than you had earlier.  You force yourself to stand up at a normal pace and rejoin the conversation, as if the painful spike of emotion that a new crush brings isn’t actively wrecking your heartbeat.

~~~~

Yuu.  The name of the student attendant is Yuu, Rollo was already making amendments to the lines as soon as he confirmed that, but your conversation began to muddle his own corrections with unnecessary feeling.  He doesn’t understand it, the strange pull he is feeling towards you; Rollo assumed at first was fanned by his hatred of those awful mages, the inherent desire to soothe you all feels justified but no… he knows that feeling, or at least he thinks he does.  He feels it every time he sees a magicless citizen of his city think about just how much better their life could be, but that emotion has grown dull, this desire burns him.  Even now as he tries desperately with fragrant herbs and the gentle lull of the river the intoxicating glow of relief in their eyes blazes in his soul.

"Forget about school while you're here and enjoy a moment of respite in Fleur City."

It was generic, there was so much more he should have said.  But what could he offer you?  You're not a mage, you have every right to be wary of him.  To refuse his help would be understandable.

“And I hope the rest of you will enjoy the social.”

The thought of the social finally succeeds in sobering him, he runs though his plans once more in his head as he sees the outline of one of those detestable NRC clowns looking over the various bakeries, clearly inept at choosing where to go.  And once again those thoughts flicker briefly back to you, not that Rollo trusts mages to do anything other than pursue their own interests, but he had hoped somewhat foolishly when he had read the word “attendant” that some care would be taken for your preferences and safety.  But clearly he was mistaken, and how he loathes the thought of his plans being anything less than perfect.  The handkerchief goes back into his pocket and his hand brushes up against a tiny bottle.  Dreamer’s Rest such a mundane name for a poison.  It is, no it was meant to be a precaution, but now, as he idly holds the crystal bottle up to the sunlight, a new thought takes shape in his mind.  It is magic, something he despises and believes should not exist, but if he could convince you to drink it… 

Quickly he shoves the thought and the bottle back into his robes, forcing himself towards Ashengrotto’s group hoping the new temptations will disappear.

They do not, as amusing the thought of them purchasing souvenirs is. 

“What’s so surprising about that?”  The look on Azul’s face as he speaks does suggest offense, but that he has cause to be at all sharpens Rollo’s resolve.  “That’s generally what you do with gifts, yes.  What do you two take me for?”  Exactly what he wants them too, Rollo supposes seeing how quickly Deuce and Epel jump to praise him and completely miss Azul’s muttered expectation of compensation.  The three continue to speak of utterly irrelevant topics.

“Certainly.”  He folds his hands and takes the first opportunity to excuse himself.  Azul is a merchant and these two are dumb as rocks, he has nothing to worry about here.  “I’ll take my leave then-”

“Oh before you go!”  Deuce has an infuriatingly cheerful smile on his face for someone who has just interrupted him. “I wanted to thank you.  For including Yuu I mean.”  Azul pushes his glasses up onto his face, curious, it would appear his reactions are being watched, but that this sentiment from Deuce is not unexpected.  “I was really worried you Nobel Bell guys would see them as an inconvenience or a burden since it’s supposed to be a mage’s social and all and they aren’t a mage, you have no idea how relieved I was you had costumes for them and Grim.  I was really happy they got to come!”  

“Yeah!”  Epel’s smile could be described as cute if he wasn’t such a talented mage.  “We’re going to have so much fun at the social together, I can’t wait.”

“Of course.”  Rollo smiles in spite of himself, if he was less focused on making his exit he would have realized he had been since the first mention of Yuu’s name.  “I will continue to ensure they… are allowed to relax while here.” How disappointing, Rollo thinks, that these mages see inclusion of their supposed friend to be a point in his favor.  It’s almost enough to make him laugh, but then he swears he sees your face before him, eyes agleam with wonder and suddenly words lose all meaning.  The handkerchief comes out as he makes his way back to his tasks, the sooner they are done the more of an excuse he can make to see you again.  “Now if you all will excuse me, I have to get back to checking on the other groups.”  It wouldn't do to keep his flowers waiting after all.

Azul frowns deeply for just one moment.  “Are you sure you should be thanking him?”  His face returns to stoic calculation, but he still asks.

“Why?”  Deuce is so genuinely confused it really does make Azul hurt for Riddle.

“... no reason.”  Yet anyway.”  

~~~~

For a creature so gluttonous Grim sure does love to play with his food, it would be cute to watch him catch grapes in his mouth if you weren’t walking through such a busy intersection looking for Azul’s group.  “You need to be more careful.”  You fuss, taking advantage of Trien’s pause to check his maps to gently poke Grim’s nose.  He sneezes.

“Ya don’t have ta worry so much,” he huffs as if he isn’t pleased with the attention “the Great Grim isn’t able to choke.”  

“Heh your friend doesn’t seem to think so.”  Rollo’s laugh is as smug as it is startling, you swear you jump halfway out of your skin.  He moves to follow you, a noise of startled surprise sending pinpricks up your arms in delight.

“Rollo!  Sorry I didn’t see you.”  Great now he has to think you’re stupid, of course you didn’t see him Yuu!  He clearly just got here!  “Is everything ok?  No one causing you any trouble?”  You have to bite your tongue not to add from my school because who else would be doing that.  

“Nothing’s happened you need to worry over.”  Rollo folds his hands, those water grey eyes ripple with emotion reminding you of your reflections at the riverside earlier. " I simply saw you and decided to come over and see how your tour was progressing so far.”

“It’s goin great!”  Grim hugs his bunch of grapes close to his chest.  “Yuu’s been gettin me all sorts of yummy grub.”

“... it is heartwarming to see how caring Yuu is towards you.”  His smile suggests genuine amusement, and your heart warms with pride.  “But I am curious, have you gotten to do everything you wanted to?  Is there still something you wish to see?”  Rollo says it so passively, as if it wasn't a natural question to ask.  It is, you suppose, a natural question if 

“I’m sorry?”  Rollo’s eyes haven’t once left yours, there is no mistaking he intended to speak directly to you and yet… 

“This is an experience for you too, yes?”  Rollo looks sad you think, but you try to remind your rapidly increasing heart rate that you have only just met so you have no idea if that is true.  “I have some time before I am needed, if your Professor allows it-”

“Of course I will.”  Trien’s voice causes you both to jump, free from whatever strange aura you constantly find in each other’s presence.  There is a strange glint in his eyes, almost nostalgic as he takes Grim from your arms and nods towards Rollo.  “There are a few places I can think of that might be of interest to Yuu specifically, but I’m sure you will be much more up to date with what’s practical.”  You expect him to wait, to confirm just where it is Rollo wants to take you off to but no.  If anything he practically skips away from you with pep that you swear should strain his back.

“I’m so sorry he just left like that.”  You say quietly, and to your surprise Rollo laughs.  The stern look that had been so fixed into your mind since this morning is kinder now, he actually looks like a young man now, the aura of nobility around him seeming to come more from some hidden self confidence you suppose all mages have tucked somewhere.

“There’s no need, I’m sure it would have been much more embarrassing if he stayed.”  Rollo says it so matter of factly you almost believe him.  “So just what was it you wanted to see?”

“Is there a place where-” you eagerly start before flustering with the weight of trying to explain what exactly it is you are looking for.  “Why” will be even harder, emotionally if nothing else.  “Is there any place I could do some research I guess?  Like on really obscure myths and history.”  It was clearly not the question Rollo was expecting, but he does have an answer ready.  

“There is a book store I am fond of across from the main school building, assuming you don’t mind walking back that way?”  

“Not at all.”  You remain trapped in your strange silence, though Rollo does not quite seem to mind.  He easily begins to guide you back towards the school, the tension you had previously associated with him never once returning to his face.

“Do you enjoy reading about mythology?”  He asks as soon as the crowd thins a little.

“Yes.”  Your answer is quieter than he’d like, as if you are questioning the sincerity of your own interests.  “You can tell a lot about what people value by looking at the stories they tell and besides… I just like stories.”  

“What sort?”  The question isn’t sharp, so you silently curse yourself for jumping.  “I apologize if I am coming off as needling you, that wasn't my intention.  As the president of a magic school’s student council I seldom get a chance to speak with… the more sincere members of society.  I am curious about your perspective, you could say I find it important.”

“Why?”  You don’t mean to scoff, but Rollo doesn’t seem phased.  If anything he seems oddly pleased.

“Do you think yourself unimportant?”  The stern look he gives is far less severe than what had been aimed at your classmates, but is still disarming.  “I meant what I said before.  I understand if you find it tiring to be around me as well, but I promise you need only to speak if I am exhausting you.”

“No!”  His pleased smile grows as you try desperately to center your thoughts.  “You haven’t been exhausting me at all, I just- wasn’t expecting the question.”  Rollo’s contented laugh sears you right to your soul, so beautiful and strong and so clearly meant only for you to hear.  You are spared further embarrassing thoughts as you finally reach your destination and he reaches for the shop’s door.

“After you, Yuu.”  Bless the shop bell for ringing you back to reality, and the smell of old books finally luring you away from Rollo’s grasp.

~~~~

There is a peaceful, eager joy about your expression that Rollo tries desperately to write into his memory.  This is how you should look all the time, unburdened by the weariness existing next to magic and mages that undoubtedly piles on you.  His relief flickers slightly as he wonders, unpleasantly, just what it is you think of him and his faults.  Is he truly responsible for your joy now?  And if he is… just what does he need to do to keep it?  He is suddenly heavily aware of the bottle in his pocket, and Grim’s words from earlier begin to suggest an ill formed plan that drives him to speak.

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” he whispers in spite of himself, but you do not seem displeased with his interruption. 

“Idia bought me some grape juice, but other than that not really.”  And yet you have been feeding your companion like some sort of saint.  

“There’s a small cafe attached to this store…”  There is no going back if he says this, there are a million things that should be at the front of his mind but the only thing he can bring himself to worry over is what you will think of him once it is done.  “Would you like something from it?”  You pause scanning the book you are holding and reach towards your pocket, but he catches your hand as gently as he can before pulling back worried he has overstepped.  “I’ll pay for it, please don’t worry yourself.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that!”  So you squeak but your stomach seems to disagree with the strange noise it makes.

“Then don’t.”  He cannot help but smile as he says it.  Cute.  He thinks that is the word he wants to use.  You have his entire attention.  “Just tell me what you would like.”  He half expects you to continue denying yourself, but no.  You murmur a bashful request, and he promises to meet you at the front of the store once he has gotten you something.  He almost believes in his own good intentions until his hand touches the bottle in his pocket as he tries to think.  This… impulse is not his fault.  You will be in danger if he does not act, he needs to find a way to keep you safe from the downfall of those mages who surround you.

There is a selection of fruit and cheese that catches his eye, there is a small dish of honey meant to be paired with some apples.  Dreamer’s Rest has no taste, just one bite from any of these would grant you the relaxation you deserved.  This is a conscious decision he is making, if he commits there will be no way to take it back.  He can beg you to see his reason, but would you listen?  It’s insidious how little visible effect magic leaves on something, nothing looks different or dangerous, the food he is holding just looks like food.

“Have you ever heard of someone traveling between worlds before?”  Rollo should be concerned with how tuned in to your voice he is, how quickly he completes his task and takes himself, with noticeably lighter pockets, back to the front of the store and the tables set next to the front counter.

“Are you sure you don’t mean continents?”  The shopkeep seems confused, but Yuu seems strangely determined.  Desperate even.

“No, worlds.  Like different realities or dimensions.”  You try again.  “Maybe something about liminal spaces?”  That just makes them laugh.

“Oh no, if you’re interested in those sorts of things you’ll need to look at the science fiction section!  Magical travel between different ‘worlds’ is so utterly preposterous, I’m sure Monsieur Rollo will be able to explain to you why.”  You look devastated, as if what has been said is a personal slight.  He lacks the ability to describe just what it is he is feeling now, there is a wariness to how he looks over you he doesn’t like.  There is no reason to doubt your virtue, you have no magic.  So why then,would you be so interested in what would undoubtedly be such a career defining feat for any mage, why act distraught as if you are so intimately acquainted with the subject?  You cannot look at him as he gently guides you to the table, can’t speak even.  It is as if the dismissal has robbed you of your appetite.

��Technically speaking if we had proof another reality existed,” he takes care to breathe in the comforting scents of his kerchief, watching you for any sign of motive “it would not be a matter of science fiction.  As we lack that, however, most statistical models make such a thing out to be quite impossible.  Teleportation magics such as the Dark Mirror at Night Raven possess are already quite rare and subject to stringent regulation, it stands to reason the ability to travel across reality would be much more rare.”

“I see.”  You are quiet, yet unflinching under his scrutiny in a way that makes him want to scream.  There is no reason for you to be so resigned to him, it should be the other way around.  He should be afraid of your judgment, your wrath, not your rejection as you pick idly at the fruits.  “You must think I’m very silly.”  You whisper.

“I think you are not telling me something.”  He whispers as well, trying to sound sincere and sympathetic.  “That your friends and teachers did not tell me something.”  His body moves of its own accord, he stands and places his hands on your shoulders in what he hopes is a gentle manner; you look up to him with a strangely hopeful expression.  It is as if you see him as some source of light, unaware of its hellish source.  “My judgment is fair, so please, unburden yourself while you are here.”  While you can be safe in his arms.

“If I said,” your voice quivers “if I said I did have proof of a different reality.  One where magic didn’t exist.”  He inhales sharply, a new scent worming itself among his affirmations alongside the resurgence of the pain from when he first read those two accursed lines.  “If I was somehow taken from such a place, and wanted to find a way back, would you believe me?”

“Yes.”  There is disbelief in your eyes, but really how could he reach any other explanation for this grip you have on his soul?  The reasoning, as implausible as other scholars would decry it, made a degree of sense.  Why else would such a wretched institution like Night Raven allow for someone so pure to exist in their presence, to say nothing of being allowed to attend as a student?  The best solution, no matter how improbable, is the simplest one, and what a beautiful solution this admission is.

“I don’t know how I got here really, I just sort of showed up at orientation and the headmage hasn’t done mu- I mean he hasn’t really found any promising leads about how to send me back.  That was his excuse for sending me to the social.  He thought that since maybe your academy is also really old and has so many traditions that maybe one of you would know how to send me home.”  Slowly, so slowly it almost burns, Rollo moves his right hand from your arm to fetch something from his pocket.  The large ruby of his ring reflects the dull light of the lamps as he runs just the edge of his handkerchief under your eye, letting his thumb massage the tear towards it.  The comforting blend of rosemary and lavender that invades your senses explains why he keeps it so close to his nose, but those are not the scents that soothe you.  There is an undercurrent, brought by his sleeves and the way his eyes follow the curve of your cheek and stay unintentionally on your lips, of wood smoke and ink that can’t come from anyone but him, who in their right mind would burn something in a bookstore?

“You can speak poorly of him here.”  There is an undercurrent of authority to his voice that should scare you.  Rollo has always looked directly at you, that dark gray blue inviting you to bathe in his light has never once thought of you as the other.  Perhaps because he is too busy looking at your classmates like they are lesser, a thought that you should perhaps pay more mind. “No one is going to carry what you say back to them, I promise.  You poor thing…”  It is all you can do to not collapse into his arms and cry.  It should be condescending, this way he is looking at you.  “It’s cruel to keep you like this.”  Who he is speaking to you don’t know, there is an unspoken aura over you both, an aura of agreement that he could be as cruel as he likes.  Idly, as if he does not fully understand what he is doing, Rollo removes his hand shakily, returning his handkerchief to his pocket, only breaking eye contact with you to eye the abandoned apple slices on the table next to you.  “Are you still hungry?”  He is asking you a question, but it’s not the one he’s voiced.

“Yes.”  You want him to kiss you, but that doesn’t seem to be what he intends to do.  Instead he dips one of the apple slices into the honey and carefully, purposefully lifts it up to your lips.  Wordlessly, he places the slice on your tongue and continues to hold it as you bite down, watching as you chew and closing the gap as you swallow.

His kiss burns, searing you with question and confirmation that this strange attraction is as destructive as it is mutual.  “I have to take you back now.”  He breathes the words close to your lips as you breathe in the smoke of his robes, deeply trying desperately to center yourself.

Your walk back is as quick as it is silent.

~~~~

“Ahh child of man!  Good to have you back, come sit with us.”  Mallues pats the seat beside him expectantly and you gladly settle, much to the chagrin of Sebek who immediately begins howling in protest.  Grim makes similar noises when Azul suggests he sit in yours, but it has much less of an impact when he's voicing them from your lap already.  You breathe deeply, looking around at the sights and sounds of what looks to be a carnival.  Someone walks on a tightrope, there are acrobats tumbling around on the ground, and the whole thing really sparkles with wonder and excitement that feels like magic even before you see the sparks.  It is something that should excite you, but for some reason the more you try to focus on the colors, the more you try to look around the more things begin to blur together.  Perhaps it’s all the walking around you did today but you are beginning to feel extremely tired.  

“And you are all content with such trivial feats of magic?”  Malleus scoffs next to you and you frown deeply, this dance is already impressive. How could this be made better by making it louder?  Maybe he is confused because it isn’t like Briar Valley festivals.

“You could totally upgrade those.”  Snarks Idia.  Never mind, maybe your friends were just dicks.  At least you manage to get some revenge on Idia by making him dance a little with you, no matter how sluggish you feel.  Though it admittedly feels less like revenge when Idia decides to be a responsible senior and guide you back to your seat.  “Are you sure you should be standing up?”  He doesn’t even sound like he is asking the question because he wants an excuse to be anti-social, Idia looks genuinely worried.

“I’m ok, promise.”  you try to grin and bear your way through it but a quick yell for your attention from Grim and the burst of magical fireworks that follow quickly re-directs what little energy you have left.

“Grim, using magic like that in a public place is a bad idea.”  Your scolding is drowned out by other, louder scolds and a spiral into everyone setting off fireworks.  The noise and lights pound your skull with painful overstimulation.  Cautiously, Rollo moves closer to you, concern clear on his face.  

“Are you alright?”  He asks, moving to take your temperature and not finding anything wrong, the only heat you feel is running up your spine from a desperate desire for him to be closer.  You swear you hear someone, Malleus you think, calling for you to join the festivities, but the strange tiredness working its way through your limbs has reached your ears and is beginning to dull the noise around you.  Rollo does not move, he stares down at you intently watching as you dazedly try to stand.  “... Magic is such a troublesome thing, wouldn’t you agree Yuu?  I can only imagine what you have been subjected to, between being stolen from your world and being surrounded by a gaggle of rambunctious foolhardy mages.”  You want to laugh, tell him he doesn’t know the half of it, but your tongue feels like lead in your mouth.  “Worry not- this state of affairs shan’t last much longer.”  Something about his voice worms its way to the back of your skull, maybe it’s the day’s exercise, maybe it’s the noise and lights overstimulating your brian, but you are finding it harder and harder to keep opening your eyes as you blink and try to focus on what Grim is telling you.  He is tugging on your cape and jumping up and down, he has something he wants to say.  He is proud of himself, he has that genuine non-smug happy smile Grim reserves only for you when he wants your praise, and you so desperately want to see what it is he wants to show you.  But you’re tired, so very very tired.  It’s so much effort to keep your eyes open.   So you stop struggling, your eyes close and you feel yourself fall, and conveniently (too conveniently Azul notes pushing his glasses against his nose) Rollo is there to catch you.  “Yuu!”  Grim’s voice finally breaks through the fog, it’s panicked and you feel some worry bubbling up in the sane part of your mind when you realize you can’t move your hand to reassure him you are ok.

Aren’t you tired?  Don’t you want to rest?  Rest here in the City of Flowers?

“Is the noise bothering you?”  Rollo asks quietly, so quietly you wonder if anyone else can hear him other than you.  “Would you like to return to the school?”

“That might be for the best.”  Trien’s hand is cool against your forehead, his voice filled with concern.  “Would you object to taking them back, Rollo?”  You feel Rollo bend to reach under your knees and lift you so high you practically feel like you are flying.  A smile flutters onto your face; his embrace is one of safety and relaxation, with a tender caress from his thumb along your thigh that reminds you of the kiss from earlier.  

“There's no need for that,” Azul tries to attract Idia's attention subtlety “one of us would be more than happy to-”

“That's quite alright.”  Rollo doesn't even bother looking at him as he settles you further into his arms, for a brief moment your eyes open and refocus up at your… captor you suppose.  You know the sound of Azul’s worries, and though you haven’t known Rollo for near as long you think (delusionally, the tired voice is regaining its reason.  This is delusion, madness we are throwing ourselves onto a pyre-) you are beginning to recognize his.  There is worry in his gaze, solely focused on you, from the moment you met him he has been considerate and focused on you in a way that should worry you.  Trien does not seem to share your faith in Azul, you think based on the way Rollo begins to move away from the crowd towards the blissful quiet that he has decided to place his bet on the wrong mage, just as you are about to.

“I am going to trust you.”  You whisper, so slowly you wonder if Rollo even knows what it is you are saying.  If he does, he says nothing aloud, but his steps begin to pick up speed.

~~~~

Fire.  There is a fire to your left you think, the wood crackles pleasantly and gives this strange dream a cozy feel.  Your entire body feels heavy, you can barely open your eyes or move a finger, but you don't seem to be bound to this chair, you can't really seem to motivate yourself to move from it.  Someone's head is resting on your lap, their hands are shaking.

“Forgive me.”  Rollo is whispering, but there is an excitement to his voice.  You realize you have no idea how long you have been sleeping, or even where you are as your eyes open and try to adjust to the dimly lit room around you.  The stonework reminds you of the bell tower from your tour of the school, but you don’t remember seeing this room or the grand fireplace you flinch away from.  “I’m just another mage causing problems for you at the end of the day, no matter how proud I am of my virtues.”  

You manage to lift your head just enough to look down, Rollo’s head is indeed lying in your lap, his giant hat has been placed on the table just next to you, and though there is indeed triumph in his voice the expression on his face is painful.  “No matter how hard I try to better myself, I am still a mage.  I am still filled with evil and I am still forced to use that evil to pass judgment.  I couldn’t even save you without resorting to it.  I wonder just how much you would hate me if you knew…”  His eyes flutter open, gently, much too gently for someone you are slowly starting to realize likely drugged you and definitely kidnaped you, he kisses the top of your hand.  “Can I ask you for your forgiveness?  Do I even have the right?”  Slowly, with effort such a simple action should not take, you move your hand to his head and carefully run your nails over his scalp.  Rollo groans, eyes raising to meet your bleary ones.

“If I can forgive you for this…” putting you to sleep, taking you away from your friends, Rollo did not strike you as someone who did this without there being another reason, Azul had earlier described him as naive and you are inclined to trust his judgment.  “Can you accept it?”  Rollo closes his eyes briefly, considering his options.

“If I were to tell you there was a way for magic to no longer be an obstacle…”  He says it with such certainty you do not doubt him for a second “that I could free this world of that sickness that elevates people undeserving and unnecessarily, would you forgive me for the pain it would cause?”

“Do you see yourself as sick, Rollo?”  You move your hand just under his chin, gently directing his head back up to look at you.  Rollo grasps your hand as you do, rising from the floor as he places it just above his frantically beating heart.

“Don’t you?”  There is pain in his eyes.  Pain and sorrow just like every friend you have seen overblot except without the touch of inky madness that precedes it.  “Or am I just like your friends at that school?”

“You aren’t like them.”  It’s a lie of sorts, whatever Rollo has done, you strongly suspect, is no worse or better than anything the others have.  But- “Why do you care about me so much?”  You ask, voice cracking under the strain of your confusion.  Rollo tightens his grip on your hand, his heart is hammering against it as if it wants to burst out of his ribcage and intertwine itself with your hand.  But it cannot, so it satisfies itself with Rollo dipping forward to kiss your lips.  Softly once, gently twice he kisses, before all pretense is lost and he moves in tune with you to hold onto your cape desperately and kiss and kiss and kiss deeply before he needs to come up for air.  He dares not move fully away, taking his breaths just above your lips and slowly continuing to kiss along your jaw and just below murmuring his words as prayers indescribable as he does.  

“I don’t know why.”  Rollo groans in self hatred as you let out a tortured cry “Ever since I saw you I’ve been unable to remove you from my thoughts, my mind burns with flaming desire to throw away my plans,”  he bites, his teeth sink slowly as you grasp at his robes and gasp “to get to know you.  What makes you happy, the things that make you laugh and what makes you cry.  I want to know that I can create a place where someone as lovely and filled with light as you does not feel the need to be anything more than themselves.  Where, when there is danger, you are protected.”  This too, this mad man who proudly sucks just one more mark onto your skin, is your Rollo, your Rollo who is so clearly going through something he will not confess to you and lashing out at the world like every other mage you know and yet…and yet he is saying the things you want to hear.  The things you have longed for any other person to say to you as he rests his forehead against yours, lips bruised by yours and yet still not defiled near enough.  

“When magic causes problems, the fallout should not be yours to take.”  And just like that, you don’t care.  Not nearly as much as you should, you should be hitting him not letting him admire his work as you fall back into a chair he didn’t need to bind you to, and certainly not thinking of how much you wish he had.  You should hold him to the same standard you had the others.  “I’ll come back for you.”  It should frighten you, how quick he is to return to the stoic calm you had met him in as he promises you something awful.  “There are things I need to attend to at the top of the tower, but I swear I will come back to you.”  You don’t have to think hard about who those will be, Malleus’s angry shouts of betrayal at the (likely) false invitation aren’t hard to imagine, hopefully he hasn’t hurt anyone.

“Stay safe.”  You hoarsely whisper, and Rollo briefly pauses in his walk to the door.  Whatever he is thinking you aren’t left wondering long, quickly with a speed you didn’t know he had he darts back to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You too, Yuu.”  He says your name with something like love once he returns to the door, his smile shines with it.  It’s not his fault that you want it to be, is it his fault that you doubt him?  If it is not love Rollo feels then what is it?  Just obsession or-

“AHA!”  A familiar voice knocks you out of your thoughts and onto the floor.  “FINALLY I FOUND YA!”

~~~~

“It would seem I have made a severe and continuous lapse in my judgment.”  Trien’s understatement should fall flat, but Deuce is too busy bouncing his leg to try and dispel his stress.  “I was too focused on trying to make sure you all were not causing trouble, I neglected to consider outside influences.”  There is no need to guess what he is referring to, there is a noticeable absence among the collected NRC students.  “Are you sure you should be thanking him?”  As if Azul can sense Deuce’s thoughts, he begins to voice his own.

“Be that as it may, I doubt Rollo means to actually harm Yuu.  Almost everything he has said to this point about magicless people seems to suggest he thinks they need to be coddled, not punished.”

“Indeed.”  Jamil nods, eyes closed as if he is thinking really hard about something.  “But  his personal feelings towards Yuu is what makes this concerning, that’s what you are thinking I assume Azul?”  

“Like I said,” Azul tries to ignore the cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck, “I doubt he means to harm them, but that doesn't mean his actions won’t have unintended consequences.  Which is why we need to wrap this up as quickly as possible.”

“The rest of you do that.”  Deuce is surprised by how calm he feels, his best friend is in danger, he should be furious.  But all he feels is an unfamiliar determined calm.  “I’ll go look for Yuu.”

“LOLOL what makes you think you need to do that?”  Idia's laughter does spark a bit of a snarl from him, but Idia doesn't back down.  “If Rollo’s following the classic BBGE playbook, Yuu’s got to be in the Bell Tower yeah?  No need to split off into search parties, the princess is always in the final castle.”

“So there you have it.”  Malleus has been disturbingly quiet ever since Epel pointed out how he destroyed the fire lotuses.  His green eyes haven't once moved from their scorched roots, as if he is attempting to sear his anger into the stones below. “I will crush Rollo Flamm under my heel and bring Yuu back to all of us as whole the day they were taken.”

“Dude it has literally been like an hour.”  Idia shakes his head, but Deuce can't help but agree with Malleus. 

“Hold on Yuu, I promise we'll find you.”

~~~~

“Nyhahahaha!  Take that!”  Grim swats the air as if he's cutting through imaginary ropes.  “All those other losers screamin’ and whining as soon as those flowers started poppin up but not the Great Grim!  I jumped all the way up to where that Rollo guy was hangin out and followed him right here to you!”  The story Grim tells you confirms your worst fears, but soothes some of the lesser ones.  You have no doubt that if anyone can solve the threat of the crimson lotus’s it’s Idia, Azul, and Malleus.  As soon as they were done measuring dicks anyway, for now you only have one real thing on your mind; desperately scrambling forward on the floor to scoop Grim up in your arms and hold him tight.  He's trembling, and your heart begins to beat painfully in your chest as Grim starts to sob.  “I was so worried about you.”

“I'm ok Grim.”  You mean it this time, whatever Rollo fed you has well worked its way through your system and left you with the energy to whip away your beloved monster’s tears.  “A bit sleepy but ok.”

“Of course you're OK the Great Grim's here.”  You contine wipe his nose through his sniffles.  “And now he’s gonna get you out of the tower!  Just like a real hero!”  But his bravado has a slight stutter, and yours is fighting a war with your heart.  Your eyes close as you think of Rollo, at the top of the bell tower fighting to defend his delusions from people who would understand only half of what his problems were.  

“I wish I had met him sooner.”  It wouldn’t have stopped this, but you wonder not for the first or last time what would have happened if the poor mage had just had someone to talk to.

“You don’t wanna go do ya.”  Grim frowns, eyes and ears drooping before he remembers he is supposed to be in charge.   “Well then we can stay.  Why should we go back to the other guys!  Yeah!  Screw ‘em!  Always makin��� us do the hard work while they go and have fun.”

“No it’s ok Grim.”  You stand, making sure to still hold onto him as you stand, carefully at first to make sure you are ok to put weight on your legs.  “If we stay here you will never get to be the world’s greatest mage.”

“Yeah…”  Grim does not perk up when you say that, it’s almost enough to make you break out into a sprint in case he has lost too much of his magic already.  “Ya know… henchuman, I don’t wanna go out there alone.  S’ not fun without you.  I don’t wanna be the greatest mage if I have ta not have you.”  

“...I’m not going anywhere Grim.”  You touch your head to his, like a mother cat trying to comfort her kit.  It’s an empty promise you suppose, with how desperate you are to go home.  But if what Rollo had said about teleportation magic was true… then maybe you would just have to pick a place to make a new home instead.  

The rest of the night is a blur.  Somehow you manage to make it down the tower stairs to Deuce, who nearly has a panic attack when he sees you, and Rook who starts composing a poem in ode to Grim’s bravery that gives him a unneeded ego boost.  They do a much better job of explaining what had happened than Grim had.

About the lotuses.  About the pandemonium in the town, about what Azul and Idia had convinced Malleus to do.

“Please don’t ever get kidnapped again.  Malleus got really scary.”  The look on Deuce’s face suggests you will need to give Tsunotarou a lecture later.  A long, long lecture that you suppose you can make somewhat shorter for how glad you are to hear the Bell of Solace ring out.   And for insisting on Rollo still hold the ball.  Getting to see Silver and Sebek try to toss Ruggie, Jamil, and Idia in the air completely makes getting kidnapped worth it.  But…Your friends have not exactly left you alone since the threat ended.  You know why of course, if one of them had been kidnapped you probably would be doing the same thing, but it’s keeping you from some closure.  For someone who promised to come back for you, Rollo sure seems determined to stay away.  It’s making your expression crumple in sadness behind your mask, something you wonder if he notices at all.

~~~~

“I am so grateful to you for providing me with so many memories.”  Malleus holds tightly onto Rollo’s arm as the music flows across the ballroom, piercing gaze strategically keeping him away from the moonlit balcony you have decided to sequester yourself too.  “But I must say there is one matter I think we have neglected to discuss.”

“And what could that possibly be?”  Rollo snaps, the audacity of these Night Raven fools hurts, all he wishes to do is lick his wounds in peace.

“Why, the matter of your unfortunate attachment to my dearest friend.”  Mallues grins, something like fear is finally flickering behind Rollo’s eyes.  How unfortunate.  “The child of man is precious to me, Flamm.  And more importantly they do not share your views on magic.”

“Have you asked them?”  Rollo replies tersely.  

“Why would we need to do that?”  Azul’s voice smoothly interrupts the private dance, he and Idia move to Rollo’s either side, they certainly look concerned.  Angry even.  If there were not mages Rollo would be pleased you had such dedicated friends.

“Because it’s clear from how little you paid attention to their safety this entire trip that you expect them to constantly come away from your magic abuses unscathed.”  He snaps.  “Tell me, if I hadn’t placed them in the tower, what would have happened to them?  Would you have been considerate of their weaknesses?  Yuu is not invincible, and I am ashamed that I of all people seem to be the only one concerned about their safety.”

“No I don’t think you are.”  Azul says.  “Not in the way you think, anyway.  Yuu is extremely capable, we don’t treat them differently from any other student because we hate them, that’s just silly.  Your entire perception of them is based on a terribly prejudiced first impression, and not one nearly as positive as you seem to think.”

“You can just say he has a creepy purity fetish and go.”  Mutters Idia.

“And completely destroy my credibility?”  Azul has more to say, but it's cut off before he can make his point.

“I agree with Shroud.”  Mallues says, causing both Rollo and Azul to choke.  “His treatment of Yuu is very much in line with cult-like devotion towards a magical artifact.  Extremely ironic given his mission statement, wouldn’t you agree, Ashengrotto?”  

“Oh of course!”  Azul laughs, making sure to step forcefully on Idia’s foot before he can go correcting anyone.  “But perhaps back to my point-”

“You don't have one.”  Mutters Rollo, already bored with the conversation and desperate to find you again, just one more time before this entire failed event is over and he has to return to his plans.

“Yuu is a hard worker, and stubborn too.  They do not need magic to be just as capable of what they do as any mage.”  Azul’s words make him pause, he searches desperately for any sign of deception in them, but there isn’t any there.

“You do realize,” he tries slowly, “that none of those qualities make them able to defend themselves from offensive magic, which your Professor at least seems to think you quite willing to use.”

“I mean yeah.”  Says Idia.  “But like, that’s not what he’s trying to say.  If you only choose a route because it has tropes you like then you aren’t really loyal to that character.  If the only reason you don’t want to hurt Yuu is because they haven’t got magic then you are just as bad as any of us.  And trust me, they’re scary smart.  They’ll know.”  And with that cryptic message, Rollo finally finds himself alone with his thoughts.

Two lines.  The first time he saw you the only thing he knew about you was two lines on a sheet of paper that said literally nothing.  And the longer he stares at you, the more he feels like he is drowning under the weight of how little he still knows.

Yuu is a magicless human from a world without magic.  They like to read about myths and legends from different cultures.  They like their cat monster friend and treat him like a sibling.  There, that’s three lines.

Unbidden, his body begins to move towards the balcony where you are standing.  

What is Yuu’s favorite color, do they like croissants?  Are they allergic to any types of pollen, what is their world like?  Do they have siblings, a family that they miss?

He wants to kiss you again, but properly this time.  Not in the throws of a shared delusion, still maybe in the bell tower, but with your full acceptance.

“May I have your hand?”  Rollo feels more sick at the way your eyes light up than anything Malleus had said about guilt and absolution.

“Of course.”  He does not take you out to the center of the dance floor, he does not flaunt you as a trophy won at your friends expense.  He simply winds his arms around you to hold you scandalously close.  “Rollo, do you mind if I ask you some questions?  About some things that Idia told me…”

“Will you give me your number?”  He thinks there is a different way he is supposed to ask a question like that, a nicer one.  “There are a lot of things I want to talk to you about, but tonight I think I want to savor what it feels like to hold you for as long as I can… as long as you are alright with that.”  You do not say anything in response, instead you lay your head against his chest, ear firm on his heartbeat as you close your weary eyes.  “I meant what I said before.  I want you to think of Fleur City as a place where you can find respite.  Solace.”

“Maybe you should invite me to come back then.”  You say and he closes his own eyes to picture it.  He has other places he can take you, better bookstores, more historic places.  Maybe there is a key to sending you home somewhere in his city and if not-

“Careful, I just might ask you to stay forever.”  There is an unspoken aura over you both.  Gentle, new, and warm in a way that Rollo certainly never thought he would be allowed to experience.  An aura of agreement that in time, that might not be such a bad thing to ask after all.

[professionalcinderellas]

anti-symbiotic

pairing: insomniac's/ps5 peter parker/reader

warning: marvel's spiderman 2 spoilers! summary: Peter almost killed you last night under the influence of the symbiote, and you have the pleasure of dealing with the aftermath. tags: reader is mj, angst, anger, all that jazz.

author's note: loved spiderman 2 but didn't really feel fulfilled with how they don't address this particular scene. crossposted on ao3.

Peter Parker's antics never made you scared. Broken bones, gunshot wounds, mystical villains, or masked demons, it never felt particularly "hard" being Spider-man's girlfriend. Aside from some missed dates and late bills and being generally overprotective once upon a time, things were generally great. Handling anything with him felt so easy in spite of the pressures that were put on you.

But since Aunt May died, it felt as if Peter was somewhere far away that you couldn't reach. Ever since he almost died, even further away. He was already hardly home, and when he was, he was obsessively working on something to use as Spider-man. You knew he needed time, but you also knew he needed to talk about his feelings--even though you knew he wouldn't. Weeks of attempts piled up in the corner of your mind, endless replays of asking him if he was okay and trying to lure it out of him. After the fiftieth failed attempt to coax him to bed, with the sun already high in the sky and him still working on his iron spider legs, you found yourself wondering just how much distance lay between the two of you.

But it was never something that felt tangibly tested until now.

Last night was spent desperately trying to wake him while hunters gathered around the area, swarming Peter and losing track of Miles in the process. Your palms still felt the pebbled gravel of the road embedded into them, and the damp coldness of being trapped in that tunnel. Peter's voice, if it even was Peter at that point, rang in your head all night.

He could've really hurt you, and could have even killed you. 

The thought made you acutely aware of the cuts and bruises that littered your body from last night; your bandaids felt itchy and your hand started gently nursing at a scab that was on your knuckle. Thankfully, Harry and yours' fresh tea demanded more importance to distract you. Until you walked into Peter in Harry's room, where the intensity of their gazes made you immediately aware of the context of their conversation.

"Pete!" You never said his name before like you did now. There was an honest attempt to hold your gaze steady at him, before it eventually fell. The bags under your eyes felt much more apparent suddenly, and your eyes defocused themselves on the ground as you set aside the two cups of tea occupying your hands. Your skin felt prickly, like it didn't fit right over your body, and you couldn't help but wonder if this is what the symbiote also felt like. 

"Uhm," The words drowned in your throat and sunk back into your chest. A long pause takes over the room before you're able to find your voice. "What do you remember about last night?"

Your body betrays you in full, arms frozen on your sides and lifted up ever so slightly as if you were prepared to sprint out of the room at a moment's notice. It takes everything in you to look at his face, and he isn't looking at you so much as he's looking at the floor trying to recall. 

"I... just remember feeling tired..." Peter's brows are knitted together to form an expression that feels foreign to you. For some reason, a look of betrayal for your suspicion clears over his features. Peter's sharp brows and tensed jaw warned like a snake about to bite. Comparatively, Harry's eyes darted over to you, with eyebrows raised ever so slightly--a wordless sentence that made itself clear to you from expression alone. 

You okay? You could see his face asking. It took a slow nod from you before Harry's attention moves back to Peter. Your words are careful by the time you open your mouth next. "Pete... you're not yourself. That suit is changing you."

"This suit is the only reason I'm still alive." He didn't have the slimy black tendrils he did last night, but he didn't need that for you to step back with the tone he sported.

"Yeah, it's pretty great, isn't it?" Harry speaks up.

"Why don't you pop some more pills and say what you're really feeling?"

A fly buzzes over their heads. Harry is standing up with his cane, and you can't fathom why. Their words are too quick for you to react, but they replay in your mind again for good measure. It makes heat rise in your face and a cloud dawns over your usual good judgement, making you feel almost jittery. You take a sharp breath inwards to stable yourself on the tightrope of their conversation--and then you willingly fall off.

"Stop Pete, what is your problem?" Your tone rose significantly, anger replacing whatever hesitancy you had before.

"I'm busting my ass out there trying to save you, and this is what I get?" Peter continues on at Harry, and you realize he made a conscious choice to ignore your words. Which pisses you off even more. 

"I said stop, Peter." Your eyebrows raise over the word 'stop' and your mouth enunciates every single word, dragging him away from the attention of Harry. Peter turns to you wordlessly with those unfamiliar fixed brows you've been studying. You could push the envelope more.

"I saw your story." Acknowledgement. Peter's fangs are bared towards you now.

"I tried to tell you." Indignance defies the fear that made you back off, and you find yourself closer to him as you speak. The intensity of his gaze means nothing when you're made acutely aware it isn't Peter Parker you're speaking to anymore, or at least, not the one you knew. As far as your mind was concerned, this was a near stranger.

"Yeah, but you didn't, did you? Your job is to write the truth." Peter retorts angrily. This provokes another sharp inhale from you that makes you almost dizzy. A laugh echoes through the room, and only afterward do you recognize it as your own--it serves as your own kind of warning.

"I did. Nothing I said in there was a lie. It was kind of prophetic, really." A slow shake of your head emphasizes the contempt you bare towards him in response, your tone even and sharp for good measure. It felt agonizing to write those words last night, but when Peter nearly kills you and treat Harry like this? Whatever empathy you held in your chest dissolves entirely. Who gave a shit if you didn't have powers?

"The truth is, I'm the hero here. Not you." Peter shot back. It may have been the paranoia, but it feels as if those familiar tendrils were going to spout out of him again at any second. 

"Yeah, real hero you are, huh? Real heroes almost kill their girlfriend because their suit was doing their bidding for them? Is that what you tell yourself?"

Everyone in the room stopped breathing. You were in Peter's face now, close enough that you were looking up at him. Peter's face freezes in time alongside his breath, and the expression is no longer so terrifying to you now. 

"What are you-"

Stop. Don't say anything you can't take back, you thought, but something in the back of your mind wanted to take it further. You study his features again and the words boil over. 

"What? Are you gonna try and kill me again?" You exhale into the tail end of a laugh, and you can feel it hit the both of you. Your hands are shaking. Peter's hands are clenching and unclenching in a repeating cycle. His gaze doesn't even meet yours anymore. 

"I-I didn't know. I don't remember that." There's a flicker of the Peter you knows in his eyes, and a shadow falls over his eyes when he looks down. His expression read as... shameful, embarrassed, or torn maybe. You're curious if he remembers, but it doesn't matter either way. It was clear his feelings were hurt, and your words were a bucket of cold water over his head. But you weren't going to budge.

"You should leave. Harry doesn't need this right now." Peter's eyes snapped to you to read your expression, but there was nothing displayed on your face. Your eyes met his to prove a point, and then trailed over to look at Harry, who was staring at the both of you with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry." It's the last thing he says as he exits the room, his head hung downwards and his shoulders hunched inwards. It's only after he leaves that you can finally breathe again, your shoulders slumping and eyes squeezed shut. Harry looks at you with an expression you're not interested in finding out. 

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, with a tone that read almost like he was approaching some sort of wild animal. It made you snap out of your anger and finally look at him, your lips thinning into a line. 

"Yeah. It's fine, sorry, didn't mean to get into that in front of you. Or use you as an excuse." Your hands were still shaking, and you were starting to take deep breaths to take yourself down a notch. Not wanting to have Harry try and comfort you when he was the one who was sick, you look towards the towards the door and back at him. "If you want to check on him, you should." 

He nods slowly and makes his way out of his room, his cane hitting the ground rhythmically as he walked out. It was the only sound you could hear as you sunk back on Harry's couch, the cold leather being of no comfort.

You didn't open your eyes as you sat back. You didn't want to see Peter waiting by the elevator or see Spider-man swing across the city skies or have Harry comfort you. A wave of regret washes over you in full, whatever feelings you were holding back in your anger coming back in full swing to puncture your chest. You knew you weren't right for your outburst, and it feels as if every word hung on to fear rather than love. It's hard to imagine what Peter would have done to you if he did catch you, your mind involuntarily running through vague daydreams of dismembered limbs or becoming a tendrilled monster yourself.

But it didn't matter when all those thoughts lead back to Peter's face as it fell when you spoke, anger dissolving into sadness and shame. 

[aziraphales-library]

I didn't know the fandom had librarians! This is amazing!

I read Factory Settings recently and I'd like to find more fanfics that deal in multiple realities, split realities or time travel / time loops etc. Do you know of any?

Hi! We actually have tags for these, so do check out the fics we've already recommended here: #multiverse, #alternate universe, #time travel, and #time loop. Here are more to add to the collections...

A Moment Suspended in Sea Spray by cassieoh (T)

Green filled his vision in the brief second before he instinctively tucked his head away in his coils. Crawly didn’t think there had ever been anything green and growing in Hell save perhaps a good mold behind Hastur’s knees. Cautiously, he inched the very tip of his nose out of his coils and flicked his tongue. Growing things. Soil. Apples. The oil left behind by human hands. Something strange and sharp smelling. Under it all, a smell he knew but couldn’t place. This wasn’t Hell.

Limitless by SmokingMirrorChaos, Yvesriba (T)

Crowley has never known a world with Aziraphale. Where he's from, his counterpart was the angel Anathema. 6000 years of friendship eventually lead to them traveling between worlds until they discover one where there has never been a Crowley. But, there is an Aziraphale. They met and fall in love and with Aziraphale, Crowley finds the happiness he's always sought. A tale told in Crowley's stories to Aziraphale and flashbacks.

creatures of circumstance by attheborder (M)

Anthony J. Crowley, Jr. is the prodigal son of CrowleyCorp, the UK’s most powerful, dangerous, and controversial technology company. A one-night stand with a mysterious man who calls himself Aziraphale tips his hopeless life upside-down into a dangerous obsession. And somewhere else entirely, a girl-shaped creature is presiding over the back room of a bookshop in Soho, where an angel and a demon lay unconscious on the floor…

Endless Night by AppleSeeds (T)

Spending Halloween in an old cottage with his housemates, university student Crowley finds himself trapped in a time loop that repeats every four hours, with only the spirit of Anathema's dead witchy ancestor to help guide him. Agnes believes the time loop has been triggered by Crowley's own thoughts, and that the only way to break it is to ensure that Aziraphale, who Crowley is completely infatuated with, actually enjoys himself. Despite how flustered he gets every time he even looks at Aziraphale, Crowley does everything he can to try to make that happen. But no matter what he tries, things keep going wrong.

World Enough And Time by Stephquiem (T)

For Aziraphale, there were always two Crowleys: the First Crowley, the one he met in the Garden, the one he's spent 6000 years meeting across human history. And there is the Second Crowley, the one who comes to him across time, again and again, propelled, it would seem, by some unknown tragedy. Both, his hereditary enemy. His dearest friend. For Crowley, there is a Before, and there is an After. Before, he spent 6000 years as Hell's agent on Earth, seeing Aziraphale occasionally, working together where they could get away with it. After... After, he's drawn back over and over, like he's attached by a tether that just won't let him go. Not that he wants it to let him go. The alternative...

Smoke and Mirrors by cyankelpie (T)

“If we want the truth from him, he needs to feel safe enough to speak truthfully,” said Gabriel. “Now, I know what you’re thinking: ‘The traitor couldn’t possibly feel safe while he’s in Heaven for interrogation!’ And you’d be right.” His grin widened. “But—this is where it gets really good—he won’t even know that’s where he is.” (Aziraphale is imprisoned in Heaven, but breaks free thanks to Crowley’s help. On Earth, Crowley wakes up from his pandemic nap to find Aziraphale missing. Meanwhile, two angels watch an imaginary life unfold, with all the time in the world to wait for the answers they need.) And the sequel, dealing with the aftermath: Reality Check

- Mod D

[spnbabe67]

Hold Me Tight and Don't Let Go

Kinktober Day 3: Make Up Sex (D.W)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Canon level violence, Wounds, Mentions of blood, Descriptions of a panic attack.

Summary: In the aftermath of a hunt nearly gone wrong Dean tries to make amends with Tori

Word Count: 1542

Authors Note: This is my first entry for @jacklesversebingo 2024!

Prompt: "I know you're mad at me right now, but will a kiss change your mind?"

Taglist:

@zepskies

Dean had fucked up, he knew that. Tori didn’t speak to him the entire way back, not even making eye contact even though his head rested in her lap, Sam driving the Impala. Sam, bless his little brother, had tried to ease the tension by babbling on about how it could have been a lot worse, that Dean was lucky Sam had sunk the Demon Blade into the demon theyd been hunting before it had a chance to slash it’s own knife across Deans throat. It was a reckless move, Dean had distracted the demon who'd had Tori pinned to the wall by shooting it, which had an effect akin to a pebble thrown at an elephant; which is to say, it only made it mad.

But it was those could haves and what if's that had Tori deathly silent. Because what if Sam hadn't been in a position to gank the demon? What if she had to be supernaturally pinned to a wall while she watched her lovers throat be slit? We had a plan. We all knew the plan. Why couldn't he have just fucking stuck to it?

To her credit, Tori did help Dean out of the car, hand placement careful of his probably broken ribs, bruises and small scrapes he earned himself going toe to toe with the demon. She couldn't bring herself to look higher than his chest, because then she'd have to see the thin red line across his neck, still occasionally leaking blood if Dean swallowed too hard. Because if she did, Tori knew the steadily crumbling dam keeping all emotion at bay would come crashing down.

Sam looked like he was gonna say something as Tori and Dean ended up at their room, but must have thought better of it, instead continuing down the hall to his own room. Tori gingerly lowered Dean onto bed, warily eyeing him just in case he started to topple forward. Once she was sure he wasn't about to go ass over tit, Tori turned from the bed, washing her hands and retrieving the med kit from the medicine cabinet above the sink.

“Tori-”

“Stop talking.” Tori cut Dean off, dark brown eyes cutting to his. “Just,” she sighed. “Don't talk.”

She knew she could have been gentler about it, but Tori didn't have the patience to deal with Dean’s attempt at placating her frustration. Tori pulled her legs under her as she sat on the bed, picking out a couple squares of gauze and a cleaning agent, dousing the first one thoroughly. Unlike her tone of voice, Tori’s hands were gentle, carefully cleaning the shallow wound. She had to scrub a little to get rid of the trails of red that had dried as they dripped down the tan column of his throat but Dean had sat still for all of it, the only sign of discomfort was the occasional wince, the crinkling of skin around his mouth and his eyes.

Tori sighed as she placed the bandage, if you could call a strip of gauze and medical tape a bandage, across Dean's throat, her thumbs sweeping back and forth over the tape, the adhesive warming under her lovers skin. Both of them sat in the quiet, Tori unable to bring herself to look at Dean. Tori didn't flinch as she felt Dean's hand cup the side of her face, tilting her head until she had to meet his emerald gaze.

“Sweetheart-” Dean started again, his voice raspy, eyes searching her face.

“No.” Tori pulled away from Dean's touch, standing from the bed, running a hand over her head, the other planted on her hip. “You don’t get to give me excuses. You knew the fucking plan, you knew I was fine!”

Tori couldn't stop the tears from flowing this time, and she wasn't sure if they originated out of anger or shock caused by fear. Her chest ached, the empty pit in her stomach threatening to swallow her whole. All of a sudden she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

“We had a plan.” She repeated it to herself over and over. “I was in front of the trap. All he had to do was walk another two steps! But you.” Tori jabbed a finger towards Dean, hiccuping as she sucked in breaths. “I was fine! But you almost weren't.”

Her tears came in wracking sobs now, blurring her vision and coating her face but Tori couldn’t bring herself to care. The solid expanse of the door met her back and Tori felt her knees give, sliding all the way to the floor. Tori sobbed harder as she felt Dean's warmth envelope her, strong arms pulling her into him, his familar scent adding another layer of comfort as he stroked her head.

“Breathe, Sweetheart.” Dean murmured into her hair and he pressed kisses there, rocking her back and forth, having pulled her into his lap sideways. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He ignored the way his ribs complained, hugging Tori tighter, holding her head to his chest. From there Tori could hear the strong and steady heartbeat under her ear. The even thumping of his heart echoed in her head, overriding the virus of terror flooding her system. Gradually her ragged and uneven breaths slowed, ever so often hitching as her body reregulated itself.

“I know you're mad at me, but will a kiss change your mind?” Dean tipped her head back up.

Tori didn't deign to reply, instead just gripping his face and kissing him. It was equal parts soft and desperate, assuring herself that he was here, that the way his stubble scraped against her palms, the strands of his hair sliding between her fingers wasn't just a figment of her imagination. Dean ran his hand up and down her back and her sides, still in that comforting touch, the other worming its way into the plaits of her hair.

Head still hazy, Tori couldn't follow the avenues of how both of them managed to get off the floor, Dean laying her on the bed as if he wasn't the injured one. Somewhere along the way she'd lost her t-shirt, her flannel long gone during the hunt, Dean's shirt half off as Tori clawed at him to feel the unbroken skin beneath. Eventually that was removed too, tossed to the dark corners of their room.

Tori pulled Dean down atop her, needing to feel the weight of him. It wasn't enough. She needed to feel him inside her, needed to get as close to him as possible. Dean must have felt the same, aiding her in discarding his jeans and boxers. Dean’s mouth never left hers, his arms cradled her close to him as he gently pushed himself into her. He breathed in Tori's gasp at the fullness of him inside her, her nails digging into his back to steady herself. His forehead, beaded with sweat rested against hers as she hiked her legs higher up on his hips, sending him deeper into her.

Dean gingerly rocked his hips, sliding in and out of her as he swept his tongue across Tori’s bottom lip. Tori opened her mouth to him, her thighs wrapped around his waist as she moaned breathily each time his length bottomed out, that one veins along the top of his cock brushing against that sweet spot deep inside her. This slow, loving pace was a nice change to what had become their normal. By no means did they go fast and rough all the time, but this, this intimate and slow lovemaking was nice. Better than nice.

“I love you.” Tori mumbled it into his mouth, repeating it between long and sloppy kisses.

Dean propped himself up on one arm, only just enough to take in his lovers face, still red and puffy, tears still drying on her cheeks. His thumb trailed over her lip, swollen from their kisses. “I'm not going anywhere, my love. I'm right here. I'm sorry.”

Dean could see tears start to well back up in Tori's eyes before she pulled his mouth back to her, kissing him hard, ending the string of apologies falling from his lips. Tori could feel her orgasm slowly building, urged on by the hand Dean had snuck between their bodies to rub his thumb in small circles on her clit. Dean felt Tori clamp down on him, thighs gripping his waist as she came, swallowing her moans into his mouth, his own release not far behind.

Dean didn't bother pulling out of Tori, simply turning them both on their sides, Tori half over his torso. She shivered as his calloused fingers trailed up and down her sides, tracing the curve of her spine.

“I'm sorry.” Dean mumbled against her hairline, hugging her gently.

“What’s done is done.” Tori pressed a kiss to his chest, to that tattoo over his heart. “Just don't scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try.”

Tori huffed a puff of air out her nose, settling her head back over his heart, his heartbeat the last thing she heard before drifting off to sleep

[imkylotrash]

Growing Sideways

Pairing: Haymitch Abernathy x reader

Summary: Haymitch realizes you're not safe after the stunt he pulled with the forcefield in the arena, so he forces you to flee District 13.

A/N Please excuse any mistakes. I didn't proofread this

Everything is changed when he returns from the Games. He never talks about them. Not to his parents, not to his brother, and certainly not to you. Of course, you watched them live on the broadcast same as everyone else in Panem but there are moments you can't even begin to understand or comprehend, and Haymitch knows that. You feel him slipping through your fingers, and you can't even blame him. Going through something so traumatic... you shudder at the thought. It doesn't stop you from being there though. You don't push him, but you're always right there when he needs you.

Two weeks pass before you experience the aftermath of one of his nightmares. His mother invited you to stay after dinner even though Haymitch wasn't home. You'd be lying if you said that you didn't accept her invitation with the hopes of seeing Haymitch.

"He's not very fond of using the front door," his mother remarks dryly when the bump of two feet hitting the floor interrupts your conversation. But her eyes shine with worry about her son.

"I'll go check on him," you excuse yourself and get up from the couch. He crawled through the window into his room, most likely to avoid the confrontation with his family. There's a half-empty bottle lying on the floor and seeping onto the carpet of his room. Haymitch is passed out in his bed, looking too much like the sweet 16-year-old boy he was before the Hunger Games.

Today had been rough. Haymitch had once again been forced to play the part of the victor for some celebratory show in the Capitol. Those people forget that it's real children they send into that arena. The thought of them enjoying themselves while watching kids get killed is enough to make you feel nauseous.

"Don't leave," he mumbles before beginning to toss around in the bed. Nightmares. It's been like this every single night since he came back but this is the first time, you're here to actually experience it. The only reason you know is because his parents have shared their concerns with you.

"Please," he chokes, a trickle of sweat starting to show on his face.

"I'm dealing with this the best I can!"

You get on your knees in front of the bed and carefully take his hands into yours, ignoring the echoes of your fight earlier today. His thrashing stops momentarily, allowing you to crawl into bed with him.

"I don't even want you here, so why do you insist on being here?"

"Y/N?" he whispers, not fully awake yet.

"I'm right here."

"Just leave me alone."

One thing Haymitch Abernathy doesn't get to do is push you away when he's hurting. You can't stand the thought of him in pain, and the pain only multiplies in the next couple of days. You're not sure why you're surprised. After the stunt he pulled with the forcefield, of course, the President would be angry.

His father dies first. Mining accident. Nothing suspicious about that. He's certainly not the first to lose his life in those mines.

You imagine his mother is trickier. Maybe that's why they decide to have the peacekeepers execute her in the square for buying supplies at the black market. That day Haymitch packs a bag with your belongings and sends word to his contact at District 13. A contact he's only known since they were introduced under the games. They keep you safe and in return, he works for them in order to bring down the Capitol. Neither of you has any idea what that really means, but Haymitch doesn't care if it means you're safe.

"Haymitch, I can't just leave. There are people who depend on me."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. You're leaving at 8pm tonight." He shoves another sweater into your bag as if that's what you'll be missing if you go to District 13. Everything is happening too fast. Five minutes ago, you had no idea District 13 still existed, and now you're going there indefinitely?

"Do you not understand that he will kill you just for being associated with me?" Pain is evident in his voice as he finally turns to look at you. He's already lost his family, he can't watch you die too, and you know that.

"You're a victor, you won the games. The Capitol loves our relationship, he can't kill me," you argue.

"Nobody ever wins the Games. Period. There are survivors. There're no winners."

"Come with me then," you plead, your voice shaking with unshed tears but there's no escaping for him. He's a victor, and he'll be forced to perform as such for the rest of his life. Your final hug is filled with things you can't bring yourself to say. Things Haymitch already knows, and things you promise yourself to tell him when you see him again.

[bridgetotheskyyy]

chapter nine.

masterlist

Chapter summary: you deal with the aftermath of your Father's actions.

Chapter warnings: blood, violence, trauma

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: Chapter 9 as promised!

Read on ao3 here:

Father’s blood would have to be washed from your clothes.

That was the first and only thought as your father’s pulse slowed to nothing against your fingers. Blood. So much blood. Father’s blood. Shared blood. The fabric would have to be wrung and wrung again, scrubbed and squeezed. It still might not come out. These clothes might be stained forever, and there was nothing you could do about it. You would have to dona — no, who would want bloody clothes? You would have to throw them out. They would always remind you of today, they would always —

“(Y/N),” Gaara said. Surely he’d been calling your name for several seconds, but you hadn’t heard him. His fingers ghosted over your arms in an attempt to anchor you in reality, but you only trembled under his touch.

Your head shot up; Gaara was standing right above you. Your gaze returned to Father. His head lay limp in your lap. “I — “You struggled to puzzle words together. One competent sentence would be a triumph. “I don’t …”

“It’s all right.” Gaara’s voice grounded you, along with his touch. Gentle and coaxing, though its gruffness remained. He aided you to your feet, moving slowly as you rested your father’s head on the floor.

“What …” Tears garbled your speech, their hot wet trails training down your eyes. Your chest rose and fell with sporadic, too-quick breaths. “What did I do?”

“You did nothing.” Gaara cajoled you into an embrace. “There was no preventing this … You must not blame yourself.”

You tucked your face in his shoulder, wishing to disappear. You choked out sobs in the crook of his neck.

Footsteps. Someone banged the door, already open, against the door, straining on its hinges.

“Gaara!” a voice. Temari’s. “What’s …”

“… Oh no …” Kankuro’s.

You turned your head to see Temari and Kankuro approaching slowly, registering the surrounding carnage.

“That’s it then,” Kankuro muttered. “It’s really over …”

Temari set her concerned gaze on you. Unable to console yourself, you disappeared again in Gaara’s shoulder.

“The fighting is over,” Gaara said. “Let the ninja of the Oasis village know their leader is dead, and that they have lost. Then we will consider our losses.”

His voice was especially gentle on losses. Your throat constricted, your chest wracked with another horrible sob.

Time passed without your participation. You blinked, and the bodies were gone, as was the blood. Shinobi spoke in quick, formal tones to Gaara. Kankuro limped away and came back. Reality slotted and rearranged itself, again and again and again.

And, somewhere, Temari beside you: “C’mon,” she murmured, arms around you. “Let’s get you cleaned up …”

The smoke cleared.

Literally and metaphorically. Word of Father’s death sent the ninja of your village fleeing Sunagakure while Sand ninja traveled south, deep underground, to alert the villagers who’d been evacuated that the fighting was over and it was now safe to resurface.

Suna had taken quite a beating; fires had scorched sandstone buildings black and ugly, structures destroyed, people wounded — but, thankfully, not too many had been on the streets after all, as you had feared.

The battle was over, but there was a great deal of damage to be accounted for, and you dreaded how long it would take for the Sand to recover — in more ways than one. Kankuro had called in a tip from the beach village you had all visited and they would come assist in the cleanup. Temari had taken it upon herself to lead and organize the groups designated to address the damage.

You were the opposite of fine.

Gaara was absent from your side, and for that, you were actually relieved. He fought to comfort you but you refused him; his village needed him more than you did right now, and anything to negate the effects of Father’s attack was worth the lonely, grief-addled evenings you now endured. It both helped and hindered you to sleep until noon, but the nurses insisted you now needed more rest than ever, especially after your ordeals. You at least had Gaara’s full comfort some nights where he simply held you and let you cry until exhaustion superseded anguish.

And it suddenly occurred to you: you were an orphan now. Mother gone, brother gone, and now Father.

Except Gaara and his siblings. An orphan, but not alone.

After a few days, you understood what you needed: to see Kankuro.

“Well.” Kankuro looked out amongst the devastation from his hospital window. “This will definitely delay the wedding.”

You allowed yourself a laugh, bitter though it was. Once Kankuro had been situated in the hospital for his wounds, he had invited you in, saying he wouldn’t mind a story to pass the time. You had told him everything about the mission, just as you had told Temari and Matsuri, and once you were done, his grimace was so you almost saw fit to call the nurses.

“And how’re you feeling?” he asked.

“I think I should be asking you that.” You smiled sadly; your father’s body was being sent back to the Oasis as the two of you spoke. “Fine … I mean, as fine as I can be.” You fidgeted with your hands, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Now that I know I should be saying,” Kankuro said. “I called you a snake. I’m so sorry, (Y/n).”

You waved him off. “Anyone would’ve done the same. I’m just sad; you believed in me and were so loyal to the idea I wasn’t up to anything.” Another bitter laugh. “I let you down.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kankuro said. “I believed you really cared about Gaara; I was right.”

You nodded.

“And I can’t believe I was right all along about the oasis having rejuvenating powers!” Kankuro said, sounding genuinely impressed with himself. “It was just a theory, but to know it was real …”

You smiled for him. “It was a gamble. I didn’t even know anything about it. Temari told me that’s what she heard from you.”

“I’m never letting her live this one down.”

A wider smile. “I’m just grateful we made it in time … The oasis — whatever my mother was sick with — she couldn’t be saved by its waters …”

Kankuro sobered up. “Unfortunate, truly …” A pause. He adjusted in bed, his movements constricted by the bandages around his chest and stomach. “I’m sorry about your father, too.”

Your chest ached. “Is it all right to be sad? I don’t know. He was … horrible to everyone, especially me.”

“You don’t do yourself any favors policing your own feelings,” Kankuro said with a sigh. “Sometimes, the people who treat us the worst are the ones we hurt for the most.” He rolled his eyes with a scoff. “I would know.”

He means Gaara — the old Gaara. A little weight shifted off your shoulders.

“… But Gaara worked for our forgiveness, so he’s automatically better than your father. Sorry.”

You burst out laughing. It was such a relief, the mirth running through you like alcohol.

“What will you do now?” Kankuro asked. “I understand your father has no surviving kin other than … Will you … leave us?”

“Hahaoya’s taken over the village and is fighting for it as we speak,” You said. “Her forces are actually quite extensive. And I … can’t imagine going back just yet.” I can’t leave. I have to do my part to help here.

“… Will you still marry Gaara?”

“Of course!” You said it without hesitation, but just then another weight came to replace the last. If the village will still have me. How accepting would they be, even if they knew your story?

You would do whatever was best for Gaara and his family, even if it meant untethering yourself from him and walking your way home with bloodied footprints in the sand.

Kankuro nodded and relaxed into his pillow. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Do you think it’s okay?” You said. “With — with the village and …”

“We’ll work it out, if it’s not.”

Once again, you saw Hideo there, sitting inside Kankuro, providing the same comforts, the same kind of warmth.

“I’m just glad I didn’t screw it all up in the end,” he said. “I don’t know how good of a Kazekage I made then.”

“Are you joking? I saw you defending this whole village by yourself,” You said. “You weren’t a good Kazekage, you were a great one.”

Kankuro smiled, and the sincerity of it struck you. He held his arm out to you and you sat at the edge of his bed before falling into his hug, careful not to stress his bandages.

“You’re such a strong kid,” he whispered. “I’m proud you’re my sister.”

Tears pebbled your eyes as you rested a hand on Kankuro’s shoulder, remembering when Hideo had said the same. You laid your head on Kankuro’s shoulder and, finally, allowed yourself to cry for the family you had lost, and for the one you had gained.

“And, once again, Lord Kazekage,” Ebizo began in a bow, “we apologize for our negligence.”

“I never liked that Joseki!” Ikanago cried from her seat. “I know it is not of high character to speak ill of the dead, but —”

“We never expected he would be a part of something like this,” Goza said. “A thousand apologies, my lord.”

You shook your head, hiding a smile behind your knitted fingers. Almost a week later, the Suna council had been shredded considerably since the attack. Both it and Gaara were still dealing with the repercussions of its handicaps. The opposition within the Sand that had supported your father was being dealt with, along with those who had allied with Joseki, which meant more trials, more deliberations.

Fun.

Gaara was giving his council very little attention from his seat beside you. He flipped a folder closed, now fully briefed. “The Sand prioritizes forgiveness and second chances — those sentiments extend to this Council.”

Ikanago and Goza breathed a sigh of relief.

“However —”

They stiffened.

“—if you are truly in such a repenting mood, I would like to be a part of the appointment process. Suna deserves fresh faces on its council, members who can relate to new challenges it encounters,” Gaara finished.

He means adding people who aren’t pushing one-hundred. You snickered into your sleeve.

“Of course!” Goza said. “That would only be fair!”

“Now, to business,” Gaara said. “The Hokage has sent reinforcements to aid us in the rebuilding process, which will be led by my sister, Lady Temari.”

They nodded.

“And there’s been a letter from Lady Hahaoya,” You said. “My father will be buried soon, along with his assistant, Chuuyou. I will be leaving soon to attend the funerals and work out the finer details with Hahaoya.”

Hahaoya was currently the village head after a successful takeover. Gaara was the one to give you the news, while Hahaoya offered you the choice to attend the dual funerals, for the fallen ninja, like Chuuyou, and Father's. You said you did; you wanted the closure of finally putting the family drama — and trauma — behind you. Along with negotiating the more complicated aspects of succession.

“And …” Ikanago’s eyes sparkled with hope. “There will still be a wedding at some point, of course?”

She never stops!

You and Gaara exchanged looks.

“Lady (Y/n) and I have decided to delay it indefinitely,” Gaara said.

“WHAA?”

You smiled to yourself. Never mind the fact that Gaara had privately proposed to you, with only his siblings and Baki present, erasing the politics of your engagement (along with the result of a scheme) and instead making it one of heartfelt desire.

“We’re still going through with it,” You said — mostly to soothe Ikanago. “Don’t be so upset!”

“I broke my hip, girl!” she cried. “Oh, I may be dead before I see the two of you wed!”

“Honestly, Lady Ikanago,” Ebizo chastised. “You really must learn to stay out of young people’ affairs.”

“I second that,” Goza bit. “What are they meant to do? Say their I dos over the pile of dead bodies?”

That was a good point.

“It could be a beautiful ceremony to cleanse all this suffering and instill some hope!”

Also a good point.

“So, if everyone is all right with it, let us move on,” Gaara said over Ikanago’s crying.

After business, you and Gaara retired to the palace, where you coupled in the room you two shared.

You turned to see Gaara had long been staring at you.

“What is it?”

He grew shy. “I was only thinking. This is the second time I have been saved by someone who should have been my enemy.”

You blushed. “I … think you’re right.”

“I know it has to happen,” Gaara began, “but I really wish we didn’t have to postpone things.”

“I know how you feel.” You sat by him. “I’m especially bummed out about it.”

Gaara tilted his head. “Why is that?”

“Because I hate the idea of showing on my wedding day,” You said.

Gaara’s invisible brows wrinkled. Before he understood what you meant, and astonishment opened his face like a flower.

“So …” He trailed, his eyes lowering to your stomach. “It’s true, then?”

You smiled. You had been examined during your time catching up on rest and had known the truth for some time. You had only wanted the perfect time to tell Gaara. Yes, you were an orphan now. Except for Gaara and his siblings, and the little baby growing inside you. An orphan, but not alone. “Hideo would be the perfect name if it’s a boy, don’t you think?” Your eyes popped open. “Unless you had a different name in mind! I’m not saying it has to be —“

Gaara leaned forward and silenced you with a kiss. A protective hand secured itself at your hip before he thought better of it and moved to the center of your stomach. You sighed into Gaara’s kiss, his reassuring touch.

He drew back after a century only to smile at you.

“I assume you like the name?” You said.

Gaara’s finger grazed the apple of your cheek.

“It’s a perfect name.”

The last thing Gaara wanted was for you to travel. Especially now you were confirmed pregnant and vulnerable in ways you probably could never fully understand. But you insisted, and he only agreed with especially tight security around you.

The excursion home was surreal, made even more surreal now you were to attend your father’s burial service. You had no idea what reception you would receive once you arrived.

Once there, you were surprised by the mood; it was very much the village you had grown up in, but despite the atrocities of the last few weeks, spirits seemed to be high. Hahaoya’s influence, I bet.

Father’s burial was performed in a small enclosure not far from the village palace. Hahaoya arrived to pay whatever respects she still retained, but you got the sense she was truly there to support you, her hand tightening on yours as his coffin was sunk into the ground. The service was small, with only the two of you and a few extra council members who still held Father in some esteem. But words were sparse save some niceties, and the small gathering dispersed after burial.

Once it was over, you walked the grounds of the palace garden. Desert plants prospered despite the struggle of the heat. Cacti sprouted from the ground to remind you of Gaara. You thought of the little cactus you had gifted him, the one Gaara had reinstalled on his office desk, and hoped they would always remind you of Gaara.

Many times you had made this aimless traipse with Hideo. Now you were alone. But Hahaoya soon joined you. You followed her around the garden of the palace, now hers.

“I’m sure you are feeling a whirlwind of emotions right now,” Hahaoya said. “I assure you, whatever you are feeling is natural.”

“Not really,” You said. “Or, at least, not yet. I feel sadness, but there’s also a strange calm now that it’s all through.” A bird chirped in a lone tree, miraculously grown in the desert, standing alone. “I am relieved Father will get to rest now.”

“Child, do you realize how strong you have been?” Hahaoya said, a touch breathlessly. “How strong you are?”

You smiled weakly at her. Whatever you felt, it didn’t feel like strength, yet people kept telling you that. “Am I?”

“It goes without question,” Hahaoya said. “I must admit, I was afraid you wouldn’t come, though I would’ve understood had that been the case.”

“I had to be here.” You turned back to your father’s burial place, strangely expecting to see him standing there in its place.

“You didn’t.” Hahaoya said. “If Boutoku had wanted an attentive daughter, he should’ve been an attentive father.”

You let the moment hang. “I wanted to do this last thing for him — and for myself. I’m his last surviving kin. The least I could do is see him off. He was horrible to me, but … He was a good man once. He was my father.”

Hahaoya was the one to let the moment linger. You resumed walking, and she moved in sync with you.

“Speaking of which,” she said, “it was time we spoke about the lineage.” She touched your hand to signal you to stop. “My girl, I’ve gone to the oasis. I’ve taken the dragon’s challenges.”

You blinked. “Then … You’re officially the Oasis’s head?”

“That’s right,” Hahaoya said. “Not without effort, by the way. As I am not Boutoku’s blood, he was not overly happy to see me.”

You were stunned. “I …”

Hahaoya started walking. “I am honored — but I am also old, girl. I do not plan on being the head for very long. I will organize the village and then pass this honor on to another — with tips on how to avoid dragon fire,” She added with a smile. Then she faced you. “Unless …?”

You returned her smile. “My place is in Suna now, with my soon-to-be husband.”

“I thought you would say that,” Hahaoya said. “I am glad I took the proper precautions.”

“Who did you have in mind?”

“Hmm …” Hahaoya’s voice had become playful. “I was thinking of Kota.”

“Kota?” The soft-spoken man who had barreled from the sand and brought you to Hahaoya.

“He’s noble, is he not?” Hahaoya said. “Kind, patient. And he wants the best for his village.”

“I regret to say I don’t know much about him …”

“He’s worked under me for quite some time. I’ve a few more candidates, but I’d be happy to have him as the head, even if I had no connection to him at all. He actually reminds me a bit of your father when he was younger, if only …” Hahaoya trailed. It was a moment before she spoke again. “Of course, the ultimate decision is not up to me — Ryuo will have the last word.”

You considered all of this, the repercussions of your line ending its mystical contract with the dragon. “I suppose I’ll lose his blessing as well. I may never see the oasis again.”

“Like I said,” Hahaoya gave a mischievous smile, “Ryuo will have the last word. Don’t be so pessimistic.”

You shook your head, finding it in you to return the smile. “He won’t be happy; three visitors in such a short time of each other — this is more than he’s been bothered in over a century.”

Hahaoya laughed, as you remembered her laughing, high and sweet, the epitome of mirth. “That is true. We might be what causes him to throw in the towel in his conspiring with humans in general.”

You laughed together. The sun had the nerve to shine as you came to the crook of the garden, soon to reenter the palace.

Hahaoya called your name, soft and sweet; your mother’s voice was commingled with hers. “I said I was afraid you wouldn’t come, that is true, but I was also hoping you would, for a specific reason.” She took your hand in hers. “I’ve a gift for you.”

“A gift?” You echoed.

“Consider it an early wedding present,” Hahaoya said, then shrugged, “or a belated one, depending on your perspective.”

She raised her hand, noticeably marked with new scars. A poof, and she came forward with a box in her palm.

A simple black box, even simpler to open. Your breath caught:

A new necklace, nearly identical to the last save one detail; no scorpion sprawled on the face of this one. Instead, only a minuscule illustration of the oasis at its center.

“I thought, perhaps,” Hahaoya said, “you would favor a new one. Of course, if after all the trouble the last one caused you, feel free to reject it.” A smile. “I’ve been told I’m horrible at giving gifts.”

“No,” You breathed, nestling the box to your chest. “It’s … beautiful, Hahaoya. Thank you.”

“No, sweet girl,” Hahaoya said. “Thank you.”

You had no desire to linger in your old home, and you prepared to leave with no understanding of when you would again return. Most likely many years from now. When the grief became bearable, manageable, when you had regained your footing … When Hideo was old enough to understand the politics that would forever circumscribe his life.

I’ll be okay by the time he comes of age. He deserves to know where his family came from.

As absurd as it was, you found yourself missing Chuuyou, his perennial presence. The man who had betrayed you and killed your father — that was whom you missed?

No, You thought, thumbing the new necklace around your neck. I miss the man who loved his village enough to kill the man ruining it, who saw me and Gaara as worthy once he had the proof.

As if on cue, there was a knock at your door.

You cleared your throat and stopped fiddling with your necklace. “Come in.”

The door squeaked open, and there was Kota.

“Kota,” You said in surprise.

He gave a modest bow. “I hope I’m not intruding —“

“No, not at all,” You said, ironing your clothes down. “I just wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

Kota glanced at your bed where your suitcase lay open, partially stuffed.

“Leaving already?” he said.

You blushed. “I —”

“I’m only kidding,” Kota said with a chuckle. “Lady Hahaoya told me you were preparing for your departure.”

“Oh,” You said with relief.

The crescent shape fell from Kota’s eyes. “I hope your father’s service wasn’t too overwhelming for you.”

You gave a wry laugh. “If anything, it was a tad underwhelming.” Your fingers grazed the top of your suitcase. “After all the years he spent as village head … so few guests …”

“It must be truly disheartening,” Kota murmured.

“More enlightening than anything else,” You said. That was his fault. When Gaara dies, there'll be hundreds mourning him — thousands. After all your efforts to save Gaara from the brink of death, you didn’t want to think about him dying a second longer than you had to; you shook your head of these thoughts. “But I’m fine, Kota, thank you. Did you need anything?”

Kota straightened. “I’ve not come to vex you,” he said. “I was … hoping to accompany you back to Sunagakure.”

“Really?” You blinked. “Why? Doesn’t Hahaoya have enough for you to do around here?”

“It’s not for a lack of things to do, that’s for certain,” Kota said. “I … I feel I must atone. Somehow. After all this bloodshed …”

You couldn’t disagree. You didn’t. “There’s so much bloodshed on all our hands now.”

“True, however …” Kota stepped forward. “A shinobi’s duty is to his village, and I love my home, but I also love it enough to acknowledge its flaws. Our mistakes.” He looked down. “I would like to assist in mending the relationship between the Oasis and the Sand. And I am willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.” He bowed. “If you’ll allow me, Lady (Y/N).”

He would make a wonderful village head. You smiled. How could you refuse him? After all, what had you just done but gone out of your way to save your new family? How could you deny him the same way to redemption?

“All right,” You said. “Come with me and speak with Suna’s Council. I’m sure they’d be ecstatic to hear of all the ways the Oasis will make up for all of this.”

Kota nodded fitfully. “Very well.”

“And in the meantime,” You said as you fixed your hand to your hip. “We can also speak about all the ways the Sand will repent for its past wrongs.”

“Say no more of the Sand, Lady (Y/N),” Kota said. “The truth is, the Kazekage kept his word. All the resources he promised to send to us were received weeks ago.”

Your hand slipped away from your hip. “You mean … All of it? The weapons, the medicine — everything?”

“Indeed,” Kota said. “There is little to repent for, as far as the Sand is concerned.”

You thought of the bridge you and Gaara had crossed, the flower that had gotten stuck in your hair, the promises he had made to you the very first day you met him.

I love him.

“That’s good to hear,” You said through a soft exhale. “Well, if you are coming along, you might as well start packing.”

Kota nodded. “Certainly.”

He left you alone to continue packing. In fact, very little had left your suitcase, but now what little that had been taken out went right back in, and you zipped it up with a content sigh.

It was time to go home.

[midniqhtt]

part two comfort reads II 4k celebration

₊˚⊹⋆ main masterlist ꨄ︎ part one list ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: ran out of links and tagging blogs. thus part two!

hi loves! i never do anything for celebrating but i thought i could make a big list of all my favorite fics i’ve read over the past few months/years and continue rereading. i can never get enough of showing my appreciation for writers and all their hard work, and i want them to know i think of these fics/series at least once a day ♡︎

key- A: angst II F: fluff II S: smut II C: comfort

.𖥔 HARRY POTTER UNIVERSE .𖥔

𝑺𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑼𝑺 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ tulips part two II @amiableness II A + F + S

After finding out Remus Lupin has found himself a girlfriend, a devastated Y/n L/n asks Sirius Black to help her get over him. Except Sirius has feelings for her.

ꨄ︎ if you love something II @mischievousmoony II A

Your boyfriend, Sirius Black, hasn’t been faithful and you can’t stand it anymore.

𝑱𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑺 𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ time warp II @astonishment II A + F

when the time-turner breaks, you find yourself at the start of 6th year once again. the only difference? it’s 1976. stuck in a time you shouldn’t even be alive in, you do your best to blend in, anxiously awaiting to see if dumbledore can help you get home. that all goes out the window when you catch the eye of a certain bespectacled boy. and the more time you spend with him, the harder it gets to walk away. but you have to…right?

ꨄ︎ why didn’t we work out II @/astonishment II A + F

James Potter had two girlfriends in seventh year at Hogwarts. Y/N Y/L/N, who he dated for five months; and Lily Evan’s, who he dated afterwards. When he’s dared to call on of his exes, guess who’s number he dials…

ꨄ︎ i can see you II @pretty-little-mind33 II A + C

James panics when he sees what his boggart is.

ꨄ︎ i’ve got plans sorry part two II @livinginshambles II A + C

James is whipped. He adores his girlfriend so much, to the point that it starts to bother his friends. His reaction to a confrontation about it with his friends is to completely pull away from you, always finding new excuses to avoid you, leaving you to try and approach him. When you overhear him trying to be cool under peer pressure and say that you're too clingy, you also start pulling away, using the same excuses.

𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑼𝑺 𝑳𝑼𝑷𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ a man with a plan II @ellecdc II A + F

Remus planned to never fall in love. Moony had other plans. [link is ch8]

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑶𝑫𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑻

ꨄ︎ peonies II @/amiableness II A + F

Reader is devastated when Mattheo gets a girlfriend and asks Theo to help her get over him.

𝑺𝑬𝑩𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑨𝑵 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾

ꨄ︎ the night shift pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 II @writing-intheundercroft II A + S + F

You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

𝑮𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑯 𝑾𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑳𝑬𝒀

ꨄ︎ illicit affairs II @festivalsofmargot II A + S

Garreth thinks back on his life with you, and it was far from perfect. But he’d relive every second if he had the chance.

.𖥔 STEVE HARRINGTON .𖥔

ꨄ︎ i’d knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss II @andvys II A + S

Steve was slipping through your fingers and you desperately held onto him not realizing that his heart wasn’t yours anymore. Dealing with the aftermath of your breakup turns out to be harder than you thought. Steve’s presence still lingers and while he keeps a hold of your heart, someone else sneaks their way into it too.

ꨄ︎ second chance II @astermath II A + F

steve decides to ask out the girl who he keeps seeing around hawkins with her nose in a book. he’s a little surprised when he gets brutally rejected, only to find out his “king steve” era is haunting him more than he expected. he attempts to make it up to you and show you he’s changed, even if it takes him a couple of tries.

ꨄ︎ hot for teacher II @handful0fteeth II S

you’re going on your first date with steve harrington, and hours before he’s due to pick you up your best friend gives you some rather unsavory information.

ꨄ︎ five tickets II @slashersteve II F

Steve couldn’t pass up a chance to be able to kiss you, even if there is a price.

ꨄ︎ for a good time call II @chestharrington II S + F

In the Summer of 1985, Steve's social standing is at an all time low. In an act of sheer, pathetic desperation, he calls a phone sex hotline. Little does he know, his dream girl from the hotline is just an escalator away.

ꨄ︎ christmas affairs II @maroon-cardigan II A + S + F

your christmas turns into a chaotic mess when your boss can’t fly back home and you end up stuck in New York City with him.

ꨄ︎ maybe this christmas time II @headkiss II F

working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.

.𖥔 PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS .𖥔

𝑫𝑰𝑵 𝑫𝑱𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ best kept secret II @lincolndjarin II A + S + C + F

Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

ꨄ︎ in a perfect world, you love me pt2 II @theidiotwhowritesthings II A + C

On the way to visit an old friend, you and Mando find trouble. Both of you are subjected to a drug that puts you in your perfect world. But, when you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, how do you know what to trust?

𝑱𝑶𝑬𝑳 𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ somewhere to run II @punkshort II A + S + C

You move to a small town in the middle of Texas to escape your past and start over. You don't expect to fall for the town's handsome sheriff.

ꨄ︎ i know who you are II @/punkshort II A + S + C

A fall on patrol causes you to lose your long term memory, forgetting the identities of your friends and loved ones. You have to learn all over again how to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, and you learn things about yourself along the way.

ꨄ︎ the fisherman’s wife II @joelmama II A + S + F

The free-spirited Reader is arranged to marry a divorced Fisherman named Joel Miller. And although she protested this at first, she soon wonders if maybe she could be happy with her new husband.

ꨄ︎ we bleed together II @bubbles-for-all-of-us II A

what if the last day of humanity was different? What if instead of loosing Sarah, Joel lost you - the mother of his two children and the person who had built him up to a better man.

𝑱𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑰𝑬𝑳𝑺

ꨄ︎ cupcake II deactivated blog II F

Jack Daniels, lead used car salesman at his dealership, has a crush on you, the pretty receptionist. It's too bad he can't get out of his own way. Luckily for him, you have patience and a soft spot for shy cowboys.

ꨄ︎ hot chocolate II @/punkshort II F + S

You lead a quiet, boring life in a podunk town, but when a certain secret agent stumbles into your world needing your help to catch a criminal at the local carnival, your quiet little life changes forever.

𝑱𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑨

ꨄ︎ online love II @absurdthirst and @storiesofthefandomlovers II A + S + F

Coming home after Cali, Javi finds that his dad has moved into modern times. There's a computer in the house. Unsatisfied with his reputation proceeding him, he decides to go online to find out if he can be the man he wants to be. Except the one he connects with, you, has a very complicated past together.

.𖥔 MISCELLANEOUS .𖥔

𝑷𝑶𝑬 𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑵

ꨄ︎ hard landings II deactivated blog II A + F

Everybody in the kriffin galaxy seems to know you...Except for Poe.

ꨄ︎ something forgotten II @bensolosbluesaber II A + F

Poe Dameron is the love of your life, but he can’t remember you. Still, Poe finds himself drawn to you and seeing flashes of a life he has forgotten.

ꨄ︎ nine part two II @foxilayde II S

Idiots in love. You’re the idiot, mainly. You happen to hear something quite salacious about your bestie. And oooh boy, are you awful at keeping your shit together.

𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑵 𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ impetus II @wildwestdean II A + F

dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

ꨄ︎ friends after all part 34 II @angelkurenai II A + S

Dean Winchester. Mechanic. Neighbour. Best friend. Single father. And fake boyfriend? You babysit his daughter. You’ve known him for years and you’ve been really close. Everything will be put to test though when your sister's wedding approaches and he has the brilliant idea of pretending to be your boyfriend. Nobody would have ever thought of the result. Certainly not you.

𝑨𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑵 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑪𝑯𝑵𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ sick of maybe II @luveline II A + C

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

ꨄ︎ three cents II @xneens II F

you butt dial your boss during a girls night … the girls night where you told them you’d fuck aaron hotchner for three cents.

𝑻𝑶𝑴𝑴𝒀 𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ wrong place, right time II @hauntedhowlett-writes II S

what if joel didn’t answer tommy’s call from jail? and what if the waitress he’d been defending that night bailed him out instead?

𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑼𝑹 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑵

ꨄ︎ fakin it II @hihomeghere II S

After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track?

[hb-writes]

Such A Simple Thing

Summary: Emma is having trouble sleeping while on a camping trip with her brother, Elliot. Thankfully, he's got years of practice with soothing her fears. The story kind of goes along with Let It Be, though they can be read in any order.

Characters: Elliot Grey & Emmeline Grey (OC)

Fifty Shades Masterlist

Comfy-vember/Comfy-cember/Fluff-uary/Marshmallow March Masterlist

—

Emma huffed as she stared up at the ceiling of the tent. Elliot was quiet beside her, seemingly unaffected by the melody of the surrounding forest, his breaths already long and steady as if he’d had absolutely no trouble finding sleep.

She knew it was stupid that she was letting her brother’s silly little campfire stories get the best of her—or maybe she was plain stupid for ever asking to hear his stories in the first place. Emma knew that Elliot’s tales always got under her skin, especially when they were camping. 

Out in the middle of nowhere. 

No one but the two of them for miles and miles and—

“Can’t sleep?” 

The sound of Elliot’s voice in her ear from out of nowhere had Emma jolting from within her sleeping bag, something similar to a scream coming through her lips though she stifled it as quickly as she could. 

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, burrowing further into her sleeping bag, her words and her tone doing nothing to convince Elliot or herself as she started once again, this time because of the sudden shrieks of a bird that seemed alarmingly close to the tent.

"It's just a bird,” Elliot offered. “And what I told you was just a story, Em."

“I know,” Emma hissed. “Just shut—” She paused at a new sound in the distance and took a steadying breath before continuing. “I’m not an idiot. I know it’s just a story.”

“Right. Just a story,” Elliot mused. “A very true story...but still just a story nonetheless.” 

Emma whipped her head to face her brother, grateful that he was between her and the tent flap. She was comforted by that slight bit of protection, as flimsy as it was. For the first time in perhaps her whole life, she had a fleeting wish for her security detail’s presence. A fleeting wish for Ryan to be there stationed just outside the tent protecting her from whatever was out there in the woods. 

“You’re lying,” Emma answered. “There’s no way that story is—” 

Another bird call sounding from a ways off in the distance cut off Emma’s words and Elliot chuckled as she burrowed into his side. 

“Alright, alright,” he said. “I’m just messing with you. You really make this too easy, you know?” 

Emma made a sound, something between a whimper and a groan, before she reached out of the sleeping bag and punched Elliot’s arm as hard as she could muster at the odd angle.

“You’re a jerk,” she offered even though she agreed with Elliot. She did make it too easy for him. And she always had…to the point that her parents had all but forbidden her siblings from telling her scary stories or letting her watch horror films when she was younger. They’d gone lax on that rule now seeing as Emma was older—and in theory capable of making somewhat sound decisions for herself—but even so, Elliot had somehow always seemed to mostly get away with skirting the rule so long as he dealt with the aftermath.

Sometimes, dealing with the aftermath had been as simple as sitting up and watching a sitcom with her, something moderately funny and comforting that put the scary thoughts out of Emma's head. Other times, especially when she was younger, it was a several nights long endeavor requiring constant reassurance that whatever story or movie she’d consumed wasn’t real, wasn’t something to concern herself with. 

“You asked to hear the story!” Elliot shot back with a laugh. “You told me you could handle it.” 

“Well, you should know better than to listen to me.”

“You’re starting to sound like Chris,” Elliot answered, laughter still surrounding his words until he cleared his throat, pulling his face into a mask of seriousness as he imitated Christian. “Well, you should know better than to listen to her. She’s a child, Elliot.” 

“I am not a child. I—”

“I know you’re not,” Elliot answered, quickly cutting her off. “It’s just a bit. My ‘Chris' bit. Pretty sure he’s further in denial about your waning childhood than mom and dad.”

Emma snorted. “Uh..ya think?”

Conversations about Emma’s future—about where she would go to college and what that would look like…where she would live…it had all been scarier than any of the stories Elliot had told her over the years with every conversation somehow turning into a heated debate, a debate where it seemed Emma's input wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Her parents and brother appeared determined to sort her future out for themselves. 

And Emma was quite certain she didn't even know what she actually wanted anymore. More than anything, she just wanted to arguing to stop.

“It’ll figure itself out,” Elliot offered. “It always does, right?” 

Emma hummed. She knew Elliot was right. The most nightmarish of disagreements about her life always seemed to work themselves out eventually, albeit after lots of what seemed like unproductive and unnecessary negotiations. 

And even though it was horrible to deal with, Emma was finding the negotiations to be a nice distraction from everything else crowding her mind these days. Arguing with Christian could be stressful and her senior year was proving to be aggravating as well, with a seemingly endless stream of tests and projects she was struggling to care about at this point in the school year, but she preferred those stresses to the other things that had been creeping into her mind recently. 

Her therapist had normalized the return of her childhood nightmares. It wasn’t uncommon for them to resurface in times of stress, making sleep more difficult. He’d given her strategies and routines meant to decrease that stress in hopes of decreasing the nightmares and improving her sleep. It had worked some, but even so, Emma had been shaken enough that she had struggled to sleep since the first nightmare.

Elliot watched his sister staring blankly at the ceiling of the tent, letting the silence grow between them. 

“Em?” 

“Huh?” She blinked a few times before turning her head towards her brother. 

“Where’d you go just there?” 

Emma shrugged, glancing to the top of the tent again as she took a deep breath, both of them quiet for a few seconds though it felt longer. 

“...Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.” 

Emma heaved another breath, her eyes still focused on the tent's ceiling, on an imperfect stitch in the fabric's seam. “I’m sort of scared to sleep.” 

“Because of the story?" he asked. "Em, I swear. It’s just—”

“No, it's not—” Emma shook her head. “Not because of the story. I kind of haven’t been sleeping very well for a few weeks now...you remember the nightmares?” she asked, the strength in her voice dwindling as the question reached its conclusion.

Elliot frowned. Of course he remembered his sister's childhood nightmares. She had only ever talked about the specifics of what plagued her with Christian, and presumably with her therapist. It was their thing and not even their parents pried, but they all knew about them. They all knew Emma struggled.

“Come here,” Elliot answered, inviting her to shift her sleeping bag closer. “You can sleep. I’m right here with you. You're safe.” 

Emma scooted closer, comforted by the gesture though she didn’t believe it would work. She didn’t believe Elliot's presence would be enough to ease her fear or help her sleep, not until Elliot started to hum beside her, the intro notes of Let It Be bringing her the sense of calm only it could bring. 

Elliot hadn’t hummed her to sleep in years and she’d almost forgotten he had ever done it. Forgotten why out of all the Beatles songs that existed, that one had always been her favorite, but as her heartbeat slowed and her breaths effortlessly deepened, Emma remembered all the times Elliot had used it to help her get to sleep. 

To help her face her fears. 

Elliot and Emma had never really talked about the specifics of her childhood. She had never told him about what happened in her dreams, but his chosen lullaby had helped her through far more than either of them had ever realized. 

His lullabies had seemed such a simple thing, such a small effort, but back then and even now, they were helping Emma to heal.

Helping her to let it be.

—

Fifty Shades Masterlist

Comfy-vember/Comfy-cember/Fluff-uary/Marshmallow March Masterlist

[autism-connoisseur]

i keep watching the penguin episodes almost a week late cause im watching w my dad okay but. i liked ep 7. i have a lot of thoughts about it. way too many, perhaps, so they're under the cut.

the explosion sofia sets off underground obviously damages crownpoint —an already heavily damaged neighborhood. in her haste to get to oswald she doesn't care that she's hurting the everyday folk, or maybe it didn't even cross her mind; just like when, in her haste to get revenge on the falcones, she didn't even think of what she would do to gia: orphaned, spared by some miracle... the same miracle that seemed to have taken her family away.

but back to sophia & crownpoint. crownpoint & this side of the city, in general, was the first thing vic and oswald talked about; the first foundation of the bridge upon which they stand (continuing the metaphor, one might argue that vic's stutter and the feeling of fellow disability it may have sparked in oswald was the reason the bridge was approved for building in the first place). but it's been also source of conflict between francis and oswald: she needed to escape it, so he took her away somewhere better, now he needs to escape that better place and they're back at where they started. i believe that francis is having these regressions in time as a combination of her illness and being back in the bad part of town, likely triggering the possible pstd from burying her two sons. then victor had to come back home & finally face squid: now he can never truly go back. cause sure he's dealing drugs and helping oswald and doing his part, but those make him someone. killing squid, that he'll never shake off. even if it does not get easier. vic is back where he was a mere months ago but irrevocably changed; this place has seen him born and then reborn.

so we have these three characters, on one side, intrinsically linked to crownpoint and what it stands for: poverty, helplessness, misery (even if life can be happy there: vic was happy, francis & oswald were happy) that they desperately try to live behind. they want a good life, the better life, and no one will give it to them, so they'll take it. even if it means standing against the families, who don't even know their names.

and that's why sofia does what she does. brings harm to harmless people, innocent people who (as we've seen in previous episodes) have already lost it all. and eva was right. sofia was born privileged. she will never understand the streets life. yes, that privilege didn't save her, didn't soothe her suffering one bit, but her mansion wasn't flooded, she doesn't know how it feels like to walk into a room and to know no one knows your name —this is both a blessing and a curse. the last ten years of sofia's life were torture in every sense of the word; but before then she didn't know what it was to truly fight for your life, your dignity, to stand your ground. and sofia, for all her rightful demands that people understand and see what was done to her —the injustice, the betrayal, the horror, the belittling, the pain, the loss of everything she ever had or held dear— has no qualms or worries about hurting others. because for her there is only revenge.

and last thing, i don't know if it was intentional, but the way oswald emerges from the explosion, sees all the damage, with his ears blocked and then suddenly unblocked, hearing all the confusion and chaos and suffering of people who have little to none to lose (because it already was), really reminded me of the moment in batman 2022 when the bombs go off and the flood begins. but i haven't seen the move in a while so i could be wrong. even so, it's the same. the struggle between the powerful, these two forces of nature almost, never ends well for the common folk. the blows they deal hit each other, sure, but it's always the defenseless who end up soaked in the aftermath.

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 25 **

Dealing with the aftermath of the fall of the Arlington QZ, the four make their way towards a new destination.

Series Master List

Warnings have their own post, please heed them (this chapter contains smut, yay!)

Word count: 9.1k (jeez...)

Convincing three ex-soldiers that you were in fact just as perfectly capable of doing watch duty as they are, hadn’t been easy. But simply refusing to go to bed and standing up eventually worked and now each night was split into four shifts, all of you taking turns on the different slots. Although you quickly figured out that if you had the shift right after Frankie, he’d try to stay up, claiming he couldn’t sleep while hiding increasingly massive yawns. 

This night you found yourself at the window of a cabin Frankie had spotted late that same afternoon, the three men sleeping in the two bedrooms just off the main room. Benny’s soft snores rumbled through the half open door to the room he shared with Pope. In the other room, you could hear Frankie tossing and turning, not sure if it was a nightmare or if he was having trouble falling asleep. He’d done the first shift tonight and should be fast asleep by now, it was your turn to take the third shift before Benny took the last one tonight. 

You hung Frankie’s rifle over your shoulder and quietly made your way over to the bedroom door. Frankie is asleep, but he’s tossing, his hands twisting the blanket under him. Softly stepping inside, you sit down on the side of the bed, gently running your fingers through his unruly curls. Over the years you’ve learnt that it’s the best way to calm him without startling him. Sometimes just the feel of your fingers through his hair is enough to calm him, without even waking up. 

Fingers carding through his curls, gently scraping against his scalp, you sit back so that you can see the front door. Being on guard duty never became easier, you always felt on high alert, but it kept you from falling asleep, your constant ready state preventing you from giving in to the fatigue your mind felt. In truth, you were perpetually tired, ever since the mad dash from Arlington, constantly on alert, only sleeping when Frankie was next to you and one of the others on guard duty, but even then your sleep was fitful. You knew the events of Arlington had left a mark on you, the last twenty-four hours in the QZ replaying on a loop when you closed your eyes. Frankie noticed it too and although he hadn’t said anything yet, you could feel him watching you more closely.

Pope had led you out of the QZ, mainly through abandoned, closed off buildings and across rooftops, following routes he and Frankie had used many times to avoid FEDRA. Now you were hiding from the infected that were spreading through the QZ. The screams you heard from behind you were heart wrenching, but there was nothing to do but run.

Eventually you’d all scrambled down a well hidden ladder into an old car tunnel, Benny pulling the heavy crate that covered the opening back in place. Once outside the QZ, you’d kept jogging along the highway it turned into. This close to the QZ the highway was cleared regularly of any infected that might stray onto it, but as you ventured further away, you had to move slower, be more careful. 

“The grim silver lining of what Cox did,” Benny said at one point, “is that most of the infected in the area are now on the inside of the QZ, and I shut the gate behind them.”

“Yeah, but pretty soon the entire QZ will be infected, all those people,” you’d replied, “I just hope they don’t get out.” 

“And let’s hope no one tries to get inside the QZ either,” Frankie said, the thought of what that person would face giving you shivers. 

Since then you’d been traveling for a month or so, walking most of the way, but getting lucky and finding a car that worked and had gas twice. Taking turns driving, you’d covered a lot of miles until you were forced to leave the cars behind when the roads were blocked. Soon after leaving Arlington, Frankie and Pope had led you to three of their caches that they’d stashed between the QZ and their regular meet up points. Their supplies meant the four of you were well equipped, although pretty heavily loaded, your muscles ached under the weight of the backpack but you refused to complain. You pack was lighter than the others, you could barely lift Benny’s pack, but he shouldered it every day like it weighed nothing. And if you said anything, all three would immediately volunteer to take more of your share. You adored them, but their tendency to self sacrifice for your comfort made you want to smack them, lovingly, including Frankie. 

Frankie settled down under your hand as his breathing grew more even and you stopped stroking his curls, just sitting next to him for a little while. When you were certain he was sleeping soundly again you snuck out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind you. Back out in the main room you silently opened the front door of the cabin, stepping out onto the porch. The cabin sat under large oak trees, right at the edge of a forest and tucked into the tree line. The wide open field in front was well lit by the full moon, giving you a clear view of the surroundings. Closing the door behind you, you quietly walked around the cabin, the porch wrapped around it all the way, and you stopped when you came to the back. The forest behind the cabin was dark, none of the moon light managed to penetrate the thick canopy and it made you uneasy. You peered into the blackness, your ears straining to hear anything apart from the usual sounds of the forest. The night time sounds had petrified you the first few nights but now you’d learnt to discern the rustling of animals and trees from anything more sinister. This forest was quiet, you heard an owl hoot nearby, and then the soft swoop of its wings as it swept down from the trees. 

“Hey,” 

Benny’s soft greeting behind you makes you jump and spin around, startled, and you hear his soft chuckle. 

“Jeez, you're too silent, Ben,” you hiss at him as he comes to stand next to you. 

“Sorry, old habit,” he apologizes and leans against the railing of the porch, “All quiet?” 

“Yeah, nothing all night,” you reply, mimicking his stance. “I didn’t realize it was time for a shift change already?” 

“I’m a bit early, another old habit,” through the dim light you can see his crooked smile, “Go to bed, I’ve got it from here.” 

“Thanks, Ben, I owe you one,” you give him a pat on the back and head back into the cabin. 

Back in your room you softly close the door and start unlacing your boots. Pulling off all of your clothes except a soft t-shirt you push back the covers and carefully slide in next to Frankie. You think he’s still asleep but as soon as you’re close enough, his arm comes out and pulls you closer. 

“Hermosa,” he mumbles, his eyes still closed, “all quiet?” 

“Yes, baby, go back to sleep, Benny’s got the watch,” you whisper, kissing his forehead as he circles your waist and hooks his leg over your hip. 

“Mmmok…” is his only response and you feel his body relax, growing heavy again.

 It takes you longer to fall asleep, you try to relax, listening to Frankie’s calm breaths, but your mind doesn’t want to shut down. The third shift is always tricky, sometimes your brain seems to think you’ve slept enough and you have to face two hours of staring into the dark room before it’s time to get up. You carefully turn in the bed, onto your back, Frankie’s leg slips off your hip and lays heavily across your belly. You stare up at the ceiling for a while, watching the moonlight trace patterns across it through the crack in the curtains. With a sigh you roll over on your side, your back against Frankie, sleep still eluding you and you feel Frankie shift behind you, his arm tightening around your waist. 

“Can’t sleep, amor?” he mumbles, his voice is rough with sleep but he sounds awake this time. 

“No, I’m not tired enough,” you turn around so that you’re facing him and he tucks his arm under your head, his fingers brushing through your hair. 

“Wanna take advantage of being in a bed for a change?” he asks, nudging his nose against yours, “I know a very good way to get you to relax.” 

“Benny is right outside and Pope is sleeping in the next room,” you smile, he’s already started trailing little soft kisses along your jaw, you can feel the tip of his tongue slipping out and licking your skin while he grins. 

“So? We’ll be quiet, we can do that, can’t we?” he breathes into your ear, sending a wave of shivers down your spine, making you break out in goosebumps that Frankie notices. With a smile he runs his tongue over them, they’re pebbling your throat and with a soft hand he tilts your head back so that he has better access. A gentle nip with his teeth makes you inhale sharply and he chuckles. 

“Cállate, cariño, quiet now.” 

“Stop doing that then,” you whisper with a moan, his mouth is leaving damp marks all over your throat as he moves up towards your ear again, making you bite down on your lips as he sucks a mark into your sensitive skin. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks and  you can feel his smile against you, he’s buried his face against the crook of your neck and his hand on your waist is slipping under the covers, tugging your leg over his hip. 

You consider it for a second, Benny is really just outside with sharp hearing and on high alert for any noise, but on the other hand, Frankie’s hand is now caressing your thigh, curving around your ass and opening you up enough to feel his rapidly hardening length against your core. 

“No,” you murmur, dipping your head against his curls, heat is pooling between your legs as he rocks his hips into you, “please don’t stop.” 

“Let’s just hope this bed doesn’t squeak,” he smiles under you, testing the springs of the mattress with an experimental thrust. The bed groans but stays silent and you choke down a giggle. Frankie’s hand is sliding in under your t-shirt, not wasting any time in finding the edge of your panties and slipping his fingers inside. Gripping his curls with your hand you pull his face up to yours, making him swallow down your moan when the rough pad of his finger finds the top of your slit, pushing in to find you hot and wet. The feeling of your silky folds makes him hum into your mouth. 

“Either you’re always wet for me, hermosa, or you get really turned on by the idea of Benny hearing us.” 

“Shut up, Frankie,” you smile against his soft lips as he slides his fingers further down, grazing over your clit with his palm. The contact makes you shiver, a small spasm traveling through your body and Frankie gently tugs on your bottom lip, a smile curling up the corners of his lips against yours. Hiding your whimpers when two of his fingers slowly push inside, you press your mouth to his, finding his tongue and toying with it. He lets it follow the rhythm of his fingers, sliding in and out, and curling back over a soft spot deep inside that he knows makes your pussy clench hard around him. Another spasm racks your body and your whimper into his mouth, his name escaping with a moan. 

“Sshh…” he mumbles, “stay quiet for me, baby.” His fingers are slowly pumping, his hips rocking against you as he tries to give some friction to his hard length pressed between your bodies. “I want you to come but you need to stay quiet, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Benny.” The heel of his hand comes down over your clit, sharp pleasure spiking through your system, making you keen against his mouth. His hand in your hair presses against the back of your head, pulling you closer and muffling your whimper but he doesn’t let up his pace, slipping deep inside you, aided by the heated liquid that’s leaking over his hand, making his palm slip over your clit. 

Pulling back a fraction from your mouth he glances down between your bodies, “Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad, you’re dripping for me,” he pants, rutting his cock against your hip in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of the pressure making the head slick with precum. He can feel his boxers slip over the sensitive tip. “Next time we’re in a safe place, I’m spending an hour between your legs before anything else.” 

His words make you whimper again and he quickly presses his mouth against yours, his tongue slipping between your lips and licking against yours. You can feel your climax building rapidly now, moaning into his mouth as he pushes a third finger inside, making you buck your hips into his hands as the stretch around him shoots electricity through your system. His thumb replaces his palm, circling tight and fast around your clit and you squeeze your eyes shut, digging your finger into his shoulder, your heel into his leg, to bring him closer. 

“Frankie,” you moan, lips pressed against his, “please…” 

The tension breaks like a tightly wound coil, making you throw your head back and bite your lip hard, hissing out a long held breath as Frankie pumps his fingers, making your climax drag on until you curl back around him, melting into his arms, panting into his chest. Only then does he pull out his fingers, greedily licking them with a grin as you watch with half closed eyes. 

“Good?” you ask with a smile, and he nods, smacking his lips. 

“I meant what I said about an hour between your legs, it’s high on the list of my priorities. But first,” he lifts your leg off his hip and tug down his boxers, hissing gently when the fabric catches his aching cock, “Let’s test the springs on the bed.”

“Or, let’s test Benny’s hearing,” you grin as you shimmy out of your panties, tossing them over the side of the bed. 

“I hope he’s on the other side of the build- oh fuck that feels so good, cariño,” Frankie inhales with a hiss as you wrap your fingers around his cock.   

“I love how hard you get for me, Frankie,” you whisper, moving closer again so that you can put your mouth on his neck as he tilts his head back. 

He only whimpers in response, biting down on his plush bottom lip as you swipe across the head, the pad of your thumb sliding over the slit and gathering a fat drop of precum to slide down the length. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans in a low rough growl as your fist squeezes him, making him buck into your warm hand.

“Cállate, Francisco,” you tease him with a giggle, sliding up and gathering more of the slippery liquid, “How do you want me? From behind? On top? Or maybe like this?” You hook your leg over his hip again and run the tip of his length through your folds, breath catching as you graze over your clit, but it’s Frankie’s moan that’s loud this time, before he can catch himself it slips out. 

“Shit, he must’ve heard that,” he pants, grabbing hold of your hip, “LIke this, please, mi amor, I- fuck-” he groans as you guide him to your opening, his fingers digging in to your hip as the blunt head stretches you, pushing in. 

The angle makes it a tight fit and Frankie tugs your knee up higher on his hip, thrusting into you as you press your forehead to his, your fingers tangling in the damp curls at his neck. He feels impossibly big as he rocks his hips and drives deeper, low groans escaping him. His breath fans over your face and you see his soft pink lips, half open with every gasp, the tip of his tongue peaking out. He looks pained and exquisite at the same time and you lick into his open mouth, catching his tongue between your lips.

You can feel him moaning into you every sharp slap of his hips, at the back of your mind you know both Benny and Pope can definitely hear what’s going on, but at the front of your mind is only the mounting pleasure surging through your limbs. Frankie pulls away from your lips, his hand leaving your hair and grabbing hold of your shoulder as he buries his face against your neck. The fingers on your hips will leave bruises tomorrow but so will your grip on his back, you’re trying to meet each thrust with your own, the wiry curls at the base of his cock grinding against your clit every time he bottoms out, making your whimper into the top of his head. 

“I’m- I’m, fuck, close,” he grunts, still trying to keep his voice low, pressed against your neck, “pl-please, come- you first.” His teeth grazes over the spot just under your ear that he’s made his personal favorite, loving the way it makes you wet if he puts his mouth on it. When you’re this close to coming, the feeling of his teeth leaving a mark there, a sharp, pleasurable pain that makes you gasp, tips you over the edge. He plows into you, his cock burying itself deep inside, and he feels you clamp down around him, his hips stutter as you convulse, your nails digging into his shoulder as you keep a strangled cry pressed against his hair. His own release is only moments away, he pumps once, twice, before wrenching himself out and taking his cock in hand. He spills himself over your belly, your thighs, gritting his teeth and pulling your lips to his in a frantic kiss. Your breath is hot on his mouth, flowing into him as he breathes into you. His head is spinning, heart pounding and with a groan he forces himself to relax, the last of his orgasm ebbing away. 

You feel Frankie’s hand leave your shoulder and slip into your hair, his large hand cupping the back of your head as he holds you to his forehead. 

“That…” he breathes heavily over you, “was not quiet.” 

You suppress a giggle, your heart still racing, “We are gonna get so much shit for this tomorrow,” you whisper, “but it was worth it.” 

“Anytime, hermosa,” he chuckles, “Do you think you can go to sleep now?” 

“Yeah, a couple of more hours would be nice,” you roll over onto your other side and search for Frankie’s arm, pulling it over your waist as he cradles you from behind. 

“I love you, Frankie,” you mumble, pressing your lips to his hand, “you being here makes this whole shit show of a world worth it.” 

He nuzzles his nose into the back of your head, “I love you too, mi amor,” he whispers, “We’ll get to New York soon, and hopefully things will be ok, we’ll be safer.” 

You hum a low response, sleep already pulling you under.

It feels like no time has passed but it has been a couple of hours when Pope’s knocking wakes the two of you up. 

“Time to get up, sleepy heads,” he calls, “coffee is almost done.” 

“Thanks, Santi,” you mumble as Frankie growls into the back of your neck. Pushing yourself up you feel the dried remains of the early morning activity stretch your skin. 

“I need to wash off,” you murmur, “can you come with me?”

“Kiss me first,” he mumbles, trying to pull you down again, wrapping his arms around your waist as you sit on the edge of the bed. You bend down and put your hands around his cheeks, smushing his plush lips together before you kiss them. Frankie chuckles and pulls you closer, his hands slipping up along your back. 

“You’re always extra warm and soft in the mornings, even now,” he mumbles against your lips, “can we just stay here?” 

“Sure, if you want Benny walking in on your morning wood,” you smirk, letting your hand cup his half hard length under the covers. 

“I can’t wait for us to have our own apartment again,” Frankie sighs and you push yourself off him again. 

“Clean up time, my sweet, dirty man.” 

Getting clean while walking cross country was a bit of a challenge. You’d keep watch while all three guys shamelessly stripped down and scrubbed off in any lake or stream you happened to come by. You kept your back turned as much as possible but it soon dawned on you that neither Santi or Benny were bothered if you accidentally saw a butt or two, Santi even told you to check him out because; ‘I know my butt is better than Frankie’s so please enjoy some primo ass for a change, hermana.’ earning him a quick slap over the head by Frankie while you and Benny doubled over laughing.  

You’re not as comfortable about getting naked in front of the two of them so they walk away and Frankie stands guard while you clean up, taking the opportunity when you could. This cabin had a stream nearby and yesterday you’d all filled a few buckets and hauled them over to the porch. While Santi and Benny made breakfast, Frankie and you took turns washing off. The cold water woke up and by the time you got back in again, dressed in fairly clean clothes, you felt pretty good. 

“Morning,” Benny greets you both in the kitchen, “sleep well after your shift?” he asks, his attempt at an innocent look ruined by the grin that’s threatening to take over his face. 

“Thank you, Benjamin, very well,” you say pointedly, your eyes telling him to keep his mouth shut. Although you knew it was pretty much useless to try, he might give you a break but Frankie would hear it all the second you were out of earshot. 

“Coffee, cariño?” Frankie asks, holding up a mug, speaking over Benny who’s opened his mouth again to reply to you, smiling from ear to ear. 

“Thanks, I’d love some,” you say as Pope walks into the kitchen, carrying his and Benny’s backpacks. 

“You two were way too fucking loud this morning,” he growls, Santi’s morning temper isn’t great and today he seems to have woken up on the wrong side. Unfortunately Frankie and you were probably the reason behind that and you feel a bit guilty. 

“Sorry, Santi,” you say, handing him your coffee as a peace offering, which he accepts, still frowning, “we were trying to be quiet.” 

“Hermana, I love you, and I love Frankie, but please…” his frown melts into a pleading look, “I do not need to hear him make those noises.” 

You bite your lip to stop from grinning and Frankie shuffles behind you, “Lo siento, Pope,” he mumbles and as he passes you to grab the freeze dried rations, you see the deep flush of his neck. 

“It won’t happen again, Santi,” you say, your grin is definitely breaking through again but you can hear Benny snickering by the camping stove and his mirth is making it very difficult to suppress your own giggles. 

“Oh it will definitely happen again,” Santi says with an exasperated sigh, “Please just don’t do it with me sleeping next door.” 

“I thought it was great!” Benny chirps, “took me like ten minutes to figure out where the noise was coming from, I thought it was maybe bear mating season or something.” 

“Can we just drop it now?” Frankie moans with a pained look on his face, “I need breakfast, Benny, here’s the rations.” 

“Of course you need breakfast, Fishsticks, hard work making your girl come twice in like five minutes,” Benny slaps his shoulder with a chuckle and you feel the heat rising in your own cheeks this time. 

“Ok! I’m going outside now,” you say, ducking out of the front door, but not before catching a glimpse of Frankie’s beet red cheeks and what is definitely a bit of a proud smile. 

Shortly after you’d all left the Arlington QZ you’d decided to try to get to New York. The city had been hard hit on outbreak day and consequently bombed heavily in the following days. Most of the city’s inhabitants had been killed, either by cordyceps or the bombs. Only those fortunate enough to leave early enough to escape the gridlock on the bridges and in the tunnels survived, the rest were essentially trapped on the island as the infection spread and then killed as the army bombed as much as they could. According to Benny, Manhattan had been close to a wasteland, a no-go zone until FEDRA moved in a few months after the outbreak. They’d spent considerable resources and time clearing the city, erecting a wall and turning it into one of the largest QZ:s. Thanks to the layout of Manhattan, literally an island, it was fairly easy to contain. Bridges and tunnels had been destroyed to prevent infected from getting across the water and the wall had been erected on the northern border of Central Park, leaving most of Manhattan inside the QZ zone. Thanks to radio contact Benny knew that Central Park had been turned into farmland to contain the small QZ population and that they were taking in new inhabitants to help rebuild the city. 

At the back of your mind you also thought that maybe you all wanted to go to New York because any word you’d ever had about Will, was a rumor about a man that fitted his description during the early months of the outbreak. Outwardly Benny had been dismissive but Hannah had told you that he’d never given up hope that he would at least find out what had happened to his older brother. So when Benny suggested New York might be the best destination despite it being a very long journey, you’d all agreed. 

After breakfast was done and packed up you left the cabin behind, although a bit reluctantly. It felt safe, tucked away at the end of a long winding trail with no other houses nearby and plenty of game in the forest around you. It was tempting to rest here for a few weeks, gather supplies and prepare more dried meat while the summer fruits and berries came into season. But being out in the open, continuously vigilant, put a strain on you all and getting to New York felt like a priority, to get behind the relative safety of walls again. 

As usual, Frankie took the lead. All three men were able to navigate using the sun and natural markers, but to Frankie it seemed more like pure instinct than skill. He always knew where north was and could read the terrain to lead you all to water or high ground without even thinking about it, his sharp eyes always spotted danger or shelter first. So he took the lead, Benny or Pope behind him, and you, always in the third spot, protected from the front and the back. 

Today’s goal is to reach a low mountain top Frankie had spotted yesterday, the aim was to climb it to get a good lay of the land before he adjusted the course to continue heading north east up towards New York. It took you most of the morning to get to the mountain and climb it, you made camp for lunch just below the ridge, looking out in the direction you needed to go. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you saw something other than just woods and fields, in the distance you spotted houses, the early signs of what used to be civilization, and on the horizon, high rises. 

“Do you know what city that is, Frankie?” you ask him. You’re sitting on a flat rock, he’s sunk down on the dry grass below it, leaning against your legs while he chews the dried meat that Pope has handed out for lunch. 

“With a bit of luck, Philadelphia,” he replies, “but if we’re too far south, Washington.” He squints his eyes and tries to make out any landmark among the indistinct high rises in the distance. “I’ve tried to make sure we crossed Lebanon Valley but I didn’t see any signs to confirm it.” Frankie had led you all west of the Appalachian mountains for weeks, wanting to avoid the more populated areas to the east of the range. A week ago he’d finally decided that you were far north enough to turn east and cross the mountains, seemingly able to find trails that took you through the passes and avoided the high mountain tops as if he’d lived in Appalachia his whole life. 

“Once we get close to populated areas again we’re gonna have to be very careful,” Pope commented, looking over at Benny. “What do you know about the area?” 

“Hit hard during the outbreak,” Benny says, “I mean, it was one of most densely populated areas in the country, millions of potentially infected. But it was also bombed heavily, just like New York, so hopefully not that many infected, but on the other hand, it’s going to be a bitch to traverse.” 

You look back out over the landscape in front, nervously chewing on your lip, as you imagine the hordes of infected that stand between you and the New York City QZ. 

“You’ll draw blood, hermosa,” Frankie’s soft voice interrupts your dark thoughts as he gently tugs your bottom lip from between your teeth. “We’ll go slow, be careful, as always,” he says, taking your hand as you slip down onto the grass next to him and pull his arm around your shoulder. 

“I’m scared,” you whisper, low enough so that only Frankie can hear you. “I wish we could stay at the cabin.” 

“Me too, cariño, but you know it’s not safe enough in the long run,” he pulls you closer, leaning your head against his shoulder as he kisses the top of your head. “I’ll keep you safe, mi vida, I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

“Don’t let anything happen to you either,” you whisper, closing your eyes to the view in front of you and focusing on Frankie’s soft shirt and warm smell. 

That night you bed down in a derelict camper van you find crashed on the side of a small forest road a few miles from a town. It was the closest you’d been to any town in weeks and it made you all jumpy. Everyone slept in their clothes, boots on, and guns next to the bed, ready to get up in a split second. It was your turn for the final shift and Frankie got up when you did, despite your whispered protests, but he was stubborn. Together you stood outside the camper van door, leaning against the side of it, while the sky gradually lightened. The night had been quiet, it had been a long time since anything had disturbed a watch, but Pope had been nervous when he handed over to you. 

“I didn’t see anything but…I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right,” he said as you and Frankie stepped outside. It was his unease that made you stop telling Frankie to go back to bed, Pope was right, it felt like something was perpetually just out of sight. You stood silently side by side with Frankie, straining your eyes into the darkness, a forest on one side and the road heading east, over a small clearing in the distance. Everything around you was silent, a noticeable lack of any noise, even the soft rustling or low cracks you’d come to expect from unseen animals moving through the darkness. It made your hair stand on end and when Benny appeared at the door, announcing that it was time to get going, you were relieved.

Skipping coffee in favor of just chewing on beef jerky while you’re walking, you soon leave the camper van behind and it doesn’t take long before you get close to the small town and have to detour to skirt around it. The four of you had decided early on that any town you came across was avoided unless you absolutely needed to find supplies. So far you’d managed to avoid all towns, looting farm houses and cabins instead. You’d been lucky too, only twice had the houses you’d entered had infected in them, both times you’d heard them before they attacked, making it easier for the guys to take them down. 

So with the town to your right, you follow Frankie’s lead and skirt around it, staying hidden as much as possible. Everyone’s head is on a swivel, but Frankie’s more than usual. He’s looking up at the sky and over towards the horizon and when you’re in a small cluster of trees he stops. 

“We’re heading towards the river,” he says, pointing towards a highway bridge in the distance, “and that bridge will be our only way across.” 

“Not ideal,” Pope rubs his hand over his face, scratching at his beard, “We’ll be exposed and it’s impossible to see what we’re walking into with all the cars and trucks.” 

“But the option is the town, and that’s just as bad, right?” you ask and they all nod. 

“Yeah, the town is even worse,” Frankie says, looking towards the bridge again, “The problem is, I don’t know if there’s any other way for us to cross, I don’t think we can swim it with the gear, our backpacks won’t float.” 

“Any other bridge further upstream?” Benny asks but Frankie shrugs. 

“I don’t know, I saw this bridge from the mountain but we were too far away to make out any other.” 

“So the options are; town, which is a no go,” Pope holds up his index finger,” The bridge, better than the town but still risky,” he holds up a second finger. “Or walk upstream, hoping for a bridge or a boat,” he holds up a third finger. “I vote bridge, we don’t know how long we’ll have to walk to cross the river otherwise. Anything comes at us on the bridge, we’re equipped to handle it.” 

“I think I’m with Pope on this,” Benny says, looking at Frankie who nods. 

“Yeah, bridge. If we keep walking upstream we’re heading back into the mountains.” 

“Ok then,” Pope says, “let’s prep and get ready.” 

‘Prep’ you’ve learnt means to double check all guns and make sure they’re loaded, easily accessible and everyone is on high alert. It’s become standard procedure every morning and before each watch shift, but also when you’re walking into something that could potentially develop into a situation. It also means you take up your spot as third in line, Frankie in front of you, while Pope or Benny lead. 

It doesn’t take long to get to the bridge, using one of the highway ramps to get up to it. All conversation stops as you’re surrounded by stranded vehicles, moving as quietly as possible and staying low. The vehicles around you have all been looted, suitcases and bags lay open next to almost all cars, picked over by whoever else has covered this stretch of highway since the outbreak. Several vehicles have dead bodies in them, withered and decomposed, picked clean by animals and birds over the years, but you barely register them anymore. As long as they’re not sporting any cordyceps growths, they don’t bother you. 

The four of you reach the top of the bridge and start making your way down, the highway stretches out into the distance but a short way down you see the first off ramp. It’s blocked by a big eighteen wheeler truck standing sideways, but it looks like you can get past and Pope leads you towards it. 

The gunshot comes out of nowhere and makes you jump, it hits the asphalt a few feet in front of Pope who instantly drops and raises his rifle. The nearest cover is behind you, a row of cars some thirty feet behind Benny, but as he turns another shot rings out, landing in front of his feet and this time you see where it comes from. Three men are ducked behind the cars and as you all raise your guns, a voice calls out from behind.  “You’re surrounded, put down your guns!”

You look behind you as Frankie drags you against him, pulling you in between himself and Pope, you can feel your heart racing, and Frankie’s hand is digging into your wrist. Pope’s turned towards the voice and up on the eighteen wheeler you see rifles and the heads of three more people. Six guns are trained on you and there’s no cover. You glance at Frankie, he’s following Pope’s lead, and you all lower your guns and drop them on the ground, raising your hands over your heads. Frankie is pressed against you, Pope on your other side and you can feel the determination in both of them to turn this situation around. Glancing over at Benny you see him give Frankie a quick nod, his jaw clenched tight.

“Secure them!” the man on the truck calls down and the three men behind the cars come forward, their guns still aimed at the four of you. You feel Frankie shift his weight closer to you and turn his head slightly to Pope, there’s a quick nod between them. 

“Drop to the ground when we move,” he whispers to you and you nudge his foot with yours, letting him know you heard him. 

“Step away from the guns,” one of the men on the ground calls and you all obey, stepping closer to the three men. 

“Spread out and turn around, face the truck,” the same man says again and you reluctantly do as he says, the guys step into positions almost willingly, but they’re unarmed now and there are six guns aimed at you. You know they have a plan but you don’t see how they'll get all of you out of this unharmed, no matter how good they are. You bite your lip, panic is rising and you glance over at Frankie, he looks determined, staring straight forward, waiting for the man behind him to step forward and grab his arm. 

“Cariño,” he whispers, barely moving his lips, “drop, now.” 

It happens so fast you can’t really say how it happens. When the man reaches up to grab Frankie’s arm he swings around and you drop to the ground and from the corner of your eye you see Pope move too. A body drops to the ground next to you and a hand grabs the back of your jacket, yanking you backwards, cutting into your throat for a second. . 

“Don’t shoot!” someone yells and the hand at your back pulls you up to your feet again. Frankie’s got his arm around your waist, putting himself between you and Pope. You glance at Benny, he’s got one of the men in front of him, the man’s body like a shield between himself and the men on the truck. The man’s gun is now in Benny’s hand and pointed at his head. Pope’s got the second man in the same position and the third man, the one that reached for Frankie’s arm, lies dead on the ground, his head at a wrong angle. 

“Lower your guns and come down here!” Pope calls up to the men on the truck. “Or you know what will happen.” 

You feel Frankie push you backwards, keeping himself in front of you until you reach the cars and you crouch down. 

“Stay here,” he mumbles, before he rejoins Pope, aiming his rifle back at the men on the truck. They’re nervously looking at each other. 

“Get a move on,” Pope calls impatiently, “you’re outnumbered and seeing as you’re the ones who attacked us, I’m not feeling very charitable!”

The three men seem to shift, glancing at each other and Frankie loses patience. 

“Get a fucking move on,” he snarls at the men, “or one of your friends gets a knee capped.” The rifle in his hand shifts to the knee of the man Pope’s holding and the man whimpers. 

“Don’t, please don’t,” he begs. 

“Tell your friends to hurry up then,” Frankie’s rifle is pushed up against the soft cartilage of his knee. 

“Please, get the fuck down!” he yells, his voice cracking, and the men on the truck seem to come to a decision, laying down their guns and shifting towards the edge. 

You peek out from over the bonnet of the car as the men slide down to the asphalt of the highway. 

“Turn around, on your knees,” Pope orders and the three men reluctantly comply. Frankie turns back to you and motions for you to come forward. 

“Grab my rifle, aim at them while I tie them up,” he says and you nod, shouldering the heavy weapon. Grabbing the cable ties from the dead man on the ground he makes quick work of tying the men up, pushing them onto the ground once their arms are done and securing their ankles with cable ties too. He then does the same to the two men Pope and Benny are holding, until all five men are lined up on the asphalt. 

“Now what?” you ask as the four of you gather out of earshot from the men on the ground, “We just leave them here?”

 Frankie frowns, glancing over at Pope and Benny and then back at you. 

“We can’t,” Benny says, “if they break free or they have friends nearby who come find them, they’ll come after us.”

“We interrogate, get as much info as possible and then we eliminate,” Pope glances over at the five men, “and we bring one with us as insurance.” 

“And a guide,” Benny nods, “this was a planned ambush, they probably have a base nearby so they know this area, a guide would be good.” 

Pope nods but Frankie looks unhappy, you’ve been staring at him as the other two talk but now your eyes snap back at Pope. 

“‘Eliminate’?” your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline, “you mean ‘kill’?” 

Pope looks at you, as if he’s suddenly remembered you’re not trained the way they are. “I’m sorry, hermana, I know it’s cold but what options do we have?” 

“They were going to rob and kill us,” Benny says, “at least the three of us, you they probably would’ve kept alive and you know what that would’ve meant.” 

You look over at the five men trussed up on the ground, they’re quietly struggling against the sharp bite of the cable ties around their wrists. The sight of those white plastic straps shoot a jolt of panic through your limbs, you remember all too well how those same kind of cable ties bit into your wrist as the rancid blonde man groped you after the ambush on the way to Franklin. You know Benny is right, this would’ve been the same thing but maybe with a less fortunate ending. 

You grit your jaw and nod, looking over at Pope, “Ok, do it.” He nods back and looks over at Benny. 

“Let’s start with the leader, the guy who called the shots from the truck, we make him break the others will follow, I think.” 

Frankie reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a gentle tug, “C’mon, cariño, you don’t need to see this. We’ll check the other side of the truck while they get on with it.” 

Shaking your head, you don’t let him move you, “No, I want to see how you do it, I need to learn this too.” 

“You shouldn’t,” he pleads, squeezing your hand again, “please, cariño, c’mon.” 

“I should know how to handle dangerous people, how you get information from them too,” you reply, shaking your head as you pull back your hand from his, looking over at Pope and Benny, as if you’re asking them to step in and take your side. But they drop their gaze, Pope glances over at Benny, before retreating back towards the five men on the ground, leaving you and Frankie to stare each other down. Frankie’s jaw ticks as he grits his teeth, shaking his head at you. 

“I don’t want you learn this, this is the kinda stuff that fucked me up, this broke me,” he steps closer, looking down at you with an anguished look in his soft brown eyes. “Please, you’re the one thing that’s still truly good in my life, I want to keep you safe from this too.” His hand comes up and cups your cheek, he’s really pleading with you now and you feel your resolve crumbling. 

“We do what we have to do to survive, hermosa, and sometimes that means we’re ruthless,” his thumb is stroking over your cheek bone as he speaks, his voice soft and imploring, “but it takes a toll on us and we all pay that every day. I’ll do anything to avoid you having to go through the same thing. Please, let me protect you from this.” 

You glance over at Pope and Benny again, they’ve pulled the five men around and they’re now sitting with their backs against the wall of the highway, looking up at the two Delta Force soldiers towering over them. You can see the fear in their eyes already and you look back at Frankie. 

“Ok, Frankie,” you say and you see relief wash over him as you nod, “I trust you.” 

“Thank you,” he replies, dropping his hand to your waist and guiding you away from the men and towards the truck. There’s a gap big enough to pass through between it and the highway wall and Frankie goes through first, quickly covering the area with his gun. You step through after him and look down over the highway off ramp. There are vehicles all along it but the nearest one is a camper van with an open door and a backpack outside. Tapping Frankie on the shoulder, you point to it and he nods. Quietly advancing with his handgun raised, you’ve got yours out too, he listens for a minute before he quickly scans the inside. 

“It’s empty,” he says, waving you inside as grabs the backpack from the ground outside. “Six backpacks, six men, I think we found their camp,” he motions to the packs on the floor. “Or at least their temporary camp, we’ll see what Pope and Benny find out. C’mon, let’s see if there’s anything useful.

Just as you climb inside you hear a man shriek in pain from the other side of the truck and you wince, Frankie grabs your arm and pulls you inside, pulling the door closed. 

“Will they torture them for information?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level as you open the nearest backpack. 

“Not unless they have too,” Frankie mumbles, pulling out items. “They, we, always tried to scare them enough so that we didn’t actually have to do anything, but that doesn’t always work.” 

“Doesn’t seem to be working now,” you say, as another scream cuts through the badly insulated camper van walls. 

Frankie sits down on the couch next to the window and discards a rusty looking knife from the pack before he puts it down. 

“Will used to say that the effects of committing extreme violence on other human beings are biological and physiological, that it was the price we paid for being warriors.” 

You stop and look over at him, he’s rubbing his hand over his face, down over the scruffy beard, before he looks up at you again. “When I was on a mission I’d just be focused on finishing the mission. Alive. I did what I had to do and what I did didn't catch up with me until afterwards, when I was back home and safe.” He puts out his hand for you, “Come here, I need to talk to you about something.” He scoots in on the couch, making room for you next to him and he turns as you sit down, facing him. 

“When you fought Myers, I never got a chance to talk to you about that afterwards, what you did to him, how it made you feel.” 

You swallow and drop your gaze onto your hands, you know Frankie’s noticed a change in your behavior, especially your sleep pattern. You didn’t exactly have nightmares, but your mind would refuse to shut down, leaving you overly tired and stressed as you slept less and less. More than once you’d notice Frankie watching you during the day, a worried look on his face, but he’d never said anything, until now.  

“I play it on a loop, the fight,” you mumble, and Frankie’s hand finds yours, his thumb stroking soothing circles into the skin, “and Benny’s gun aimed at him, and then Pope, when he killed Cox. I keep seeing it when I try to sleep. And I can’t sleep if you’re not with me,” you admit, looking up at him again and Frankie nods. “I’ve noticed, you’re always awake when I come back from my watch,” he puts his arm around your waist and pulls you closer, tucking you in under his arm. 

“I know you’re right there, either just outside or standing just by our camp, but when I close my eyes,” you swallow, a lump has formed in your throat, “I keep seeing Myers and I keep thinking I’m there on my own, that none of you were there, and then I remember that you were there but then I can’t stop thinking about all the the ways you could’ve been killed or all the ways you could’ve been killed today or can be killed tomorrow and then-” your words are rushing out and Frankie can hear the panic rising in your voice, gently he puts his hands around your face, holding your gaze up to his as you blink back tears. 

“Breathe, just breathe, cariño,” he whispers, leaning your foreheads together so that you can see his warm, brown eyes staring into yours. He breathes in and you mimic his rhythm, without realizing your fists have grabbed onto his shirt, bunching up the fabric as you cling to him, but he holds you steady, his warm hands on your cheeks as he makes you follow his slow breathing. 

“Tonight I’m going to start teaching you some techniques Herb taught me,” he says when you’ve calmed down a bit. “I should’ve thought of it earlier, I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Frankie runs his thumbs under your eyes, drying the tears that spilled out and you lean into his touch. 

“I thought it would pass, that I just needed to get somewhere safe and I’d feel ok again,” you admit as he pulls you into his chest so that you can rest your cheek against his warm flannel shirt. 

“You spent all that time with me, the fucking king of PTSD, and you thought it would pass by itself?” he chuckles lightly above you and you smile. 

“Good thing I’ve got you then.” 

“Yeah, at least I can help you now, silver lining and all that,” you can hear him smile into your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s go through the rest of the bags before we have to leave.” 

You pick through the supplies in the camper van and as you leave, you see Ben coming through the gap by the truck, followed by the youngest looking of the five men that had ambushed you. Pope’s right behind him, pushing him through the gap. The man’s hands are tied behind his back and there’s a rope attached to the cable tie around his wrists. 

“This is Morrow,” Pope says, nodding at the man in front of him, “He claims he can guide us right to the New York QZ gates so we’re gonna see how far his word is good for.”

Morrow looks petrified, but otherwise unharmed, but there’s splashes of blood on his cheek and jacket. He throws a nervous glance back at Pope who motions for him to start walking. 

“Did you find anything useful?” Benny asks you as you fall in line behind Pope and Morrow. 

“A few bits and pieces, some food, some ammo,” Frankie replies, keeping an eye on the prisoner guide at the front. “Can we trust him to not lead us to more of his friends?” 

“Yeah, from what the others said, there was only them,” Benny nods, “They’re part of a smuggler gang in New York that came out here for a trade. The trade went bad, they were attacked but managed to kill them. The fire fight left them low on ammo and alerted FEDRA so they decided to try to gather resources and lay low outside the QZ for a while. They’ve been ambushing travelers for a week only so we got unlucky, or lucky, depending on how you see it.” 

“How do you know what they tell you is true?” you ask Benny, glancing back at him and you notice his eyes flicking to Frankie’s back before he clears his throat. 

“We separate them, and then ask one guy to tell us what they know and tell him that if the information he gives us doesn’t match the information the other guys gives us…” Benny trails off as if he’s considering his next words, “so, we- we tell him there will be consequences if the answers don’t match up.” 

“I’m guessing those consequences aren’t pleasant,” you ask, but it’s rhetorical, you already know, the screams you’d heard told you that. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Benny mumbles, catching the frown Frankie gives him over the shoulder. 

“Ok, silence now, please,” Pope calls softly from the front, as you reach the end of the highway off ramp, faced with an urban landscape that stretches to the horizon where you can just about make out a familiar skyline, New York City.

Chapter 26

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