#kind of did the rendering in one long haze...

[wuntrum]

ashy slashy!

[escapismbook]

ESCAPISM CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Chapter Sixteen | Older

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female)

→ AU/Genre(s): dark romance, smut, mature, mafia

→ Trope: professor-student, forbidden romance, sin-evil, passion, slow-burn.

→ Rating: this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.

→ Word count: 5.7k

→ Dedication: Reaches out to cup your cheek, "now be a good girl for me."

→ Author’s note: Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden.

This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.

→ Small note: when you see this font it means they are speaking Korean.

The early summer sun had not yet burned the haze from the hills of Yongin. A strange quiet hung over the land, thick with the scent of pine and freshly overturned soil. Outside the hotel’s wide glass façade, black sedans sat idle like well-dressed shadows. The estate tours were to begin shortly, as they did every few years—a tradition kept among Korea’s most powerful families. Men of old names, buried scandals, and the kind of wealth that did not glitter but whispered.

Inside the hotel’s marble-clad lobby, Min Yoongi stood near the paneled wall, white dress shirt with the first two buttons unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. The others beside him were mostly older, and some his age. The older ones bloated from wine and quiet power, others lean and sharp, with eyes that had seen both boardroom betrayals and blood spilled beneath moonlight. They spoke softly, if at all, the air around them laced with cigar smoke and the weight of legacy.

This was no ordinary gathering. Today, they would tour acres of lands and other buildings that were ready to be bought and sold under names that rarely made the news, but always held sway—secluded acres that would become the future of South Korea. And this year, it was Min Hyun who hosted the tour. And when Min Hyun hosted, no man declined.

Aalia stepped forward from the elevator with her father beside her—her presence a quiet defiance. The only woman. And worse, young. She had not been brought here to decorate the space, nor to listen from behind glass. Her father, Eunwoo Hong, had insisted she come. “Your eye is sharper than most of them combined,” he had told her a few days ago.

Aalia’s dress moved with her as she stepped out of the elevator like it had been born of the sea—threads of blue and silver stitched into blooms so delicate they might’ve withered if looked at too long. It clung to her as if the fabric knew what it was guarding—soft and dangerous, like mercy laced in poison. The hem caught the light like saltwater catching dawn, and when she walked, it was as though the air bent to her, stilled by something it could not name.

And the judgment came not with words, but with the way the men stiffened, how their mouths set just slightly too firm. They didn’t scoff. They simply looked—as if watching something out of place walk into a sacred chamber. This was measured disapproval that came from decades of tradition as if asking silently: Why bring a woman – a young woman  to a battlefield built for men?

And still, she walked. They slightly bowed, the barest acknowledgments, rendered less out of respect and more out of necessity. Only because she bore the name, Hong. Because her father stood beside her. 

Despite the disapproving looks and the cold atmosphere, Yoongi noticed how unbothered Aalia was, and he couldn't help but be impressed by her composure. He watched as she stand off to the side a step away from her father, her expression neutral as she wait for the moment to head out. 

"Is everybody ready?" Yoongi's father asked.

The men filed out through the wide glass doors in silence, their movements deliberate, their footsteps swallowed by the thick hush of morning. Drivers opened car doors in synchronized motion, their gloved hands expressionless. The gleaming black sedans were not merely vehicles—they were processions. 

Aalia followed her father without a word. The heels of her shoes struck the marble with quiet finality as they moved toward the waiting cars. Eunwoo Hong gestured for her to enter first before he followed, and the door closed behind them with an expensive thud. 

The journey was not long. Pine trees passed by like silent sentinels, their tall frames casting shadows onto the winding road that curved through private hillsides and centuries of history. The land here belonged to old names that did not announce themselves but were spoken behind doors that never opened for outsiders.

Then, as they crested a bend and the estate grounds came into view—endless acreage veiled in mist and sun. The convoy of vehicles spilled open like a procession. One by one, the men emerged, solemn and unhurried. The air smelled of wet soil, pine needles, and stone warmed faintly by the sun.

Eunwoo father finally turned to Aalia. “Observe everything,” he said quietly, as if instructing a soldier. She gave him a small nod and with that, her father joined the rest of the group.

She followed behind, just a few steps  away, as the group gathered toward the foot of the estate’s path. The stone steps ahead led toward ancestral lands—plots of green and gold that had never been touched by public hands. 

Aalia walked behind the group of men, her steps measured. The chatter of the men ahead drifted like distant static, lost in the rustle of wind brushing through pine branches. Yoongi fell into step beside her without a word. The distance he kept from the others was deliberate, as was his presence now at her side. She didn’t turn to look at him, but she felt the gravity of his attention.

“They’re old-minded,” his voice was low, as though confiding a secret. “And not used to having women at gatherings like this.” There was no mockery in his tone, only quiet disdain for the tradition itself. There was an undertone of protectiveness that settled into the air between them. “Don’t be intimidated by these men.” His gaze flicked toward her, soft and assessing.

She glanced at him, lips curling faintly in the corner. A small nod. The smallest smile. “D’you think they’ll be curious to know why you’re walking with me?” she whispered, her voice laced with quiet mischief. 

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, and the corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a small smile. “I’m just making you feel welcomed,” he feigned innocence.

“Mmm.” Aalia nodded slowly, her tone dripping with mock agreement. “Right. Of course. Friendly.”

“Exactly,” he replied, matching her playful colours. He glanced ahead and then back at her, lowering his voice further. “And it’s also an excuse to be close to you.”

She let out a soft laugh. Her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion as she looked at him, a single brow rising in a way that told him she saw straight through the game he played. But she didn’t call him out—she let him sit with it. The moment stretched, slow and sweet. He watched her like a man watching the sun tilt through stained glass. He was in awe. Truly. There was something sacred in the way she moved, the way she deflected tension with a look and a breath. And Yoongi—who had stood in rooms with men who ruled cities—felt himself crumble just a little more each time in her presence.

“But seriously, darling,” he murmured, and this time, the teasing fell away. “Don’t let these geezers get to you. You’re much smarter than all of them combined.”

Aalia’s lips curved gently at his words. Yoongi stilled. His breath caught faintly in his chest, and he could feel the warmth of that smile blooming beneath his skin like slow fire beneath ice. It didn’t matter how many rooms he’d walked into with killers and kings—this was what disarmed him. Her. Her smile, her serenity in defiance, the way she stood among the ancient, faceless men and held her ground with grace no one could teach. He would have lingered in that moment longer—anchored to the sacred stillness of it—if not for the sudden ripple in the air that shifted his attention.

Kang Lee.

He walked toward them as though the gravel itself parted for his steps, clad in a tailored suit. His expression was full of curated charm, the kind of expensive cologne. He stretched out his hand with the easy arrogance of a man who thought he belonged everywhere he entered. “Yoongi!” he greeted with the practiced affection of an old friend.

Yoongi’s expression did not falter, but something behind his eyes flickere. His jaw tensed for half a breath. God, or whoever is up there, give me patience, he thought, slipping a polite smile over his mouth like a mask tailored in hell. “Lee,” he replied, shaking the offered hand with a grip just tight enough.

Lee turned to Aalia then, and Yoongi could feel it before he saw it—the shift in Lee’s posture, the hunger tucked just beneath the civility. “Aalia,” he smiled, too smooth. “Unexpected to see you here.”

“I thought you were in Dubai?” 

“I was,” he nodded, lifting his shoulders with false modesty. “But I had to come early. The family business needed me here.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly because he finally saw it upclose. The way Lee looked at her. Really looked at her. Not as a man looks at a woman, but as one surveys a prize yet to be claimed. His gaze roamed her figure with indulgent entitlement, lingering on the curve of her waist, the slope of her collarbone—like he was trying to memorize what was not his.

And the blood in Min Yoongi’s veins went still. He forced his right hand into his pocket, fingers curling tight into his palm. The smooth material lining of his trousers could not mask the tension that rippled through his arm like a restrained storm. His breath slowed, but not from calm. No, it was the kind of control a man learned in temples—in rooms where violence was forbidden but never far. He did not move. He did not speak. But had the sky cracked open and swallowed Lee whole, Yoongi might’ve thanked God or whoever was up there for the favor.

Lee turned back to him then, as if nothing. “How have you been?” he asked, too familiar. Too comfortable. 

Yoongi offered him a nod, his tone level and low. “Busy. But fine.” He paused, then added with feigned politeness, “How was Dubai?”

Lee launched into a description of his trip, and Yoongi listened, or appeared to. But his mind wasn’t in Dubai. It was tethered to Aalia, who stood beside him, unaware of the war waged in silence for her honor. He stared at Lee’s mouth as it moved, not because he cared for the words, but because he was imagining what it would feel like to break his jaw.

A call rang out—“Lee!”—from across the gravel path. A group of men waved him over, and Lee’s eyes flicked to them, mildly reluctant, as if he’d hoped to linger longer with Aalia and Yoongi. With a final glance at Aalia, he excused himself and walked toward the others.

And the tour began. Aalia trailed behind the cluster of men, silent, eyes sharp. She noted how decisions were not spoken aloud but exchanged through quiet gestures—a narrowing of eyes, the flick of a pen, the shift of a shoulder. This was inheritance masquerading as business.Some bought, land tucked into valleys, glass buildings that touched the sky, whole districts that would be reborn under their family names. Others sold off pieces of old empires in exchange for leverage elsewhere. There were new partnerships drawn in silence, older ones buried with the turning of a page.

Eunwoo Hong walked with the quiet confidence of a man who understood power as stewardship, not display. He said little, only offering Aalia a glance now and then—not for approval, but in acknowledgement. He trusted her. Not like a daughter to be shielded, but like a soldier trained in his image. Where others brought their sons, he brought her. And she did not falter. She moved slow, eyes flicking over terrain and ledgers with a sharpness honed over years. She was not ornamental here. She was instrumental.

Yoongi watched from a distance, lingering near another group of executives who surveyed a parcel near the lakebed. But his attention never strayed far from her. Even when speaking, even when nodding to offers and inspecting paperwork, he kept her in his line of sight. He could see the tilt of her head when she listened. She had not spoken yet since the tour began. She wasn’t rushing to prove herself. 

Then, Yoongi shifted, trying to get a clearer view of her, but Lee kept getting in the way. And this time, he was standing too close for Yoongi’s liking. His frame blocked Yoongi’s line of sight, not entirely—but enough. Lee hovered near Aalia like a shadow convinced of its own importance. His arm would brush hers under the guise of crowded space, his gaze tracking her like a man making mental inventory of things he assumed would one day belong to him.

“You look ravishing today,” Lee murmured beside her, a touch too close. “Even the land seems to bow to you.”

Yoongi heard it. And for a second, the world narrowed to a single heartbeat—his own, pounding against restraint. 

A few momenents later he stilled as he watched them move further away. The air in his chest flattened, and he adjusted his stance ever so slightly. A turn of the shoulder. A lift of the chin. It gave him just enough visibility to catch Lee leaning in. The bastard's lips moved near Aalia’s ear, saying something he couldn’t hear—but he saw her go still.

Lee's voice were like a snake’s lull. “You know,” he murmured, “you should be kinder to me. I am to be your husband, Aalia.” There was no one to hear it, only the pines bore silent witness to the whisper.

But Yoongi saw the lean of his body. The curve of proximity that no business demanded. And that was enough. He clenched his jaw as his tongue pressed flat against the back of his teeth. Rage didn't rise—it descended. It settled in his chest like a lion in velvet chains, pacing. Right, whoever is up there, give me a reason not to bury this bastard where he stands, he thought. 

Aalia turned her head slowly toward Lee, and she smirked softly. But there was no sweetness in it. It was a gesture of disgust dressed as charm. Lee, oblivious, mistook it for something else. He saw her lips, not the meaning behind them. He believed himself desired. Chosen. He had no idea. He had no idea that she had already given herself to another. That she had been ruined in the arms of the man now watching them from afar. Lee, for all his entitlement, thought he would be her first. He didn’t know that he was already late to a war that had been won.

Yoongi stood in the distance, watching, his gaze resting not on Lee, but on Aalia. His Aalia. And his heart—fuck, his heart burned like envy. Not with fear. But with the ache of possession. With the need to tear down cities for her silence. With the desperation to be the only man who would ever know what she looked like when she fell apart.

They arrived at the final location just as the sun began to set behind the mountains. The convoy of black sedans came to a smooth halt along the gravel path, tires crunching softly beneath them. The air had thinned the higher they climbed, now crisp and faintly sweet with pine and river mist. Before them stretched a vast estate nestled into the hills like a secret kept safe by the mountain itself. A sweeping view opened in every direction, painted in dusk tones of violet and gold, where the earth rolled downward into valleys stitched with riverlight and a forest. It looked like something Heaven had forgotten to take back.

Yoongi’s father took a few steps forward, hands behind his back. “And lastly, this is our final stop,” he said. “And a very promising location—”

“Of course it is,” Aalia said softly under her breath, but the silence in that moment made her words carry farther than she intended. 

One by one, each man looked at her as if a porcelain doll had learned to speak. Their gazes were amused, some barely veiling disapproval. As if her voice disrupted the natural order, like speaking among them was something she hadn’t yet earned, and had no idea what she was talking about.

Yoongi felt a twitch of something he tried to contain. Pride bloomed in his chest like a secret only he was allowed to keep. 

Lee chuckled beside her, too loud, too theatrical. “How are you so sure?” he said with a grin, trying to lace it with humor. 

Aalia laughed. It was mockery. She patted his shoulder with a softness that bordered on dismissive. “Because it’s located in the mountains,” she said coolly. “The elevation gives a clear view of every direction. There’s a riverside, and a forest to the north. People would come here for getaways.” Her words were gentle. But they struck like a blade dipped in perfume.

The men stilled. Even the wind seemed to pause. Her father, standing just behind her, gave the faintest nod, his expression unreadable save for the pride that flickered, restrained but radiant, in his eyes. 

And Min Hyun turned turned to Yoongi with a small, knowing smirk curling at the corner of his lips. A glint of mischief shone in his otherwise unreadable expression, one he rarely wore unless something genuinely pleased him. He had always liked Aalia. She reminded him of his own wife in her youth—clever, poised, always underestimated. But more than that, he had once imagined her beside his son. He’d always believed a Min-Hong union would solidify everything.

“She’s right,” He chuckled, turning to Aalia with genuine amusement. “This makes it the perfect location for a resort or hotel. You have bright knowledge, Aalia.”

“I have my lecturer to thank for that,” Aalia replied, her eyes flickering only for a breath of a second to Yoongi.

The world kept moving, but for Yoongi, time slowed. That one brief glance. She was thanking him. And Hyun saw it and he smirked again, this time to himself.

The night had fallen over Yongin like velvet—black and thick, the air still warm despite the hour. After the estate tour concluded, they had gathered for a private dinner. Aalia had said little. Yoongi had said even less. And soon, they all retreated to the hotel.

Aalia had showered, washing off the day's dust and men’s gazes from her skin. She slipped into something softer than the blue dress from earlier to a pastle pink summer dress before she wandered to the bar out of restlessness, ordering herself a pomegranate juice over crushed ice. 

After a while she turned back toward the elevators and just as they were about to close, Yoongi stepped in. He took the wall opposite her, leaned back into it like a shadow. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and his jaw tightened at the sight of her. He didn’t look at her. No, he watched her. The kind of watching that made you forget how to breathe. His gaze traced every inch of her face, her collarbone, the small damp curl at the nape of her neck. But it wasn’t lust that consumed him now. There was a slow-burning concealed rage inside that made his posture too still and his silence too loud.

The image of Lee from earlier haunted him. How he leaned into her side like he belonged there. Yoongi’s jaw tensed again, the muscle there ticking once. Aalia let her head fall against the mirrored wall behind her and let out a short laugh. “Wow,” she sounded amused. “Someone is angry.”

He ignored her laughter entirely, his expression carved from restraint. But inside, he was seething. Not at her, but at the world she was caught in. At the way Lee spoke to what wasn’t his. At the way her father paraded her like an heirloom passed between bloodlines. The thought of her beside Lee, his voice in her ear made Yoongi feel something ancient and vile awaken in him. 

The elevator chimed. The doors opened. And Yoongi moved. He didn’t give her time to speak as his hand wrapped around her wrist with quiet possession. He led her down the quiet hallway of polished floors until he reached his door. He pulled his card out from his pocket and raised it to the scanner. He pulled her inside and shut the door behind them with a thud.

He walked them both into the living room, and then he finally let her go.

He stood there, his breath shallow and his eyes didn’t leave her. The soft glow of the lamp cast long shadows across his face, his figure framed like a painting in a cathedral. He didn’t speak right away. He simply looked at her. 

He needed to hear what Lee had said. He needed to know how far the bastard had dared to go. His voice, when it came, was deceptively calm. The kind that would have sent anyone running. “What did he say to you?”

The room stilled. Even the air grew reverent. He stood there in black slacks and a linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his hand still half-raised from when he let her go. His eyes didn’t waver, didn’t soften. There was desire in them, yes, but buried beneath it was something else. Anger, not born from pride—but possession. And underneath even that, something holy and dangerous. She was the altar he knelt to, and now someone else had dared to enter the temple.

“Yoongi-“

“Answer the question,” he cut her off.

Aalia held his gaze for a moment. There was no tremble in her breath, no hint of fear in her eyes—only a quiet, haunting steadiness. It was the calm of someone who had accepted a storm long before it arrived, who had already bled in silence, and now chose her words like someone wielding the sharpest blade. "That I should be kinder to him," she said. The words barely brushed the space between them, yet they sliced through Yoongi’s chest like glass. 

He stared at her, his jaw locked, his mind a battlefield of restraint and fury. He hadn’t expected her to say that—not because he didn’t trust her, but because the idea of her even entertaining gentleness for a man like Lee made something feral rise in him. His blood burned beneath the polished layers of his calm. No, it wasn’t jealousy. It was possession. It was protection. It was rage wrapped in silk.

How could she say that so calmly? Did she not see what Lee wanted from her? Yoongi wanted to laugh. Or maybe scream. But his silence was louder than bombs. He was trying not to let it show, but it clawed up his throat like fire laced with jealousy.

What has he done to deserve your kindness? What has he done to look at you like that?

"You don't need to be kind to him," he said. “You don’t need to be anything to him.

He narrowed his eyes, searching her face, confused by the stillness in her demeanor. “Why are you so calm?” he asked, the question more to himself than to her.

Her lips curled into a small, soft smile, so disarming and genuine it made the weight on his chest momentarily lift. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Trust me. Please.” 

Yoongi’s expression softened. He did trust her—more than anyone, more than himself. Trust wasn’t the reason for the bitterness that sat heavy on his tongue. No, it was Lee. The way that bastard drank in the sight of her like she was a purchess he was planning to make. It was the way that had looked at her—as if she was already his. Yoongi had seen it before. 

“I trust you,”  his voice was raw and low, like the hum of thunder before a storm. “I just... don’t like the way he looks at you.” His fists clenched slightly by his sides. 

Because Kang Lee wanted what was his.

Aalia tilted her head and smiled at him, real this time. The kind of smile that softened the corners of her mouth and brought the faintest crinkle beneath her eyes. The kind that made her look angel-like, lighter, like a girl who had chosen something just for herself. She understood what he meant.

“I want you,” she said softly. 

Everything in him paused. Time. Breath. Sound. It was the kind of moment that shifted the earth’s rhythm.

“Say it again,” It was not a command but a plea. There was reverence in his voice. Desperation beneath the stillness. He said it like a man who had waited too long for salvation and couldn’t believe he was hearing it from her lips.

“I want you,” she said again.

He reached for her slowly, tugging her face gently up to his. He did not kiss her. Not yet. His lips hovered above hers, close enough that her breath mingled with his, close enough to drive them both mad. A sly smile touched the corner of his mouth, not arrogant, just certain. He wanted her to kiss him. To take what was already hers. But if she didn’t, he’d do it himself. He’d burn the whole world down for her.

And then—she rose to her toes, graceful, and kissed him. And Yoongi didn’t just kiss her back. He wanted to devour her, like she was something sacred. His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers lost in her dark hair as he held her agasint him.

He stepped forward, backing her against the frame of the sofa as he tightened his grip in her hair. “Mmm,” she winced softly.

Her soft whines were like a prayer, and Yoongi wanted to sin. It brought a smirk to his lips, like he was tasting forbidden fruit and realizing he would damn himself for it. He kissed her again—deeper, more reverent. 

He couldn't hold back. Every breath she gave, every shiver beneath his hands, it ignited him like hell fire. His heart beat like a drum, wild and desperate and his restraint snapped. He needed her. He needed to worship her again like he did that first night. 

His hands slid to her wrists and he lifted them gently, guiding them to rest on his shoulders. Her fingers clung to him as if she knew he would not be gentle this time. Then, he reached down, hooking his hands beneath her thighs, and hoisted her up. She gasped and he sat her on the edge of the leather sofa and her legs wrapped around him.

She could feel him. "Mmph," her head fell back, and his lips found the delicate column of her throat. He could feel the pulse beneath her skin, beneath his mouth. Holy fuck, the way her body reacted to him. It was unbearable. He dragged his teeth gently over her neck, tasting her, and her fingers tighten on his shoulders.

He grinded his hips into hers, and a soft, helpless sound left her lips again, something between a whimper and a moan. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Not with the way she was trembling. 

Without breaking contact, he hooked his arms under her thighs again, her dress hiking up around her hips, and he carried her to the bed. 

The sight of her when he layed her down sprawled, breathless, dress askew—nearly brought him to his knees.

His fingers moved to the first button of his shirt, undoing them one by one, until the fabric parted down his chest, revealing his skin. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall, as she sat up. 

She was unafraid this time. There was something different in her now. Not bold, not wild, but certain. Her breath came steady and her gaze locked onto his. Her hands reached out – fast, almost desperate as they found the leather of his belt. She hadn't touched him like this before. The first time, her touch had been hesitant, like she was stepping into fire. But now she moved with intent. She knew where to tug, where to unfasten.

He let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest. He held her chin, tilting it upwards. "You’re so cute." He stood at the edge of the bed as she undid the button, then the zipper. When her hand grazed his skin, his stomach tensed, a quiet gasp catching in his throat. There was something in her touch that humbled him. 

His hand moved to the hem of her dress, and she didn’t flinch. His knuckles grazed the soft skin of her sides as he traced down. Her dress whispered beneath his fingers as he dragged it up her body, inch by inch, revealing her to him. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, anchoring there. He took his time—because heaven had always been most sacred when it was forbidden. 

He pushed her back onto the bed, and hovered above her. He interlocked their fingers as he held her hand down by her head and leaned in to kiss her. The kiss was deep and passionate, as if he was confessing all his sins. 

“Mmmgg!” She moaned against his mouth as he pushed into her.

He bit down on her lower lip. “I want to hear you, darling.”

Yoongo smiled as he watched her grip the sheets with her free hand. He leaned down, kissing her neck, his teeth grazing her skin gently as he reached down and wrapped her leg around his hip, sinking deeper into her. “Mmh, Yoongi,” she whispered tightly and breathlessy.

The way his name fell from her lips was his undoing. He grinded agaisnt her. “F–fuck…” she gasped, the word tumbling from her lips. Her voice shook as her head fell back against the pillows. Her fingers tangled in the sheets beneath her.

And Min Yoongi laughed out of adoration. His gaze roamed over her flushed face, the wet shimmer of her lips, the tremble of her thighs. She looked like something ruined by devotion—yet wholly divine.

He released her thigh, his palm trailing up her side with a tenderness that ached. His hand found her cheek, fingers curling softly as he guided her to face him. His thumb brushed over her skin like he was memorizing the shape of her, mapping something sacred. Even in this state, ruined and breathless, she looked untouched by anything but him. Her pupils were blown wide, eyes glossy with the sheen of worship and want. His hand held her face like she might vanish, like she was a relic stolen from the heavens. 

Then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed her. Hard. Consuming. His lips crushed against hers, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. Their breaths tangled, her free hand rose to clutch at his shoulder, and time seemed to fold in on itself.

When he pulled back, she was glowing from ruin. From what he’d done to her. From what she’d let him do. And he was stunned. Utterly, completely undone by how beautiful she was like this. Like Eve, moments before the fall. Like Persephone before Hades.

“Mine,” he whispered.

“Yours,” she breathed.

He pressed a kiss beneath her jaw, then down the hollow of her throat, as if following the path of some pirate treasure map inked into her skin. He smirked agasint as she arched into him. He pulled away, straightenning as he touched her. “Fuck!” she gasped loudly. 

He could feel her clench around him when he touched her. “Mmm, you’re so sensetive,” he chuckled. 

Aalia felt like her entire body was on fire. “Mmm Yoongi,” she bite down on her bottom lip as she looked up at him with a desperate and pleading expression. And Yoongi loved the way she looked right now. 

He leaned down, capturing her lips once again, but she couldn’t even kiss him back—not properly—not with the sounds breaking from her. Soft and uncontrollable moans spilled from her mouth into his, and it only made him kiss her harder, deeper, like he needed to swallow every gasp she gave. Her fingers clutched at his back. She was both pulling him closer and holding onto him. 

Yoongi’s hand slid away from where it had been torturing her, only to grip her hip. And then he thrust deeper into her, harder this time, his hips grinding into hers. The sharp cry she let out made his eyes darken. “Mine,” he said again, lower now, the syllable dragging across his tongue like a vow. 

“Yours,” the word left her lips as if she held a rosary and she was praying. “Yours,” she whispered again, but her voice was wrecked—soft and half-gasped. Her lips trembled even as she said it. There was no doubt in her expression. No hesitation. Just surrender and trust.

And his thrusts became rougher, grinding into her as if he wanted to carve himself into her skin. His hand tightened around her hand that was still pinned next to her head. Her moans were no longer soft. They were desperate. It was blasphemous. No one should be allowed to look this innocent and holy while being wrecked like this.

He pressed his forehead against hers, breath tangled between them. The golden crucifix around her neck had slipped to the side and over her shoulder. It was lost somewhere in her hair. A symbol of innocence cast aside.

Yoongi could feel her tighten around him. He leaned down to kiss her neck before his mouth moved to her ear “Come for me, baby,” he whispered, his tone a command wrapped in devotion. His hand moved to cup her face, thumb brushing the apple of her cheek, grounding her as she shattered.

She gasped—a soft, fragile sound as her back arched and her fingers clutched at his forearm. His grip on her hip tightened. And then—with one last thrust, he came inside her. He rested his forehead agasint hers as they both were trying to catch their breathes. He pulled of her, and layed on the side, before he pulled her close. He wrapped his arms around her as she curled up agaisnt him, and his chin rested on top of her head. 

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/64009903/chapters/164201557

[silverskye13]

"There you are, Demon."

Evil X's voice came from everywhere and nowhere, a deep, resonant sound with a mechanical edge. The Demon, standing in his Colosseum box overlooking the sand, startled. His long, dragon-like elytra wings, repaired after his skirmish with Helsknight, shuddered briefly. The Demon forced a smile and uncrossed his arms from behind his back, trying to hide the sting to his pride at being snuck up on. He turned away from the window, searching the empty room for the voice's source. The shadows moved, light bending, and Evil X stepped into sight like the slow render of a distant horizon; all haze and shape and then sudden definition.

"You're playing a dangerous game." The robotic sovereign and admin of hels tilted his head slightly in a look of amusement, the movement punctuated by the wur and click of half a dozen mechanical parts. "Aren't you?"

Evil X was unassuming, as far as evils went. He was shorter than his brother, Evil Beezuma, which made him shorter than the Demon. Where Evil Beezuma was long and thin and axe-sharp, Evil X was broad and solid and square. Human sized, human shaped, but in the uncanny way of one who has sculpted himself to be perfectly so, piece by piece, as though he had to carefully study humanity in all its forms to settle on something that would pass. On first glance, he seemed so terribly normal it was almost inconvenient -- an easily dismissible mundanity. On second glance, once you noticed the intentionality of his design, he implied power so profound, and actions so calculated, it bordered on the god-like.

∆ The Demon couldn't help but be envious, any more than a moth could help its desire for light and heat. ∆

The Demon bowed low, tail curling nimbly around his ankles, an attempt to appear humble. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Majesty?"

"Amusement," Evil X answered simply, ignoring the formality. He hummed tunelessly as he moved to join the Demon by the window. "Curiosity."

Evil X peered down at the sand far below them, the ruby light from his pixelated screen of a mask aligning itself into a bored expression. He braced his hands on the windowsill, the thick, knobbled joints deceptively dextrous as they curled around the edge. All the mechanical pieces that made up Evil X's robotic body were brutal in their display, unyielding and utilitarian. It was the kind of grim mechanics the Demon might expect to see in a factory; dark oil, black hinges and unyielding jaws. There was a heft to Evil X's movements that implied wrought iron and tempered steel, where Evil Beezuma was a creature of lighter metals -- aluminums and titaniums. Still heavy, but in comparison to the sovereign of hels, he was all bird bones.

∆ The Demon could imagine every hinge and servo in Evil X's powerful grip locking around someone's hand and crushing it with simple ease, the same way he might crush an eggshell in his fist. ∆

"You've upset my brother," Evil X said, not looking up at the Demon. There were fighters on the sand far below -- not a Colosseum Match, though the date for the next one was swiftly approaching. They were training, getting ready. The Demon had taken to watching, revelling in the performative struggles in the sand, knowing they were there because of him. "He thinks you've rigged the next match."

"I'm sorry he thinks so," the Demon said, his voice a cautious smile, obeisant. He needed to feel this conversation out, dance with the danger of it, to determine his odds. There was a thrill of fear and adrenaline in his chest, as intense as the pressure in the End. "I was merely trying to craft a compelling show."

"No you weren't," Evil X said flatly, his tone bored. "How many sponsors and show writers did you have to bribe to force the Champion into such a disadvantage?"

The Demon wisely kept his mouth shut, choosing instead to mirror Evil X's bored glare down at the sand. There was a flicker of red in the corner of the Demon's eye, the glimmer of reflected light on the glass as Evil X glanced in his direction.

"No, you would never stoop to bribery," Evil X hummed, as though agreeing with some unspoken statement. It made the Demon's skin crawl, a feeling like his thoughts were being plucked from his head. "Not when so many people owe you favors. Did you cash in terribly many? Seems a bit moot, given it should have only taken one."

The Demon snapped his gaze down to Evil X then, scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. He said with forced civility, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir."

"I've been downgraded to sir?" Evil X grinned, turning so his back was pressed against the glass, his arms crossed over his chest. "I liked Majesty better, I think."

The Demon smiled graciously -- and only in doing so realized he'd stopped smiling in the first place. He bowed stiffly, "My apologies, Majesty."

"Helsknight owes you a favor," Evil X said, smoothly ignoring both the bow and the title.

∆ A thorn of hurt pride stabbed itself deeper into the Demon's side. ∆

"Couldn't you have simply asked him to throw the match?" Evil X looked down as if to inspect his fingernails. He fidgeted with something on his wrist, tightening some gear with an audible click! "It would certainly be more direct than... whatever this mess is. I suppose you might be excited to show off just how much of hels is in the palm of your hand."

There was another audible click, and the mechanical hand snapped open. Firing redstone glimmered from seams in the plates of his arm, traveling up to the elbow in a series of popping noises. The Demon wrinkled his nose at the sudden biting smell of redstone. It took him a moment to realize Evil X expected an answer.

"The, ahm direct approach wouldn't work," the Demon said at length, crossing his arms behind his back again. "Helsknight isn't what I'm after."

"An example, then?"

"Not exactly."

"Cryptic."

"I feel its in my best interest."

Evil X opened and closed his hand, flexing joints that were suddenly much stiffer than they had been before... whatever he'd done. The fingers opened and closed in stiff, jerking motions -- something that reminded the Demon somewhat squeamishly of a vice. The image of crushing eggshells came back to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

"Oh relax, Demon. I'm not here to punish you," Evil X chuckled, a deep, resonant sound like the clatter of metal. "I'm simply admiring your work."

"My work?" The Demon asked cautiously.

"I used to love playing these games," Evil X sighed wistfully, turning again so he faced the glass. He straightened each individual digit on his hand, those harsh, snapping motions looking almost painful. "It's... Difficult showing people you mean business when death has so little sting."

Evil X rested a fingertip against the glass, as if he meant to scrub away some imperfection there. The glass wasn't completely clear -- it was very subtly tinted yellow, a color the Demon had chosen intentionally. He had always loved motifs of gold and glamor. It was one of the few things about his Hermit he allowed himself to keep.

"The Universe is cruel," Evil X monologued, his gaze focused on the point where his finger met the glass. "But eight, nine times out of ten, we still respawn as if it weren't. Hels is scarce, but not so scarce that losing something means it's impossible to replace. At least, not for people like you and Helsknight, who have wealth and power, and a healthy amount of fear ascribed to your names."

∆ The Demon found it interesting that Evil X didn't include himself in that statement -- did he not consider himself as someone with wealth, power and fear? Perhaps he did, and was simply aware he was far out of anyone else's league. ∆

"So then, how do you truly threaten someone, when the world is so forgiving?" Evil X asked the glass, gaze still intent on that point his finger rested against. "The direct approach has its merits -- death and maiming are always unpleasant. And even though the body returns whole, the mind takes time to recover."

Unease tiptoed along the Demon's spine. A noise made it to him, a quiet groan of stress, oddly sharp, something straining in its casing. The bite of redstone stung the Demon's nose again.

"Sir?"

"But you're clever. The direct approach is too straightforward and barbaric for people like you. So, you build a web."

The glass fractured, suddenly and without warning. Webbed lines spidered out from Evil X's fingertip, focused on the point of contact. It startled the Demon back a step, half-expecting Evil X's hand to crash the rest of the way through, but it didn't. The fracture stopped after the initial break, four odd nearly-concentric circles streaked by smaller perpendicular breaks, very much like a spider's web. Evil X laughed, quick and sharp, almost surprised.

"I got bored of the web making ages ago, and even if I hadn't, I promised my brother I wouldn't meddle in his business. But I do admire good craftsmanship when I see it." There was a click! somewhere in the mechanical pieces in Evil X's wrist as he pressed harder against the fracture he made. The glass broke further, more cracks spiraling out from the source; a larger web. "I was once quite good at it -- building them, and reading the lines. Care to let me guess at yours, Demon?"

He tilted his head in the Demon's direction, the red light from his eyes reflecting in a dozen different facets of cracked glass. The Demon clenched his fists at his sides, and it was an act of will not to take another wary step back.

"The knight is a sacrifice," Evil X hummed, another crack shooting out from his fingertip to spiral across the golden glass. "It's what they're made for, really. I don't play chess -- do you? I know the knight is a deceptively mobile piece, and a crowd favorite, for how pretty it is, but it's movements are complicated and, all bound up with invisible rules. It will never be the most important piece on the board, but it will content itself with being useful. I'm sure he'll be flattered when he figures out he's a means to an end. Knights like that kind of thing."

Another crack, this one spearing sharply to the far edge of the window pane. The whole window shuddered with its violence.

The Demon lurched forward, all previous attempts to appear calm and unbothered forgotten. He almost grabbed Evil X's shoulder to pull him away -- almost. The heat stopped him. Evil X's machinery, either by convention or design, radiated heat like a burning brand. The sudden fear that touching the metal would scald him drew his hand up short.

"Stop that," the Demon hissed, glaring up at the shattering window, so he wouldn't have to witness Evil X's smirk.

"Stop what? This?" Evil X chuckled, another long crack shattering out to touch the top of the window.

"Yes, that!"

"Why?"

"Because it's--"

"--yours?"

Evil X laughed again, and much to the Demon's relief, he removed his hand from the glass. Evil X bared his wrist, fiddling with whatever knob or screw he'd tightened earlier. One by one, the robotic fingers relaxed again, moving much more like a hand was expected to. Evil X clenched and unclenched his fist experimentally.

"The little thief that's found itself in Helsknight's shadow. That's what you're after," Evil X hummed. "I admit, I only know he exists because I know what my brother knows. I assume he stole something from you?"

"What's it to you?" The Demon growled, his wings ruffling uncomfortably.

"Like I said, I admire your craftsmanship." Evil X reached forward and flicked the broken window with a metal finger. The weakened glass shuddered, one jagged shard popping free of the network of webbed cracks. Evil X caught it deftly. "I got bored of this kind of cloak-and-dagger thing ages ago, but I do still understand the allure."

On the words "cloak-and-dagger", Evil X rolled the glass over his knuckles, the jagged shard flickering in the low light in a way that reminded the Demon of the flash of a drawn blade.

"If you're so... Bored by this nonsense," the Demon gestured to the broken glass, "then why--?"

"This isn't web-weaving," Evil X chuckled. "I prefer the direct approach."

The Demon narrowed his eyes. "Then, directly, tell me why you're here."

∆ He did not say "Your Majesty." He thought if he demeaned himself to Evil X again, he might tempt himself to violence, and Evil X was the sovereign of hels, and there were some fights the Demon knew he could not win. ∆

Evil X smirked. It was in the way the red lights of his eyes narrowed, and the way he dipped his head, amused.

"You have a blind spot, Demon," Evil X said. "This web you're weaving -- you've forgotten something very important."

Nervousness thrilled its way down the Demon's spine again.

"What am I missing?"

"Now, where would all the fun for me be, if I told you all the answers?"

The Demon snorted and crossed his arms. He considered, briefly, making himself look bigger. More intimidating. He didn't think it would work, but it would make him feel better at least. Less bullied.

"You are doing a lot of meddling in the Colosseum," Evil X said, tapping the glass again. The window shook, but no other jagged pieces fell free. One of the cracks widened threateningly. "Walking around like you own the place, leaving messes everywhere."

The Demon bared his teeth in his closest approximation of a smile, "I'm well aware the Colosseum isn't mine. It belongs to you, of course."

Evil X laughed, sharp and biting and scornful. "You're sorely mistaken, Demon. I wouldn't dream of calling the Colosseum mine."

"You're worried the knight will take offense to my meddling?" The Demon huffed. "By my reckoning, he's too busy with his own shortsightedness to bother--"

"Gods above and below," Evil X sighed. He leaned in close to the window, blazing the shattered lines in bloody hues. The Demon watched him warily, and then stepped forward to look down at the sand. Far, far below them, the fighters still trained. One in particular meandered among them, offering advice and correcting form.

"Beware, Demon, as you weave your web." Evil X hummed, his voice so low, so close to the glass, it nearly seemed to shake the shattered panes. "Some wasps eat spiders."

"Your brother?" The Demon said, trying to keep his skepticism from his voice.

"My brother," Evil X agreed, flickering that broken glass over his knuckles again in a flourish, "is quite protective of his Colosseum. And as I said, Demon, I have promised not to meddle in his affairs."

"Aren't you meddling now?"

"No, this is a warning, from someone who appreciates the craftsmanship in a well-spun web." Their gazes met, Evil X radiating heat and smoke like breath. "If he does something to you Demon, I won't intervene. He's the nice one -- but he still has Evil in his name, doesn't he?"

Evil X smiled. He reached out gently to pluck a small piece of glass from where it had fallen on the Demon's shoulder, so small it looked like glitter. The Demon had to force himself not to recoil from the touch, from the scald of hot metal so intense it had its own smell; flint and oil and redstone.

Evil X flicked the piece of glass away, the smooth mask of boredom slipping back over his mechanical features, "I'll be interested to see what you choose to do, in any case. Gods know it gets boring enough in hels. Too many rats, not enough races."

"Then change it," the Demon snapped, his pride and temper bristling in tandem. The implication that he was just one more game for a bored god stung.

∆ He was quite sure it was meant to sting. ∆

"No, I don't think I will." Evil X shrugged, sauntering towards the door that led from the Demon's box to the long hall beyond. "I'm quite content watching events unfold as they want."

He opened the door and grinned back at the Demon, "Once you get so good at these games, they stop being fun. Entertain me though, and I might make you my protege."

"I don't need your patronage," the Demon hissed.

"Sure you don't," Evil X chuckled. He flicked his hand, that shard of glass he'd taken flickering through the room like a knifepoint. It hit the cracked pane of glass, and with a shriek, it shattered. The Demon sprang back from the waterfall of sharpened points, watching the golden cascade tumble across the floor. One of the pieces cut him, but he only knew it by the itching trickle of blood that ran down his arm long minutes later.

"That was unnecessary," EB groused that evening, when Evil X descended the long stairs to his cell. "I don't need you sticking up for me. I don't want you sticking up for me."

"Sticking up for you?" Evil X laughed. "Darling baby brother, I don't stick up for anybody."

He ducked the swat EB aimed in his direction. EB didn't try to hit him again -- yet.

"I was just making sure I still leave an impression." Evil X grinned. "And I still got it. You can bill me for the glass, if you like."

"I will." EB snapped a hand forward, and Evil X let himself be caught. "Stop breaking my Colosseum, X." EB towered, and shoved, and Evil X felt the wall divot behind him from the strength of the push. "You can break everything else in hels, playing around, but this is--"

"Yes yes, it's yours," Evil X conceded, prying EB's hand off his chest. "Lighten up, you're supposed to be the nice one."

EB looked away from him, buzzing a long, unintelligible stream of noise.

"Language."

"You were meddling."

"If I were meddling, there would have been TNT involved." Evil X sobered just a bit. "And I wouldn't be telling you."

"He's impulsive, EX," EB sighed, running a hand down his face. "He's impulsive, and you threatened him."

"And I can't wait to see what he does," Evil X chuckled, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially. "Impulsive people make truly spectacular decisions when they're threatened."

"Not in my Colosseum!"

"And if he does?" Evil X grinned. "I can't wait to see what you do either." He rapped a knuckle against EB's chest, and chuckled at the resonance. "Live up to your name for once. You make me look soft."

He ducked another of EB's swats, cackling, and vanished. It took long minutes for the lights in the room to bleed away the red tinge that seemed to follow in Evil X's wake.

"I liked you better when you were busy with Hermitcraft," EB grumbled to the empty room. "You're a terror when you're bored."

[pleasantobsidian]

🪞 mirrorverse garashir smut ficlet [ft. Sub!Gul Garak, collars (iykyk), blow jobs + not quite dubcon but adjacent] - ao3 link (archive locked)

.

"Get down," Captain Bashir commanded, hazel eyes stormy. He crossed his arms, waiting, but not patient.

Gul Garak sank to his knees in perfect supplication. He should have felt ashamed, raged at the indignity of begging - he was a Gul, after all and Guls did not get on their knees for another man, especially not an enemy. Instead of anger, he felt a terrible thrill of desire, something he'd truly never admit to anyone else. It was Bashir's secret to keep, like so many others he bled willingly in the presence of this man.

The captain picked up a collar from the table, and examined it with his long fingers, then traced the links on the chain connected to it. "This will have to do," he said, almost disappointed, but when he turned to Garak his eyes were bright and full of hunger. He bent over to Garak's level, and Garak tried to bite the hands that reached for him, out of habit more than any real desire. As predicted, Bashir was ready; he moved almost too quickly (were all Terrans so agile?), fingers reaching for the scale on Garak's neck that would render him useless and pliant.

This was another secret, one Bashir had stolen early in their encounters much to Garak's secret delight. If he were a respectable man, the fearsome Gul he should have been, then he'd have killed Bashir for it. Instead, he'd come crawling back, again and again, desperate for the only hands that has ever made him feel good.

Garak almost came there, barely able to hold back as Bashir slipped the collar around his neck. It dug into the ridges, and he tried to shift against it, desperate for more. But Bashir didn't let him, grabbing the back of Garak's neck firmly.

"No," he said, and forced Garak to look him in the eye. Oh, if any of the other Guls could see him now. "You follow my direction."

"O-of course," Garak said breathlessly, his mind a haze of desire. He didn't care what happened next, only that he existed here in this moment to beg for release.

"Of course, Captain," Bashir corrected, and yanked at the chain. It made the collar dig into Garak's neck, just at the perfect angle to graze his kinat’hU. Another rush of pleasure pushed him closer to the edge.

"Yes, Captain," Garak replied. "Please."

It was impossible to keep the want out of his voice, desire overwhelming all sensibility (perhaps he was never sensible).

Bashir pulled down his pants, revealing the vulnerable flesh of his prUt. Garak couldn't help but stare, watching the appendage bob in the cool air. How vulgar Terrans were, to have such sensitive parts on display all the time, nothing to protect them. He couldn't look away from the vision before him.

Garak knew he should bite, lash out and attack while Bashir stood there, but instead he let the Terran tilt Garak's chin so he was forced to look Bashir in the eye while he slid the appendage into Garak's mouth.

He welcomed it greedily, swallowed down with the kind of practice that was unbecoming of a Gul (or any proper Cardassian). Bashir pushed his head forward, making Garak choke slightly. He hazarded a glance at Bashir, hoping the man noticed how well he handled the challenge.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?" Bashir said, not kindly, but there was an edge to his voice that betrayed he wasn't entirely unaffected.

Garak nodded, and focused his attention on captain's prUt. It tasted so unique and tantalising he was half convinced Bashir had laced it with some kind of addictive poison. Wouldn't that be appropriate? Dying, all because Bashir knew exactly how to slip past his defences. It should have angered him, but the thought only spurred him on, glad to die having tasted this strange and terrible (wonderful) enemy.

Learning the ways humans liked to be tasted had taken practise - the first time, he hadn't known what to do with something so soft and was forced to let Bashir guide him. Now, he barely had to be corralled or corrected, though sometimes he still let himself slip, if only to get Bashir's attention.

Garak glanced up at Bashir, whose eyes were closed and expression lax. The first time, he had tried to take advantage of Bashir in this state, tried to dig his claws in and nick an artery on the soft skin of Bashir's thigh, but the Terran was too quick, somehow finding a knife before Garak could sink his claw too deep. That had been the moment he'd known he couldn't walk away from the encounter, that he'd come back for more if it was ever available. 

Desperate for a repeat, Garak, pulled back, deliberate and slow, his lips almost breaking contact with the Terran prUt as he waited for the expression on Bashir's face to shift. Like clockwork, the Terran's face wrinkled unhappily, and he moved his fingers into Garak's hair, pulling hard.

"Deeper," Bashir ordered, and again pushed Garak's head forward. "Don't stop, not until I say."

He complied, ever obedient; unlike his victims in torture, Garak knew exactly when to submit before it was too late.

[thestarlitmidnight]

🌙A Court Beneath the Silent Nightsky🌙

Summary: Kaela, survivor of the massacre on one of the temples by Hybern. After being the sole survivor, she falls into silence, refusing to speak to anyone. She is lost in haze of overwhelming grief and depression, which rendered her unable to function properly anymore. She is send into the library in Velaris, the safe sanctuary for the survivors as her high priestess can no longer to bare the sight of her suffering in her temple. Kaela is accompanied by ever present Morrigan, who took it as her mission to break this brooding strike of hers. Since the first night spend at the library, she meets bewitching stranger with violet eyes that steals souls with mere look into them, who seems to be ever lasting presence ever since their first encounter, seeming as broken as she feels. Will they be able to be source of strength for each other? Will they overcome the endless dances with theirs demons and be finally happy? Fandom: ACOTAr Pairing: RhysandXFemOC Warnings: This story is dealing with themes of depression, PTSD and heavy subjects like those, please, if you are easily triggered, better to skip this one. Word Count: 13 013 Chapters: 7 Master List

Chapter One

I never believed that one day, I will be standing there. Empty and unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Once a fierce soul which never seemed to dim the light somehow burned out. No passion, no desire or need. 

I just existed, witnessing the time go by, day by day, month by month, year by year. Just a distant witness of the life lived by those who dared to experience it. 

Maybe if the time was right, maybe if the world would not be so cruel, maybe if the people would be kinder. Always some kind of maybe lingered in my mind. Maybe then I would be there with them, living the life that was meant to be lived by me. 

Yet there I was, sitting on the edge of a cliff, where our temple was located. The morning ceremony was over and till lunch I was supposed to be scrubbing the floors in the south part of the temple. The right word is supposed. There was no force strong enough in this world to force me back there.

The high priestess ment it well, I'm sure of it, after all she believed that trauma should be faced and not avoided. It's easier for her to say when it's not her facing it. 

Instead of doing my duty, I ran to hide in my favorite hiding place till the lunch ceremonies began. It was a rather shit place to hide, everyone knew about it and if any of the high priestesses would desire to confront me about neglecting my duties, they could simply cross the main clearing in front of the entrance gates and come to this cliff, where evening service was held during autumn. 

Starting far into the world, witnesses the day go and let the gloom eat my will to live away. So far it worked wonders, as the gloom scared even the worst of memories away. It worked way better than scrubbing the floors with mind bored to death so much that it welcomed the dark memories with open arms just to distract itself. 

"This can't go on Kaela," the voice of the high priestess who had my group under her wings echoed through the afternoon air, which was getting chillier.

I kept my silence, not even raising my eyes to look at her, there was no reason to do so. She will give me lectures about facing my fears, breaking them, showing them that I'm stronger than them. That what didn't kill me surely made me stronger. 

That statement was wrong in so many places. 

How I wish it did killed me. Spared me of living in the aftermath of all of that. Constant pain, fear and resignation. Living long enough to see the shell of the person I used to be. 

No, it might not kill me, but it made me weaker, not stronger. 

Hence the silence which became so familiar to me, that I didn't even remember how my own voice sounds. Since that cursed night, not a sound came out of me. 

"You are fading away my girl, I can't bear to simply watch as you let those barbaric monsters win in the end," her voice was coloured with concern, as anyone else who was cursed to watch over me. 

I would prefer to just be left alone to be lost freely. Let the pain and negative feelings consume me completely, sparing me in the end from this endless cycle of living as a survivor.

'What of it, if they win, it will be my win as well.' 

I thought bitterly and my fingers started to pick on the dead skin on my thumb. 

"Our High Lord is back and he prepared a safe place for girls like you," her voice was now way more careful, gentler than before, as if this fact could break me. 

What was left there to be broken?

I didn't look at her, nor acknowledged that I heard her. It was not my choice to be made after all. If she thought it was the right thing to do, then I will be sending there as it's her who has me in her care. 

The sting in my heart was even worse as I looked in front of me at the beautiful view in front of me that I will soon be robbed of. Even the last bits of normalcy will be taken away from me. 

"This is Morrigan, she will accompany you on your way there, you are leaving now," the high priestess suddenly sounded determined, stating her final command towards me. "It's for your own good my girl." 

As if. It's likely she grew sick of having my sulking presence bring gloom to her temple. My temple. Neglecting my duties and showing up only at the services and ceremonies. It was lasting way too long for her to tolerate, that's for sure. 

It was long even for me. 

"Hello there Kaela, I'm Morrigan," the unknown voice said from behind me, but I was unable to turn and look at her. 

The need to savor as much of my view as possible was keeping me way too busy. 

"We can depart as soon as you are ready," she added with a light, easy voice, forcing me to sigh. 

What's the point in waiting? What's the point in savoring the last bits of the view when it won't solve anything? It will be better to just keep going and have this over with, so I can get some time alone and keep my brooding game high enough to keep the demons on bait. 

I stood up, turning around to face the two females who were awkwardly standing there, looking at me. It should be me who is awkward, not them, but I was way too tired to even care to feel embarrassed by the lack of will to live. 

Morrigan was beautiful, dressed in crimson red pants and blouse, her golden blonde hair looking perfectly combed and well cared for. The aura around her was welcoming and warm. No danger coming from her at all. 

"We can go then?" She asked, extending her long, lean arm into the air, her nail painted by the same shade of red as her clothes. Probably her favorite color then? 

I just walked towards her, not accepting her hand, simply there was not enough strength in me to even lift my arm, and I stopped beside her, ready for her to swoosh me away. I'm sure she can winnow, because if she were to climb all those stairs to reach our temple, she wouldn't look this perfectly put together. 

Morrigan just smiled, not discouraged at all by my attitude and she took my hand with surprisingly gentle touch and with a swift swoosh, we left my temple, my home, my battlefield and my grave.

Chapter Two

[razieltwelve]

Technicality (Final Rose)

Lightning groaned as Fang shoved her back onto the bed. A fortnight apart due to missions had left neither of them in the mood to wait. Their lips met, and Lightning tasted blood. That was fine. There was a time for making love, and a time for fucking.

And right now, Lightning wanted to be fucked.

Fang pulled away, and Lightning reached up to drag her back into another kiss. The dark-haired woman put one hand on her chest and shoved her back, so she could grab Lightning shirt properly and pull.

The garment ripped with hardly a moment of resistance, and Lightning experienced a momentary flash of sanity. That shirt had been made of the finest combat fabrics available. It was stab-proof, projectile resistant, and largely impervious to any form of chemical attack. It was also Aura sensitive, which meant that channeling enough Aura through it would render it capable of withstanding heavy weaponry, up to and including artillery.

In other words, it was exorbitantly expensive.

Lightning couldn't bring herself to care. Who gave a shit about a shirt when Fang was looking at her like that? Besides, she could always use Saviour later to fix it. What was the point of having one of the most stupidly overpowered Semblances in the world if she couldn't indulge now and then?

Lightning's bra soon followed, and it wasn't long before the rest of her clothing was in tatters on the floor too. Fang had always had a penchant for destroying her clothing, not that Lightning minded. As easy-going as Fang could seem, she was every bit as possessive as Lightning was.

Eyes practically glowing, Fang used strips of Lightning's ruined clothing to tie her hands above her head. The makeshift bonds wouldn't do a damn thing if Lightning actually wanted to get free, but there was something incredibly alluring about putting herself at Fang's mercy even if her helplessness was completely illusory.

"Do you remember what we said to each other when we first met?" Fang growled. She was in constant motion now, touching and tasting with almost manic hunger.

Lightning's back arched, and she lifted her hips to give Fang better access. "You need to stop talking," she said. Her vision blurred for a moment as Fang settled between her thighs and found that perfect spot...

In the depths of her mind, Saviour asked her if she wanted to suppress all emotional and physical stimuli. Her Semblance wasn't serious. Saviour knew exactly what they were doing and how much Lightning had been looking forward to it, but her Semblance just couldn't resist the urge to troll her.

Lightning made a mental note to berate her Semblance later before shoving the thought away. No suppression of any kind. She wanted to feel everything. Her vision was already beginning to tunnel as two weeks of Fang-related withdrawal was swept aside in a haze of pleasure so heady it was a miracle she could think at all.

And then Fang did that, and Lightning came undone.

She might have cried out. No. She did cry out.

Thank Dust she and Fang had both had the foresight to layer the room in privacy measures.

It went on and on, and Lightning was vaguely aware of Fang's low rumble of amusement. Let Fang be amused. Lightning was having the time of her life. She rode out her climax with hardly a care in the world, even as Saviour noted, with no small measure of amusement, that the force she was exerting with her legs would have killed just about anyone who wasn't Fang.

Eventually, Lightning's body went limp.

She opened her eyes. When had she even closed them? And found herself staring up at the ceiling. A second later, familiar green eyes filled with mirth appeared above her.

"So..." Fang drawled, licking her lips. "How'd I do?"

"Idiot." Lightning gave her a half-hearted punch. "I give you a one."

"A one?" Fang snorted inelegantly.

"Yes, a one. Do that again, and I'll upgrade it to a two."

"Ah." Fang rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "So I have to screw your brains out another nine more times, huh?"

"At least." Lightning wiggled her arms, and Fang rolled her eyes before untying the tattered clothing. "Thank you."

"As if you couldn't break free yourself."

"That's not the point." Lightning sighed contentedly as Fang wrapped her arms around her. They weren't close to done, but some of the manic edge had been taken off their desire. "I'm your wife. You need to pamper me."

"I could say the same," Fang replied.

Lightning stretched, loving the way her body felt against Fang's. "About what you said earlier... if I recall correctly, you called me a frigid bitch when we first met."

Fang's eyes twinkled. "And you called me a stupid asshole."

"And here we are." Lightning's lips twitched. "Still think I'm frigid?"

"Well..." Fang grinned as Lightning bonked her over the head. "Still think I'm stupid?"

"Well..." Lightning laughed as Fang rolled on top of her.

"So..." Fang looked down at Lightning.

"So...?"

Fang smirked. "Ready to go again?"

X X X

Author's Notes

The Lightning-Fang betting pool that started shortly after Team LFSC formed resulted in one of the biggest payouts of Vanille's life. Nobody else thought it could happen, and neither did Vanilla. But she mis-clicked while placing another bet and decided to just leave it because she found the idea of Lightning and Fang getting together funny since they spent most of their time trying to murder each other. Lucky Fox once again came through for her.

If you're wondering where the kids are, Serah invited them next door, so they could play with Claire for a few days. Little sister with the clutch manoeuvre.

A few days.

Yeah.

[his-name-is-stewart]

6 | Familiar Stranger

Ghoul had not felt so… so vulnerable in such a long time. No. No, he hadn’t felt so vulnerable ever. He’d been scared before- many, many times. But he had never experienced a feeling of terror so complete and all-encompassing; like his psyche had been ripped from his brain and laid before him, the shadows in his mind surrounding him, suffocating him, and all he could do was curl up and close his eyes but even that couldn’t save him- 

He set down the cup of coffee before his shaking hands had the chance to spill it over the diner table in front of him. 

“Fuck…” 

To be honest, he wasn’t really certain how, exactly, he’d gotten himself to the diner in the first place. It didn’t matter.

Hours later, and he still couldn’t breathe. The effects of the chemical had worn off enough for him to see - kind of - but his mind was still ricocheting in and out of a state of nightmare.

He ran his fingers through his hair before resting his elbows on the table and hiding his face in his hands. As he did this, he realized with startling suddenness that he was crying. Hurriedly wiping the tears away left a smear of charcoal black makeup across his palms and he couldn’t really be bothered to worry about what the makeup remaining on his eyes looked like.

Looking down at his coffee, he realized that the tears were still falling, but decided as the third panic attack of the morning set in that it didn’t matter. How could it matter when his mind was dizzy spinning in circles around an incident that was entirely his fault, an incident that was just as stupid as he was and god wasn’t his existence just a scar upon the face of the earth of course they had been right all along oh gods they were right and he was going to die in a ditch somewhere and there would be no one to look for him and- and- 

The door of the diner chimed open, somewhere in the midst of his panicked, heavy thoughts, but that was nowhere near enough to stop or even slow them.

Ghoul managed a shaky breath at some point after that, crossing his arms in front of him and putting his face down on the table. The tears hadn’t stopped and he hadn’t tried to stop them. It was like every old wound had been reopened and it stung and it burned and gods, it hurt so bad and he was so, so scared again- more scared than he’d ever felt before, but in such a familiar way. And, fuck, it hurt.

***

The twenty-four hour diner was in Central Gotham, just down the street from their apartment. It was rendered pretty out of the way by its location on Gotham’s original ground level streets, far below the skyways that most people traveled on. Combine that with the fact that it was nearly three in the morning, and it made sense that there was virtually no one there.

Apart from themself, there was one employee and a single other customer, who had his head down, ignoring the mug of coffee on the table in front of him, and presumably everything else in the diner, too. 

“Seat yourself wherever you’re comfortable.” The waitress’ voice was monotone as she glanced up from her phone at the sound of the door chime.

As they glanced around the diner again, they took a bit more notice of the other customer there. With what he was wearing, he was almost certainly one of Gotham’s many eccentric criminals - although luckily, probably not a Joker. But it didn’t take them more than a few seconds to realize that he didn’t just have his head down. His body was shaking with sobs and they were pretty sure they could see some smudges of makeup on the back of his arm. They frowned, pushing down the bit of concern they were feeling. He was the kind of person that had made the shadows of Gotham so painful for them.

They elected to sit in a booth a decent distance from him but still close enough that they could keep a wary eye on him. They would have scolded themself for being rude if it wasn’t what every other person in Gotham would have done.

***

It was hard to see through the haze of panic that drifted in and out like a burning fog; it was hard to think. 

Earlier, he’d tried to take a sip of his coffee, but that had ended in him choking on it. It hadn’t felt like drops of hot coffee dripping down his face. All he could think of - all he could feel was his blood streaming over his cheeks, his lips - searing pain and the inability to close his mouth. No way to stop himself from screaming.

The fact that he hadn’t been kicked out of the diner might’ve meant that he didn’t actually scream at the feeling of the coffee he’d choked up - but honestly, it was just as likely, if not more so, that the waitress just didn’t care enough to kick him out when he was the only customer there. Just another Gotham weirdo, right? 

He’d probably screamed.

He glanced around in what he’d thought was a moment of clarity and realized that he was no longer alone in the diner. A short distance from him, someone sat in their own booth, watching him. They were almost trying to be subtle, but it was very apparent that the reason they kept glancing up from their food was to keep an eye on him.

They looked like… 

Clearly Ghoul had been wrong about it being a moment of clarity.

The person looked up, catching him staring. He scowled, glaring at them, and their eyes widened for just a second before they looked away, wincing as if they’d been shot.

***

They didn’t have any classes together that day, but he’d slipped a note in their locker, as was their usual method of communication.

“Meet me @ our spot after school. I’ve got smth to tell you,” he’d messily scribbled onto a scrap of paper very clearly torn from his English textbook. He didn’t bother signing it. 

The rest of his day was spent with his nails dug into his palms. They’d been helping him prepare to run away just as long as he’d been planning to, but his stomach was still in knots over how they’d react to the news. He’d been imagining what they’d say, the kind of expression they’d wear, but the negative outcomes tended to appear more prominently in his imagination than the positive ones.

It was fine. It was going to be fine. He should know by now that they’d have his back with whatever he chose to do- but… this was big. This was a big deal. 

He tried not to appear too nervous in his remaining classes.

“Hey, you! What’s going on?” They smiled at him as he sat down next to them on the ledge. 

It wasn’t really that late, but with how cloudy the Gotham sky was, it was already getting dark as the sun went down, the dark clouds stained pink and purple by the setting sun. They had a perfect view of the city’s silhouette from where they were sitting.

They’d helped him find this spot years ago, when they were still pretty young. The two of them had spent a couple late nights at their house, scouring maps of the city until they’d found the best place to hang out away from the eyes of his parents. That place happened to be the old bridge. 

It had been damaged many years ago by some villain or another’s attack- they’d blown up the middle of the bridge as part of a scheme that involved trapping people within the city limits. When it came time to clean up the damage, the city council decided that the bridge was old enough to just abandon it and build a new one, so there it sat. The side nearest to the heart of the city had been demolished some time ago so new docks could be built in its place, but the remaining half was completely ignored. Power to the area was cut off, so no cameras, and outside the city limits, so no people.

He couldn’t thank them enough for giving him a place to finally let his guard down.

They raised a brow at his lack of response. “Stewart? What’s up?”

Glancing over at them, he smiled nervously. “Right- uh. Sweets, I… I’m doin’ it.”

They blinked, staring as they took a second to process. When they did speak, though, their voice was nothing short of ecstatic. “Running away?? Really??” 

“Yeah!” He’d never felt as much relief as he did looking at the joy in their eyes, and now that the nerves were gone, he was finally feeling the excitement, too. “I got a contact with the Jokerz- I’m goin’ tonight to join, and I’ll have a place to stay!” 

They let out a laugh, grasping his hands. “Holy shit, finally! I’m so happy for you, Stew!”

He grinned at them. “So- uh. I’m probably not gonna be able to talk to ya for a few days while I get everything sorted out, ya know?”

“I get it.” They nodded. “You have a plan though, right?”

“What? Of course I do. You wound me, sweets.” He rolled his eyes, elbowing them. “I’m gonna try to call ya. In case that doesn’t work… just keep comin’ here. Every evening, at this time, and… and I’ll do the same as soon as I can.”

They nodded again. “Will do.”

He pulled them into a hug. “Thank you. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with-”

“Oh, shut up. You’re my friend, and I love you, and I have been more than happy to help you get out of that hellhole.” They took a deep breath, resting their head on his shoulder. “But promise me something, please?”

“Anything for you, sweets.” Stewart closed his eyes, resting his head on top of theirs.

“Be safe.”

[mealvaan]

Temper

To write is to invite incessant, constant noise — the kind of sound that gnaws at her ears and decomposes any sense of moderation within. The scratching of the quill would normally be negligible. Easily suffocated amid the ambience of an orchestrion roll, or simply offset by the thorough rhythm of her thoughts.

She had been gifted with verbosity. The power to pull paragraphs upon paragraphs from pen to paper as one would open a faucet and let it run — it was this breadth of potential that rendered her so conversationally terse in the first place.

On this sun, nothing comes to her, and so every word is precious. Each letter, etched into the paper as one would carve into a tree. Desperate for permanence, lacking in temperance. The article she’s written thus far is an aimless mess of dripping consciousness.

Of course she’s broiling within, teeth grit and knuckles white. Writer’s block is meant to be for airheaded people who write fictional stories, those on the verge of death whose skills have long expired, or the ignorant and uninspired. Writer’s block is not meant for her.

The quill could snap between her fingers. 

Instead — she finally realizes — it burns.

She hadn’t noticed it, but her implement had caught a murky flame. The lick of it struggles to squeeze through her fingers, but it is far from snuffed out. Nay, it courses up the delicate plumage of its spine. Its enkindling hardly illuminates — rather, it casts a deep shadow on all that it gazes upon, conquering the territory of a nearby lantern. 

She drops the quill to the floor. Her entire body stiffens. Her lungs stop in their paces. Her throat is on strike. Her horror allows for the flame to stalk further prey. The gloom corrodes the carpet, rendering gilded hems to dull, yellowed thread, fraying at each opportunity and plucking apart. At first, it gets to know its new surrounds. Then, it terrorizes them with wild abandon—

“No!” she cries, watching the flame crawl up the desk. She knows not what will deter it, so she saves what she can, and with great haste. She successfully rescues her journals and papers from her work station before the entire thing is consumed. Her back is to the corner now, darting about the room in an attempt to figure what will stop the growing haze.

She grabs the hilt of her greatsword.

Calm down, sweetheart. 

“You want me to be calm?!”

Gods damn it. What, you’re too fuckin’ spoiled to handle when somethin’ goes even a lick of a bit wrong? All this over some — ‘writer’s block’? Thal’s balls, Signe—

“Do you want me to be calm, or not? Decide, you fool!”

Okay. Just calm down.

“How?”

Breathe in. 

She sucks in the air. 

Breathe in deeply, for fuck’s sake.

“I am trying!” She lets her air go rapidly and attempts a shaky, rickety uphill climb of a deep inhale.

Good. Hold it.

“Wh—”

I said hold it! 

She holds it. It feels like forever. She could suffocate in the smoke of her own darkness, with all of Brand’s help. 

There. See. Not too hard. Now I want you to breathe out—

She fully sighs, heaving her shoulders.

No, slowly. Moderate it. Y’know when your tea’s too hot, and you don’t want to spill it but you’re impatient as ever so you want to drink it now. Do it like that, Signe.

“Why?”

You want me to fuckin’ explain it now? Sure, let it grab the bed while we’re at it!

With great irritation, Signe attempts the advice. The breath comes out spluttered at first, threatening a whistle against her tightly pursed lips. She knows it isn’t right, and she won’t let Brand correct her when she’s already got it. And so she closes her eyes, imagining the cup of chamomile tea in front of her, steaming from the surface. She holds the imaginary beverage to her lips, and blows…

“There.”

Keep doing it. You need to calm down.

“It is going to—”

If you calm down, it will stop.

“I did not do this!”

You did this. And it’s fine, okay? It fuckin’ happens. But we need you calm or you’re gonna regret it more than you’d like.

Fine, she decides to herself. Fine. She’ll indulge in this whimsical teatime charade for Brand’s sake, as he’s the only one she can rely on. It would take bells for Mynatrach to get here, and she wouldn’t dare to explain this to the apartment proprietor. At least, not without a rehearsed story.

It starts as a conscious mechanism, deliberate and harsh and off-putting, as she knows this isn’t how she naturally breathes. It develops into something soft and cyclical. While initiating a new breath is deliberate, the motions thereafter feel familiar and automatic. Eventually, the tension in her body is gone, and her head stops pounding — when had it started?

She opens her eyes to find the darkness snuffed out. Serpentine slivers of smoke rise from the carnage, but that is all which remains. 

No, it’s the wreckage pushes her into the wall from sheer shock. The polished tabletop of her desk is a slab of rotted wood. The intricately patterned carpet is a frayed shred of wool and threads, a whole burned into its centre. The quill is a shriveled stick upon the floor — not like a spent match, but rather the image of an ancient, needle-thin bone.

You’re gonna need new furniture, sweetheart.

“I need to live somewhere else.”

[mediclzen]

Once upon a time, Nehan all he knew was survival. Connections were transactional, his mind, his eyes, his knowledge; all were worth in exchange of a service and no person was of trust to hold on their end of the bargain. Friendships had fineprints, leadership had its sacrifices. To paint his path towards a revenge was Nehan’s very essence once Seofon had planted the seeds a long time ago, where he finally, finally could bring himself salvation, a taste of what enduring for so long, ever since a child stolen by the very mafia he was the head of finally could have that glimmer of hope, justice, anything.

Once upon a time, he learned kindness, in the form of a lone draph that saw him like a parent. This bond sincere, filling a void he had long since forgotten.

Once upon a time, Nehan betrayed the only one that mattered, in a gamble to set him free, to let that boy have a ticket to the skies and a family that he deserved and not the sorry excuse of a man that he is, even when Mugen many times had said his wish to see it along the Erune.

Seox…. Xing. The one that once was the monster in his dreams, dark bloodstained eyes that glow like scarlet moons with dripping claws, the wobbly and shy man that would fold at the smallest glare he’d shot the other once he had awoken of that long and dark abyss his own mind had made his deathbed to only to rise back from near death… and once more forced to exist as a person, unable to peel off those bonds that wanted to be in his life no matter how much he tried.

Once upon a time, he did not believe himself worthy of anything but something worse than loneliness or even death, anything…. but life denies him that. Burns him with people that love too much and render his past definitions of family as something unconditional, a wish to just be there with the man, to talk or simply enjoy his presence when he had nothing, in his eye, to offer. That there was nothing to give back if he wanted to, that he just could rely on other without forcing himself to give something back. It melted each thick wall, each thorny icicle, pruned delicately each spike that had grown in his heart… Even in the present curt and logical. The captain often denied their nonsense that they reserved to anyone their life has connected with and spared not even the most serious person from their folly; to also Xing’s extended presence, to persistence, stubbornness.

Nehan was already in the way to the arms of sleep, slowly letting that haze get at him but attention still clear as water. There’s genuine surprise, lips parted after that peck that the other had placed as a little ask for lips to meet - but still taken back. For once surprised at the other’s words.

“ … “

Once upon a time, a lone boy in a clamorous hamlet full of life wondered, wished, to a small rare clover of four leaves… would he ever be that loved? Like those kids? That his own parents could be proud and enjoy him? The way his own sister often worried deeply for him despise his shortcomings?

The wish is right before his eye, the good one and the covered one. His breath for once stolen, for once the one at loss of words.

Does Xing even know what he’s saying? Probably yes, when sleep and exhaustion weights on anyone, sometimes this also tore off anyone’s filter of their heart, it was true with Nehan at his worst, and terribly true with the sixth of the eternals who would Speak without twisting his tongue at the dead of the night and only the warm lamp light caressing their features.

“ That sounds… Something for a long time from now on. “ It’s most of what he can let out, his own gaze lowering for a beat before licking his lips, dull flutter in his chest warming his entire being in a way he’s unused to, too close, an almost impossible wish… but has Xing always proven the impossible to be possible? How many near death experiences would he have before it finally isn’t a wish but something he can easily accept?

“ It could be… shall one day the shackles that binds me here finally be taken, and your own ones no need to fight for peace. “ Nehan adds, shaky in breath, quiet like a shy, whisper. For once… looking thousand years younger, more like his actual age, a young, lost adult that just now has begun to actually know what he wants in life. “ If such thing were to happen, then… I’d like to- “

“ I’d… Love to see the world, what you’ve seen. Where you’ve traveled… No pauses in between, just us. “ And Mugen, if the gentle Draph ever wanted to. It always will have him too, because he’d never let that boy alone, not anymore. Not when he’s been given so many opportunities even if at first unwilling to see it as such.

It seals once the uncertain Erune pushes himself forth, needing the kiss both to calm his soul and ravaged body, gather himself, let the closeness bring back his pieces the way the other always offer to put them back again and again, thing fingers ghosting behind the other’s nape, pushing in so lips meet deeply in a slow, wondering but also seeking dance. Answers to his plight, reassurances that he truly, truly means this. And appease this thin fear at the bottom of his soul that knows it wont happen until a long time pass. Will he persevere then? to wait this much for a soul that’s bound for decades or even his lifetime? Will they both ever be free from their respective contracts? All is poured in that kiss, dulled fangs scrapping ever so gently while chests press against one another.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍were it any other time, Seox may have felt flustered at the comment about Feower's judgements. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍yes... those familiar stares. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍where the younger Eternal stares through them, clearly wanting them to get a room and stay there.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍he catches those stares, sometimes. often, he tries to duck out of them, or to direct them to a more private place. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍he and Feower may be on even grounds now, but while the latter may be more docile, the temperament of a small, angry dog still hides behind that calm smile of his.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍he digresses. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍mostly... because he feels Nehan move into a position that brings his voice closer to his ears, and the sound alone could melt him. ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍... but then come the words, which brings something to consider.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍not a way to defend himself. no... that bridge has long been crossed, and it was no longer needed when they shared their beds and what nights they were allowed sleeping side by side within them.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍maybe at an earlier time, he would apologize for all of the trouble it was. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍now, he is shameless. he cannot apologize for anything that has led to the way the other wolf's forehead presses against his own now.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍his mistakes... his follies... the embarrassments he's made of himself, and the proof that he can be more than what their clan made him to be in contrast... ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍the only things he could apologize for, the only things he could regret, were the sins that destroyed all that once was and the trail of tragedies that followed until their meeting.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍the mistakes, the amends made, the fumbling... he'd not take it back. even if he looked like quite a fool for some good months.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍... ah, what an ironic twist to this story. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍how much more ironic it gets day by day.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍shut eyes reopen, and there's a quiet humor he finds between the words brewing just behind his lips and that aforementioned irony — ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍however, there is little to stop him now.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍especially when Nehan is so close to him. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍a distance where Seox would give him anything he wanted if he just asked.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍a hand lifts up, cradling the back of his neck as his body demands for him to lean in for just one kiss — and of course, the weak man that Seox is, he gives in to it. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍a prolonged peck to his cheek sates the need.

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ `` One day... ``

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍the murmurs come as he rests his weary head again;

‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ `` I'd like to wake to a day... ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍When you are the first thing I see when I wake, and ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍the last thing I see before I sleep. ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍Specifically... I'd like to wake to a day where the pauses ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍between when I can have those very things ceases. ``

‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍his eyes shut again. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍... maybe he's more tired than he initially thought. ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍such a shame.

‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍ `` A life beside you, without pauses. `` ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍‍‍

[sonickedtrowel]

last 10 fics

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

Tagged by @goldheartedchaoticdisaster, thank you!  And I’m just gonna let you know right now that I take a notoriously liberal interpretation of “first lines” because I can’t live without context.  Lines, paragraphs... who are we to say, really, what is a line? 

1. the sun isn't only sinking fast, every night knows how long it's supposed to last

Mendorax Dellora

(human colony)

Christmas Day

5343

Having a person erased from your memory, it turned out, was extremely unpleasant.  The Doctor’s head was a mess, even by his own generous standards, and every miserable effect was closely chased by the more-miserable thought that he deserved it, for having done it before.  For Donna.  For having been ready, still, to do it again.

2. though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run

“I've been sending out a message.  A distress call.  Outside the bubble of our time, the universe is still turning, and I've sent a message everywhere.  To the future and the past, the beginning and the end of everything.  ‘The Doctor is dying.  Please, please help.’”

For just a moment, his eyebrows lifted and the corner of his mouth turned up.  It was a shame, really, that she couldn’t enjoy him being impressed with her.  A second later his eyes screwed shut as he seemed to physically shake himself out of it.  

3. can’t help pollen in love

“Artemisia?” the Doctor read aloud, flicking through the very pink, glossy leaflet River had presented him with.  “Why do I know that name?”

“I can’t imagine you’ve been,” River replied as she circled the console and fired up the controls.  “Of course, if I’m wrong, I’ll need details.”

“Gentileschi!” he cried, snapping his fingers in revelation.  “Brilliant painter.  I should introduce you, you’d definitely get on.”

“Delightful as that sounds, I think you’d prefer we make this trip without the extra company.  Of course, if I’m wrong…”

4. I don’t wanna run, just overwhelm me

Looking back, it was hard for the Doctor to say exactly when he’d stopped running.  The grief and resentment he’d been nursing since their first meeting had given way, little by little, to a terrifying thrill in the pit of his stomach.  It was that magnetic pull; the undeniable certainty that he was colliding with his future each time he crossed paths with River Song.  

Adrenaline spiked through his veins at the first syllable from her lips, her warm voice so smugly suggestive he suspected she wasn’t buying his feigned ignorance one bit.  She was utterly infuriating.  Infuriating, and brilliant and mad and funny and brave and kind, and she knew everything he’d ever been and had seen everything he would become.  

5. there is a love I reminisce

Being called upon by UNIT to clear up some extra-temporal alien mess or another wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for River.  Jack wasn’t always easy to get in touch with, and the Doctor, for all his many wonderful qualities, was not what anyone would call reliable.  And while UNIT did (in an extremely top-secret capacity of which no one, including their own tactical assets, was meant to be any the wiser) possess means of time travel, River was fairly certain she’d “accidentally” left their vortex manipulator knackered enough after the last time she’d borrowed it as to have rendered it basically useless.  To them, anyway.  She could always fix it up if she needed a spare.

So when the odd request from Kate arrived, if it really sounded like something they couldn’t handle on their own, she usually popped by to lend a helping hand (or staser, or what-have-you.)  This time, the message simply read:

Come and fetch your husband.

6. someday you’ll call my name

“I’m sure I’ve got an umbrella somewhere,” the Doctor called over his shoulder as he opened the TARDIS door.  In contrast to the blinding sunlight of the beach, the dim console room was a haze of greenish obscurity.

“I’m sure you have,” Liv shouted after him, “just don’t get lost looking for it!”

“I don’t get lost in my own TARDIS!” he shot back, just as the door swung shut, leaving him in darkness.  “I… get distracted.”

He navigated past the console mostly by memory, making a mental note to add sunglasses to the requisition list as he went, and only briefly snagged his foot on a rug.  He’d steadied himself against the opening of the corridor and was just beginning to regain some of his vision when the ringing of the telephone cut through the quiet control room.

7. then hold my memory

The plan had been dancing lessons; that’s all.  A swanky party with some of Hollywood’s lesser elite, where she’d cast a long shadow in the room, but wouldn’t chance running into any of Rita’s closer acquaintances.  She’d charm him into a dance or two— it was only the rumba.  What would be the harm?  But she couldn’t risk anything more with the psychic wimple in place.  If he saw through it, what then?  There was something about the thought of wiping this one’s memories that made her hearts twist in her chest.  He’d had enough of that already without her help.

But then they’d staggered away from the dance floor, giddy and grinning, and he placed a gentle hand on her back as he fell into step beside her.  His blue eyes were bright when she stole a glance his way and found him already watching her.  The breathless delight on his face was just too much to resist.

Oh, to hell with it.

8. the Furies my one abandoned WIP, so I like to forget this exists!! ugh!! the shame!!!!

The Doctor let out a heavy breath, slumping back against the outer wall of Clara’s block.  His coat snagged on the concrete, the gritty surface digging painfully into his fingertips as he mindlessly reached for some tactile distraction.  Clara was safe in her flat, with a pile of biscuits and a cup of tea that would surely be cold when she woke waiting on her bedside table.  It was, quite literally, the very least he could do for the girl who’d just rescued him by leaping into his timestream and scattering echoes of herself across infinity.  She deserved better, but for now, she’d be fine in the morning.

He dragged a shaking hand across his face as another wave of grief crashed over him without warning, crushing the air from his lungs.  He’d struggled for so long to get above water, but then he saw her, he spoke to her, he held her and kissed her and told her goodbye and now he was drowning, drowning, drowning.

9. a first time for everything kids we’re travelling dangerously far back in time now I fear we’re entering the suburbs of cringetown

The Doctor scowled down at the console.  He’d dropped Amy and Rory back to their wedding night, promising them no further attempts at a honeymoon outing.  Honestly, he didn’t know what they were making such a fuss about.  He’d been in loads of spaceship crashes; even died in one.  Ships that didn’t hit the ground didn’t even rate on the list.

Well, so much for having company to distract him.  The party was still going, though!  Back here on the night of the 26th of June, when the universe was brand new again… He could just pop back in right after they’d left.  Right after…

“No, but was that yes, or yes?”

“Yes.”

10. The Second Date

River’s senses prickled the moment she turned the key in the lock.  Her very first day moving in, and already they’d sent someone after her?  She didn’t exactly know to expect them; the memories were all a blur, really.  But she’d been trained to kill the Doctor, and, well, she had done, but rather more briefly than she supposed her former keepers had intended.  She was certain they’d be coming round at some point to rectify the situation.

Good.  She’d get a good look at them, finally, and they’d get the last look of their lives.

In one fluid motion, she threw open the door, dropped the little box of her belongings to the floor and levelled her gun into the room.

“River!” the Doctor cheered.  She froze.

PHEW not even gonna guess how much broken formatting or links made it in there but I did my best.  Tagging!!!! @xhellnhighheelsx @regalpotato @mnemosyne-musing @artemisery (YES YOU!!!) @diaryofriversong @mygalfriday (I know you haven’t been around Pam but WE MISS YOU!) and literally if you’re reading this and you write fic i am tagging you i just cant remember more usernames i have pneumonia. lol i’m gonna go lie down for 800 years.  or for one standard earth night until the crack of 7am, as it happens in reality.

[ack3rlady]

At Last

Summary: A Cosmic Reunion. Life was never kind to them. It was only fair that the afterlife would be.

Characters: Erwin Smith x Reader, Featuring all AoT Vets.

CW: Mentions of blood, injuries and death, Afterlife/Heaven in a nonreligious way, All fluff after the first ~650 words

WC: ~3.9k

Song Rec: At Last by Etta Jones

A/N: This is one of my entries for the AoT Veteran's Day event and also how I hope our precious Vets finally got to live after their duties were fulfilled. :') Main Masterlist | Event Masterlist

“Open your eyes! Don’t you die on me!”

Your eyes opened in narrow slivers; the light too bright to take in. The taste of metal was strong on your tongue. Breathing was strenuous, the pain in your torso unbearable. You wanted to scream, but your throat wouldn’t heed. Whatever little vision you had, was clouding, darkness beginning to take over. But that voice, the one that was hopelessly screaming in your ears, begging you to stay alive, to continue fighting on; You could recognize that voice anywhere, for you had spent many years serving by his side. One of your closest friends, your most trusted confidante, the only one who still lived.

Warmth rapidly left your body with every drop of blood that escaped it, seeping into the ground that was already muddled with a mucky shade of red. How did you get here? The memory was a haze. One moment you were about to slash through the nape of one of those abhorrent creatures, and then caught in between the gruesome teeth of another in the next. You were sure that you were about to meet the same end as many of your comrades until an audible rip of flesh sounded and you descended to the ground, your fall broken by the captain.

“It's time, Levi.”, you breathed, feeling his fingers brush some of your bloody, matted hair away from your forehead. “You’ve been a wonderful friend. I hope you live to see the end of this.”

“No. NO! I can save you! Just hold on a little longer. Please!”, he yelled, trying to convince himself more than you.

Levi knew that only a miracle could get you out of this and he frantically wished for one. Your gaze was beginning to grow unfocussed, ears ringing with the cries of the man pressing his hands against your abdomen to stop the life from escaping you. He was struggling. How he wished Hange was still here. They would have known what to do. No amount of gauze or pressure could stop the steady flow of crimson oozing out of your skin, until your dainty fingers held his forearm in a timid clasp. His neck darted from your wound to your face. It looked oddly calm; your eyes were pinned on a particular spot in the sky, other hand outstretched towards it.

“Erwin?”, you choked.

Your breeze of a voice rendered him motionless. Levi followed your gaze up into the infinity, starting to unriddle everything. Just for a moment, a portion of the thick ceiling of smoke had cleared up. Beams of sunshine shone through to reveal a shade of blue that was all too familiar. This wasn’t how he imagined his wish for a miracle being granted, but he was grateful. He looked back down at you, the agony that was crippling your expressions just seconds before was fading away and was now enveloped in a warm blanket of serenity. A faint smile was beginning to grow on your bloodied, chapped lips.

Erwin.

You were about to finally go home. About to reunite with the one you loved for as long as Levi could remember, the one you missed dearly for every second of the last four years. Levi watched your lashes flutter, looking into your irises one last time before they would close to this world forever.

“Rest now.” he said, listening to the last few huffs of your breath flickering like a flame about to extinguish. “I'll fight on for you and all of them. Make sure you tell them that.”

He lay your limp body on the ground before ripping the Wings of Freedom off your uniform. A reminder of another comrade lost, another reason to strive for justice. Turning around, he spared one last glance for his last remaining friend who also was snatched from him before discharging his ODM wires and zooming away. He didn’t have to worry about you anymore, for he knew that you were in safe hands. You peacefully slept under the cool shade of a lone tree, clutching a bunch of daisies to your chest, an embodiment of tranquil amidst the havoc.

Your eyes flittered open, the bright rays of sun immediately causing you to narrow them into thin slits. The pitch darkness from just moments ago had now been replaced by blinding brilliance. You struggled to breathe, wheezing as though you were underwater for a long time before arriving to the surface. Blinking wildly, you attempted to orient yourself with your new surroundings. The sky that was grey with smoke mere moments ago was now a clear blue, lightly littered with tufts of wooly white clouds. The air was devoid of the stench of smoke and rotting flesh, ears not ringing with the cacophony of painful screams anymore.

What was going on? You ran your hands over your abdomen. The searing pain from your injuries had vanished and the skin was unbroken. You held them in front of your face, the sight making your jaw slack with bewilderment at what you saw. The blood, dirt and wounds were all gone, as if they never existed; deep, gaping gashes had turned into faint scars like distant memoirs of the agony endured. The grass tickled the sides of your face as you watched the leaves of the tree above you rustling with the gentle zephyr.

A blurred silhouette entered your vision, its hand reaching out to caress your head. You blinked again, hoping that the broken lines would finally come together. But to no avail. Terrified, you tried to flinch away, only to be pacified by a soft “Shhh... It’s okay. It's just me.”

That voice. The one that you had heard numerous times before.

The haze began to clear and the features of the man before you slowly became more distinct. Sapphire eyes were what struck you first, then the honey hair, the prominent nose, and how his broad shoulders blocked the bright beams of the sun from falling on your face. And finally, you caught sight of his smile, the one that you had been yearning to see since the past four years. Fear transformed into joy when you outstretched a trembling hand to brush over his face, a touch that he eagerly leaned into. He was real, not a figment of your imagination that had disappointed you many a time in the past.

“Erwin?”, you breathed, tears already beginning pool in your eyes.

“Hello again, gorgeous.”, he smiled. “I was hoping you wouldn’t visit me this soon. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Am I - ?“, ‘dead?’, The brief joy on your face transformed into a look of dither, your voice dying in your throat before you could utter the last word.

Erwin didn’t need your words to comprehend what went on in your mind. He never did. He had always been the man who listened to your silence, pushed away the fears and apprehensions, brought you peace and balance amidst a world of upheaval, and ‘completed your sentences’ as Hange liked to say.

He nodded quietly, a melancholy draping over his smile as he wiped the precious pearls flowing from your eyes and down your temples. “But you’re with me now. You’re safe.”, he said.

Sitting up, you pulled him into an embrace, weeping into the crook of his neck as he cooed into your ears. The flood of feelings in your heart was uncontrollably gushing out, even harder when you felt his arm wrap around your body, a hold you never thought you would get to be in again. The feeling was so familiar, yet alien. Fear, shock, surprise, joy – a multitude of feelings swirled in your stomach like a storm.

But Erwin had always been your rock. Your oasis in a boundless desert. The one whose smile assured you that everything was going to be alright, whose calm and unwavering voice gave you courage during the most impossible situations. He was the sprawling tree without whose shade you had to live ever since he didn’t return home from Shiganshina with you. Every second ever since had felt as though you had been banished to stand under the relentlessly scalding sun with nowhere to hide, until this very moment.

He now held you again as you wept, his embrace like a stream of cold water pouring over your parched heart. You nuzzled your face deeper into him, drawing in the scent of tea-tree that always reminded you of him.

“Come. Let's meet the others.”, he stood up and reached his hand down for you to take. “It's a short walk from here.”

Erwin led you through a lush green meadow, flourishing with dancing sunflowers, fluffy dandelions and vibrant wild flowers. A herd of horses galloped freely amidst the grasslands, their occasional whinnies filling the silence as you admired your surroundings. A thick forest, bursting with life outlined the horizon with many flocks of birds flying over it. At a distance, down by the base of a hill, you spotted a cluster of houses. A steady plume of smoke rose out of their chimneys. You figured that’s where you were heading.

You walked along a stream with your hand wrapped around his, stopping to admire a particularly scenic view every so often. The sounds of burbling water, chirping birds, rustling leaves, all drifted through the air like a soothing melody. Coming to a halt by a particularly arresting sight of a small herd of deer leisurely drinking out of the stream, you couldn’t help but wonder about this world without walls, without war and bloodshed, without titans; where you could wander freely without fear.

Erwin strolled over from the back and enveloped your waist in a snug clasp, resting his chin on your shoulder. He burrowed his nose into your hair and deeply inhaled the sweet scent. You turned your neck to get a better look at his face. Was this real? It couldn’t be. But after how unforgiving your lives had been, this had to be paradise.

“Erwin, is this heaven?”, you asked out of the blue, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you both.

“It is now.”, he whispered, placing a soft peck on your lips.

He kissed the apples of your cheeks that were now burning from the blush, earning him a nudge in the ribs. He always knew what to say to make your heart soar. You turned in his hold, teary eyes perusing his handsome features. His eyes were a brighter hue of blue than you ever remembered, much resembling the ocean you first saw four years ago. The lines under them and in between his brows had disappeared, making him seem calm and rested. You cupped his face and brushed a thumb over his lips, still finding it unbelievable that this man truly stood before you again.

“I’m terrified that this is yet another dream and I’m going to wake up without you again.”, you breathed, the tremble in your voice undisguised.

He wiped away the tear that had begun its descent down your cheek, moving closer to press his lips against yours, soft and warm, like petals of a blooming flower. His hand roamed your hair, nails raking gentle patterns on your scalp as you held on to his shoulders with everything you had. Tongues waltzed, noses collided, and chests pressed together. Two hearts that were torn apart, one rendered lifeless and another left shattered by the cruel inflictions of an unfair life, beat together again in perfect harmony. Erwin finally broke away and chuckled at the dazed expression on your face.

“This is as real as it can get, my love.”, he smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Our duties are done. We can finally start our new lives together.”

You walked hand in hand for a few more minutes, pleasantly chatting away, until the small settlement that you had noticed earlier didn’t seem distant anymore. The landscape burst into life as you made your way through the cobbled street that had many houses lined on either side. Your eyes widened when you began to recognize the faces of the people that inhabited them, starting with Ness who walked with his beloved Charrette on the side and tossed a wave in your direction. Up on the balcony were Marlene, Klauss and Dirk leisurely enjoying a drink, who eagerly greeted you.

Every single person you saw was someone you once knew and lost. Back at the headquarters, you hoped and prayed that they finally had the happiness and serenity that they deserved as you cried yourself to sleep every night. You wanted to somehow tell the ones you left behind that their prayers had been heard, wishes fulfilled. That everyone who had endured that pain and suffering was now finally in a happy place, living the life they deserved.

A few homes later, your attention was caught by the sound of a very familiar laughter. Your gaze landed upon the front porch of a house, three men sitting underneath the golden light of a lantern, engrossed in hearty conversations and a lively game of cards. Two of their bald heads shone brightly against the luminosity and you instantly recognized who they were. As if on cue, one of them turned around, his bushy mustache curving with his smile, leading the other two to spot you as well. Dot Pixys, Keith Shadis, and Darius Zackley raised their glasses in your direction.

“And another one joins us.”, Pixys toasted. “Care for a game, you two?”

“Some other time, Dot. The others are waiting for us to join them for dinner. ”, Erwin shrugged.

Waving them a goodbye, you crossed a few quaint lanes, working up your appetites for the exciting dinner ahead. Well, more than the dinner, you were elated to be seeing your friends who you had known and loved since your training days before losing them all within a span of months. Erwin gently tugged on your shoulder, a silent gesture to turn the corner of a lane similar to the many you had crossed.

The path was lined with tall, aged trees forming a canopy over your heads. Birds were back in their nests, chirping away as they settled down for the day. Erwin pointed to the first home, and revealed that it belonged to Miche and Nanaba. Hange and Moblit lived together in the second ever since they joined him recently. A piece of empty land sat in between theirs and the next house.

“We saved this spot for Levi, once it's time for him to join us.”, Erwin chimed upon noticing your brows furrowed with question.

“Right in between you and Hange? That isn't exactly going to be heaven for him.”, you quipped, churning a hearty laugh out of him.

“And finally, welcome home, my love!”, he beamed, coming to a halt in front of a delightful abode, the last one at the end of the street.

A meandering trail of gravel amidst a front yard full of plants blossoming with colorful flowers lead to a charming house made of stone. Vibrant bunches of Bougainville cascaded down the walls from the flower beds under the window sill. The setting sun cast glorious shadows on its façade, painting it in a warm tone of orange. Faint, yellow light emanated from the windows that were lined with sheer curtains and vague silhouettes of people moving inside came into view.

“It’s exactly how we dreamed it would be.”, you breathed, wiping the tear that escaped your gleaming eyes.

You reminisced the nights spent in bed with Erwin, daring to fantasize about a life after titans. You’d marry and retreat into a quiet life in the countryside, away from the stress and responsibilities, surrounded by nothing but family, friends and tranquility. You remembered how these quiet discussions ended with the sentence, “In our next life.”

“We finally get to live that life together now.”, he put his arm around you, placing a lingering kiss on your temple and resting his head over yours. “The one we always dreamed of.”

You turned in his embrace, holding him tight and nuzzling your head into his chest as your eyes roamed every feature of the abode you would now call your own.

“Sweetheart, as much as I’m savoring this, we must go inside soon. They’ve been waiting for a while and you know how Miche gets when he’s hungry.”, Erwin cooed in your ears and left another peck on your crown, making you giggle.

Lacing your fingers with his, you made your way from the side of the house towards the backyard. Faint sounds of chatter travelled to your ears, and the reflection of a bright yellow light danced on ground as you turned the corner. The laughter and conversations died down then the four people sitting around a fire pit turned in your direction. Your eyes instantly pooling with tears of joy upon seeing them again, something you only experienced in the best of your dreams.

“Finally!”, Miche bellowed as Hange began sprinting your way.

“Couldn’t bear to live without me, could you?”, they shrieked as they launched themself at you.

Erwin was quick to move aside and steadied your toppling figures from falling to the ground. Hange wrapped both their arms around you, knocking the wind out of your lungs, and rattled you like a ragdoll. You held them back equally tight, seeing the other three approaching you from over their shoulder.

“How could I?”, you happily sobbed. “Now, if you would please let me greet the ones I haven’t seen in forever?”

You wiggled in their embrace, a cue for them to loosen their vice grip. Once free from their hug, you were instantly enveloped in another one; Nanaba’s this time. You had heard about her gruesome end from those who returned from Utgard castle and couldn’t help but begin to weep into her shoulder. She peeled you off herself and wiped the tears away.

“Hey! There's no crying here, okay?”, she smiled, pulling you close again.

You gaze met Moblit’s who stood smiling at you from behind Nanaba. His face still held the same kindness, the same innocence that you remembered. Even with his shy personality that some often wrongly perceived as timidity, you were one of the very few people who knew the real him, valiant and selfless. You swiftly moved to wrap him in a warm hug. He was the one you needed to give your special thanks to.

“It's good to see you again, Moblit.”, you began. “Thanks for everything you did. It's because of you that I got to live four more years with that idiot.”

“I’d do it all over again if I had to.”, he whispered, lovingly gazing at Hange as they horsed around with Nanaba and Erwin.

“Yeah. Yeah! Go ahead and acknowledge everyone but me.”, Miche poked his nose in between the two of you, pulling your attention towards him. “And here I was thinking that I was your best friend!”

All these years had passed and he still remained unchanged, dramatically rolling his olive eyes as you strolled towards him. But it didn’t take long for the masquerade to shed when you stood before him with outstretched arms and a puppy-face. He scooped you off the ground right the next instant and spun you around, earning shrieks from you and laughter from the others.

“Gosh! I missed you so much, you beefy giant!”, you tightened your grip around him.

“I missed you too.", he grinned, ruffling your hair.

The six of you proceeded towards the picnic table that sat beside the fire pit. Your eyes went wide, mouth agape at the feast laid out before you. Steak, vegetables, roasted potatoes, bread, wine, a trifle topped with berries – a platter you had never had the chance to experience in an awfully long time. Everyone took their places around the table and dug straight in, much to a starving Miche’s relief.

The evening was filled with laughter, and pleasant conversations as they all described their time here to you. The food never ran out. There were no boundaries and barriers and everyone was free to go wherever they chose to. There were no rich or poor, no discourse or wars, no titans and bloodshed. All there was, was bliss. The bliss they deserved after having lived a life of struggle. Everybody lived in harmony, without a worry in the world. And you couldn’t wait to begin living here with the rest of them.

Except, something felt amiss. You missed Levi, the last missing piece of the puzzle. After having spent many years together, you wondered how he’d be, your heart suddenly heavy upon realizing that he was now all alone back there after losing Hange first, and then you in the span of a single day.

The door to the house slammed open with a loud thud. All your necks darted towards the source, landing on a heavily panting red headed woman who had just run out into the backyard, followed by three men. Petra briefly broke out into a wide smile upon spotting your presence, before her eyes widened again. Gunter, Eld and Oluo gave you a quick salute that you returned with a nod.

“It’s time!”, she yelped.

Everyone seemed to decipher what she meant, except you, who sat gaping at her and the others. Erwin, Hange, Moblit, Miche and Nanaba quickly stood up and you followed suit when they dashed towards front of the house and then outside. You ran down the streets, where others also hurried in the same direction as you.

“What is going on?” you queried, trailing a short distance behind Nanaba.

“You’ll see.”, Miche flashed you a grin before speeding up.

You all followed Levi’s old squad to an old open ground where a large group had already gathered. You were beginning to get worried, not understanding a smidge of what was going on. Erwin firmly held on to your hand as you weaved your way through the hordes of people only to be greeted by a thick fog in the end. He stopped right as you reached the front of the crowd and you situated yourself beside him. You scrutinized the faces of all the ones in the presence, hoping someone could answer the blaring question in your head.

Your breath caught when your eyes met Sasha’s, who smiled brightly and waved at you. You waved back, pushing away the memories of the day you watched the light leave her eyes on the airship. The blur began to clear and the chatter died down. Erwin’s grip on your hand tightened as the fog began to lift.

“The war.” he leaned towards you and whispered. “It's over.”

You gasped when the haze dissipated to reveal your old comrade. Levi was slumped against a boulder, exhausted and panting. He raised his head slowly, his gaze landing on all the people he had lost looking back at him. A wave of relief washed over your heart seeing him alive, your wish to see him make it till the end having come true.

“You guys.”, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek and seeped into the bandage covering his face. “Did you see that?”

Not proof-read. Sorry if you found any errors! I'll correct any as I find them.

Main Masterlist | Event Masterlist

@axoxtxhxh @levi-supreme

[sirthisisa-wendys]

hi. can i request something angsty i absolutely love your angst works! so being in a long term relationship with mr ran haitani that's kind of already having fallouts. then reader cheated and confesses to ran about it but he still kind of didn't expect reader would do something like that. thank you very much! pls ignore if you want <3

This hurt to write. But it hurt so damn good.

King of Sorrow: Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.6k

tw: A N G S T

masterlist

song recommendation:

Things had been going downhill for a while.

Ran noticed the way you stayed out late, the way you no longer cuddled him in bed at night, the way your eyes wandered when you two were at the club...

But he never says anything.

You two had been together since he had become part of Bonten - and that was five years ago. FIve years of bliss, love, and happiness.

But that all started to fall apart last month.

He can't recall what he did - if anything. Ran tried his best to show you that he loved you, even when he was away. But lately, it'd been met with a half-hearted "thanks" or "I love you, too". Ran knew you weren't saying it because it was inherently true. You were saying it because you felt obligated to.

But he didn't feel obligated.

No, he's convinced he loves you, even if you're falling out of love with him. It's a hard thought for him to grasp, but he does somehow - that you might just have fallen out of love with him.

So he ups his gestures of love in an attempt to stave off the routine. This week, he's taken you on a trip to Italy. No meetings, no calls, nothing that has to do with work. It's just you and him on a cruise ship, sailing from port to port.

"This is amazing," he beams, cutting into the steak with gusto. "I've never had steak like this before."

"It's Wagyu," you mention, looking more somber in the dim lighting of the restaurant than when you both entered. Come to think of it, the moment you stepped onto the boat, you seemed downcast, even more so than when you were at home. You couldn't even look Ran in the eye anymore, and even though he'd made love to you the previous night, it seemed like that didn't have any effect on how you felt today. Usually, you'd be excited and full of life, but...

"Babe," Ran whispers, putting his fork down. "What's wrong?" Your bottom lip quivers and Ran stiffens. No, he thinks. Don't cry. But he also wants to get to the bottom of things, so he continues cautiously. "Things have been really strange for some time now, and I brought you here so maybe we could fix whatever's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," you lie, wiping your eyes quickly. "Everything's fine."

"No," Ran tuts. "It's not. My love, you've been distant. I'm worried about us." He reaches across the table and touches your hand, and gesture he hasn't tried in a long time. "I'm worried about you." You snatch your hand away, standing and throwing your napkin over your barely touched food.

"It's fine, Ran," you snap, then walk away from the table quickly, rubbing at your eyes furiously as you leave the ship's dining room. Ran sighs, motioning for the waiter as he cuts his losses with the dinner.

"Just send the bill to the room, please."

Ran finds you in your shared suite, sitting in the chair facing the balcony with your head in your hands. You're sobbing, and for a moment, he replays the interaction between the two of you before approaching, holding your purse in one hand.

"Love," he begins, kneeling beside the chair and placing your purse in the other seat beside him. "I need you to talk to me."

"I just..." you start but break off, tears flowing down your fingers. "It's not your fault." You reveal your reddened face, eyes rimmed with smeared mascara. "I didn't mean to..."

"Whatever it is, it's fine," Ran whispers, taking your wet hands in his. "It'll be okay. Just tell me what's wrong." His heart is aching to know why you're so heartbroken, but you inhale shakily, then exhale before opening your eyes.

"Ran, I want to start off by apologizing." Ran shakes his head, his violet eyes unsure, but you stop him, squeezing his hands once. "Just listen to me all the way through, okay?"

"Done," he affirms, shoulders relaxing now that you're finally telling him what's wrong.

"A month ago... I went to Takada's bachelorette party, right?"

"Mmm-hmm." He remembers that night. You looked so stunning in your tight mini-dress and pinned-up hair. He thought about railing you over the side of the banister before you left and was a little disappointed that you came home around eight in the morning instead of that same night.

"I..." You shakily inhale again, shaking your head rapidly. "I got so drunk. I don't know what was wrong with me, I..." You sniff, then remove your hands from Ran's, wiping at a stray tear. "I ended up sleeping with someone. I don't know who they are, I don't know where they came from. But I just remember waking up in the bed, naked, and seeing him there."

Ran stares at you, face empty, still not fully processing what you've said. He is still for a while as the cogs in his mind turn around and around and around and around and around and then

stop.

His mouth dries up, and his violet eyes look away from you, at the wallpaper, at the mirror, at the corner of the room, at the ceiling.

"I've felt so guilty since then," you mumble. "I couldn't tell you because I felt so ashamed, I--"

Ran stands, letting out a soft "oh", wavering a little on his feet. He blinks a few times, still not looking at you, then cocks his head to the left, like he's hearing something. But he's just processing. His mind flits from one day to the next, trying to pinpoint any signs, any clues... How could he have been so stupid?

No, you couldn't have cheated. It was a mistake. You'd gotten undressed, the man was drunk and also fell asleep in your bed... No, you couldn't do that. Not to him. Not to Ran Haitani.

But your guilt is written all over your face.

"Oh," Ran mutters again, jaw clenching. His breaths come quick like he'd been running for hours, and he can barely think as he sees red cloud his vision. He can't understand what he's doing when he breaks the table in the conjoined living room, or swipes the vases onto the floor, shattering them and depositing the flowers among them. He can't think about anything as you shout for him to stop, trying to reach him past his haze of red, but he's too far gone.

And the thing that frightens you the most is that he isn't yelling or screaming.

He's quiet.

He's not cursing at you, he's just destroying anything that looks whole, tossing it to the ground and rendering it unusable. You slide down against the wall, tears coursing down your cheeks again as he huffs, standing in the middle of the wreckage, gasping for air.

And then, the clearest thought Ran's had in almost an hour comes to him.

"Let me get you your own room."

"Ran," you plead, stumbling over your feet to get to him as he marches over to the phone. "Ran, please."

"Hello? I need a new suite for Mrs. Haitani. Do you have one available?"

"Ran!" you beg, pulling at his sleeve, but he doesn't move from the phone, gripping the receiver as the person on the other line tries to find an open room for you. You try to reach the button that will hang up the call, reaching past Ran's frame in earnest. He's blocking it, but there's just enough room for your pointer finger to tap the button, ending the call.

Ran doesn't even move. The phone is still up to his ear as if the call is still going on, but no voice is on the other line.

Fat tears roll down from his eyes, and he's frozen there, standing with the phone in his hands as if he were paused in time. But he lets the phone slip from his grasp, walking like a zombie over to the chair by the balcony, and sliding into it slowly.

And he doesn't get up, staring out at the sea with an empty, forlorn look.

"Ran," you whisper, crouching next to him. He doesn't answer, tears running freely down his face. "Ran..." Again, there's no answer, so you hang your head next to his leg, touching his thigh with your right hand. He doesn't move, even when you get up to prepare for bed, the door leading to the carnage of his temper still open.

He doesn't move from that chair all night, and you don't sleep, staring at him as his tears dry. You even succumb to sleep for a brief moment, waking to see him still in that same chair, still trying to think.

But eventually, he moves, walking into the bathroom and staying in there for a while. You wait patiently for him, sitting on the edge of the bed as he emerges, wiping his face with a towel before he inhales sharply.

"As soon as they dock this ship at the next port, we're heading home. Couples counseling or a divorce, it's your choice." You look down at your hands, nodding. You understand the need to cut the trip short. It's for the best.

When you arrive back home two days later, Ran immediately grabs a new bag of things, loading it up with clothing and toiletries, choosing to take residence at Rindou's home instead of sleeping in the same bed as you.

And that hurt the worst, his cold violet eyes not even glancing over at you as he left the master bedroom without any words.

[demonsandmischief]

You Saved My Life

Marvel - Captain America Imagine

Steve Rogers x Female Reader, 1.7k Words

-You Saved My Life-

Imagine you save Captain America's life while he is trying to save yours.

A/N: I dunno when this would take place in the Marvel world. I guess you could say it's my own AU. It's a long one but I like it. I hope you do too.

----

There are a lot of things life prepares you for, but the end of the world is not one of them.

You were covering your best friend's shift at a cafe that she owned. You had a full time job as a teacher, but the school was on a holiday, and you were always willing to help your friend. Normally, she'd have managers do the day to day runnings, but there was a scheduling conflict that lined up perfectly with your free day.

You did love the little place. It was small and home-y, nestled between some larger buildings of the city.

It was after the lunch rush when it happened. You were wiping down menus when a large blast that felt like an earthquake rattled the whole shop. The glass door shattered with the impact.

That's when the screaming started. It was loud and chaotic, as throngs of people ran away from whatever had just exploded.

The customers that were in the cafe rushed out in a panic. They could see something out of the large windows that you couldn't from behind the counter.

You moved closer, hesitantly, not sure what to expect, and you were definitely not prepared.

There were large, robotic creatures wreaking havoc in every direction. You could hear their banshee like screeches that echoed in your ears, but it couldn't be louder than the intense blood rushing as your adrenaline began to flow.

Your protective, teacher instincts kicked in when you saw the young group of kids huddled in the alleyway. They were almost out of view, but you noticed. You always noticed the children. They attracted your energy naturally.

You took notice of the daycare bus still running. It looked like the driver had just abandoned them. Intense anger only fueled the instincts.

You saw the way one of the creatures eyed the group and you scrambled to grab something to defend them.

You didn't have much. You decided on a chair, thankful for your nimble frame that was able to get outside unnoticed.

The kids caught sight of you immediately, but you held a shaky finger to your lips, telling them to be quiet.

You swung the chair with all your might, hitting the thing with a sickening crunch. It faltered for a moment, stumbling forward. You were left with pieces of broken wood, the splintered edges digging into your skin.

"Get inside," you yelled to the group, watching them scramble. At least the robot thing was focused on you, and you prayed that each little boy and each little girl made it home tonight.

You knew you were the only person standing between the cafe and the monster, and you wouldn't go with them to safety for risk of this thing following you into the shop.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as your eyes searched for any kind of defense. Instead, you found more creatures and no help.

This thing was ugly up close. It was metallic like a robot, but had blood red eyes, eyes that were staring right at you.

It opened it's mouth to screech into the sky, a snake like tongue curling out. It was cut off by a flash of color in the haze of dirt and debris, but you recognized it immediately. Captain America's shield.

The man himself appeared, standing tall and proud, but you could tell he was winded. You had never been so relieved, as you relaxed a bit, just wanting to melt into the ground with exhaustion.

Steve yanked out his shield, giving it an expert throw, destroying the other visible creatures.

His blue eyes stood out beneath his cowl.

"Ma'am," he nodded. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," you whispered with a shake of your head, wiping your sweaty, bloody hands on your jeans. "But there's kids in there "

He nodded, repeating the information into his com device.

"We'll get them to safety, and you, too. This is no place you want to be. Every civilian has taken shelter in the metro underground. Do you know how to get there from here?"

"Yes, but it's like two blocks," you said. There was no way you could get the kids there without being noticed.

"I'll go with you then, but we need to move quickly. Let's go." He left no room for argument, so you entered the cafe to gather the huddled group.

Their fear struck you, wide eyes and silent sobs. There were probably twenty of them, all different ages. The youngest was probably about six.

"Captain America is going to get you guys somewhere safe," you told them, as reassuring as possible, even though you didn't feel that way.

You led the group as the captain guarded the back. The pace was quick, and eerily quiet. You imagined the tall man had warned the other Avengers to keep the area as clear as possible. You had caught a brief glimmer of Iron Man's metallic suit in the sky.

You had just ushered the kids down the stalled escalator and into safety when you heard a grunt of pain.

You turned to find six more of the robotic creatures surrounding Cap. You could tell he was wearing down as one of them pulled his arms back, rendering him powerless and unable to grab his shield. He kicked the things with all his might, but there were too many of them.

You didn't know what to do. You were exhausted and there was no way you could help. You couldn't even take out one by yourself with a chair.

It wasn't until one of the creatures pulled out a long dagger looking thing, already dripping with someone else's blood that you moved.

Your instincts didn't let you hesitate as you ran to tackle the thing, the knife in turn digging painfully in your upper shoulder, dangerously close to your neck.

You felt the cry leave your dry, cracked lips as you crumbled to the ground, squeezing your eyes shut.

You heard the creature snarl at you before you felt a jolt of hot pain in your ribs. It felt like a boot, but who knows.

Your vision doubled as you saw the metallic shield take out the group once more. You sagged in the rubble as the adrenaline left your body. It felt like buckets of blood were running from your shoulder down the curve of your breast, mixing with the pain in your ribs. You were certain death couldn't be much worse then this.

Steve couldn't believe you saved his life. He was foolish to let his guard down, but you were a distraction. You protected those kids with a fearlessness that reminded him of himself.

He heard over coms that Tony had found the source for these creatures and the fight was coming to a close. He wished he could have been there for his team, but the people came first, especially those kids.

He pressed a hand to your shoulder, cursing when he saw how much blood you were losing. He searched aimlessly for something to stop the blood.

"Your six, Captain," you manage to mutter throught the pain, not failing to notice the final of the robotic things sneaking up on the distracted man.

He kicked a stray car door effortlessly, squashing the creature against the brick building.

"We're going to get you help. You're going to be okay."

That was the last thing you heard before you passed out.

----

There was a pesky beeping that was disturbing your rest. You assumed it was your alarm, until the pain hit you full force, and you remembered the events that took place. Were you dead?

Your eyes opened, and you groaned at the harsh light, blinking rapidly to adjust. Your mouth felt like it was full of sand.

The sterile smell and blinding white walls immediately told you it was a hospital, but what stood out was the dozing man still dirty from battle. His blue suit stood out against the white.

His eyes opened when you stirred, and you noticed the blue eyes that you were beginning to like. His blonde hair was matted from the cowl, and he looked terribly uncomfortable in the small chair.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his deep voice much softer than the commanding tone he used as captain.

You struggled to sit up. The pain in your shoulder not allowed you to use your hand as leverage, and your ribs didn't like the jostle.

"Don't do that," he said, lightly using his hand to keep you from moving. He pushed the button on the side that allowed the bed to lift without you having to change position.

He helped you drink some water before you were finally able to respond.

"How long have I been out?" you ask.

"Just a few hours," Steve responded. "You saved my life, and those kids, too." He shook his head in disbelief.

You felt your face grow hot at his words, not knowing how to respond. "I'm sure you are exhausted. You didn't have to stay."

"I had to make sure you were okay," he admitted. "I'm Steve."

"Y/N." You tried to smile at his cute pleasantries, but winced at the persistent throbbing in your shoulder. "Is it bad?"

"I'm sure a tough girl like you can handle it. The doctor should be in here in a minute to tell you details," he answered.

The doctor told you that your ribs were broken and your stab wound was deep but no longer life threatening after they stopped the blood. It was going to take a while to recover.

You dozed off, and it must have been a long time because when you awoke the second time, the room was covered in flowers. A stack of cards sat on your table, and you rose the bed again to reach for them.

A swell of happy emotions built up inside of you as you read the sweet words of the kids you saved. It was so relieving to know they were okay.

"You're a hero," Steve said from the door, this time in jeans and a blue jacket. He was handsome.

You wiped the fallen tears off of your cheek. "I'm nothing but a teacher."

"You're a hero to me," he smiled slightly, and a warm feeling bloomed in your chest.

----

Here's Pt. 2

[rebelwrites]

3 Is The Perfect Number (NSFW)

Jax Teller x Chibs Telford x Reader

co written with @chibsytelford girl we need to get another one written for out two fave Navy boys 😜

Saturday night only meant one thing, getting drunk, high or laid. Or even all three.

“Girl are you ready yet?” Lyla shouted upstairs.

“Gimme 5” you laughed as you shook your hair out before slipping on your timberlands.

You and Lyla were an odd combination, she was quite girly and you was the complete opposite. But somehow you were like peas in a pod.

“I will leave without you” she laughed.

“God I’m coming” you laughed taking one final look in the mirror, smirking at your appearance. Your cut off Nirvana shirt gave a glimpse of your cherry red lace bra and your shorts were cheeky.

Running down the stairs you hear Lyla whistle at you.

“Damn girl, someone is planning on getting laid tonight” she smirked.

“Too right, it’s been a hot minute” you sighed, you had recently come out of a very toxic relationship and was all about having fun. “Now let’s go because I’m gonna die if I don’t drink something alcoholic soon”

“Always the dramatic one” she chuckled as she locked up.

You and Lyla headed into the Sons clubhouse where the party was in full swing. The bar was the first stop of the night, flashing a flirty smile to the guy manning the bar you ordered 4 shots and 2 vodka and cokes.

“Cheers” you both giggled in unison, as you clinked the glasses together. The music was loud, the air was filled with the smell of weed , this was your kind of party. Slamming the glass down on the bar you and Lyla headed to dance in the middle of the floor.

As you swayed your hips seductively to the beat of the music you noticed more than one person had their eye on you. There was two people to be exact, and you knew them really well. Jax Teller and Chibs Telford.

A small smirk appeared on your face as an idea popped into your head, you just didn’t know if the boys would be up for it but you definitely was. The music changed and was more of an up beat tempo. Your hips gracefully moved to the beat as you winked at Lyla, dropping to the floor pushing your knees out, before bouncing back up popping you bum out.

If it wasn’t obvious you had gained the attention from Jax and Chibs, it definitely was now, as they stared at you opened mouth

“I need a drink” you laughed as you ran your hands through you hair, every action you did had a bit more effort in order to drive two boys insane. Slinking over time the bar you winked at Chibs before leaning against the cool wood and ordered a glass of whiskey.

“You gonna share that joint or what” you giggled holding your hand out to Jax.

“Lass ye surprise me every day” Chibs smirked placing his hand on the base of your back, and the flash of jealousy in Jax’s blue eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Jax slammed the joint in your hand and you took a drag. You smirked, knowing full well that the blond haired, blue eyed man didn’t like the fact Chibs was touching you.

“Brother, can you grab me a beer?” Jax asked Chibs, and swiftly moved closer to you as the other man went off to find Jax a beer.

“What, do you want to touch me too?” You teased Jax.

The man didn’t waste any time and pulled you flush against him. Your chests were now touching.

“You knew fine well what you were doing, dancing like that” he growled ever so softly in your ear.

“I was only dancing” you giggled whilst innocently biting down on your bottom lip.

“Yeah, just dancing” he nodded running his tongue over his bottom lip as he took the joint out of your fingers.

Soon enough Chibs returned, standing behind you with his chest pressed against your back, he passed the beer over your shoulder to Jax before resting his hand on your hip. You was well and truly sandwiched between the two guys.

“Wanna dance Chibs?” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him.

“With you lass, I’d do anything” he grinned squeezing your hip.

You knew before you started this master plan the chase would be fun, but now you was putting the plan in place it was hotter than you thought, having two guys getting jealous at the other ignited something in your core and you didn’t know how long you could keep it up.

You grabbed Chibs’ hand and dragged him to the middle of the floor. As you did that, you looked back to see Jax giving you both daggers. You waggled your finger at him in a ‘come here’ motion and he put down his beer and padded over.

At this point Lyla was dancing with her old man Opie not too far from you. You had Jax behind you, and Chibs in front, and god it felt good. The heat radiating from them both made you tie a bow at the front of your shirt, showing off even more of your red lace bra.

Jax put his hands on your hips, and Chibs held your shoulders and you held his. You shuddered at the sudden touches, you grinded against Jax, making sure not to leave Chibs out, by running your hands up and down his arms. The 3 of you completely lost in the middle of the floor.

“I think you are paying Jackie boy a bit too much attention lass” Chibs whispered huskily in your ear.

“We can’t have that now can we” you giggled as you spun around so Chibs was now behind you. Even from the loud music you hear the almost animalistic growl that left his lips as your ass ground against his groin. Jax’s eyes were completely hazed over, partly from the buzz from the joint and partly from lust.

“Red suits you baby” Jax winked as his fingers ran just under the material causing a breath to get caught in your throat.

Soon enough the song came to an end, and you was starting to get breathless from the dancing and the heat that was radiating from the boys. Lyla walked passed you rolling her eyes at the fact that you had both the president and Vice President on the club practically fighting for your attention.

“Darlin you are gonna have to choose who you want because you are driving me crazy” Jax breathed in your ear nipping it softly.

“Actually I don’t have to choose” you giggled.

Both men stared at you dumbfounded.

“What are you saying?” Chibs asked as he manoeuvred you back over towards the bar where it was a bit quieter.

“I’m saying, I don’t want to choose between you, because I want you both. Together”

This rendered both men speechless. They both looked at one another as if asking ‘should we do this’.

Jax was the first to break the silence. “Are you sure? You know we won’t go easy on you”

“I don’t want you to go easy on me, I’ve wanted this for a while, and tonight I thought fuck it, I’m going to do it” you were starting to become very confident and needy and you showed this by grabbing one hand of each man and leading them to one of the rooms through the back.

“A guess this is happening Jackie boy” Chibs nudged Jax playfully.

Letting go of their hands as you walked into the room, you had your back to them, in one quick motion you pulled you shirt off and started fumbling with the button of your shorts. After a couple of choice words your shorts pooled around your ankles. Stepping out of them you turn to face both guys, there jaws pretty much hit the ground as they drank in the little red number you was rocking.

Lifting your leg up into the bed you seductively ran your hands down your leg to untie you boot, quickly doing the same to the other one.

Looking over your shoulder, both Jax and Chibs were stood there staring, casting your eyes down you smirked at the tightness of both there jeans.

“Well boys” you whispered seductively “you just gonna stand there”

As soon as the words left you lips the Kuttes were off, clothing being tossed around.

Chibs was the first one to make a move, his hands ghosted down your sides, as he placed a few hot kisses down your neck, causing a small moan to escape your lips. Between the assault on your skin and feeling his hardness behind you, you felt the heat starting to pool between your legs.

Grabbing Jax’s chain you pulled him closer to you before slamming you lips against his so forcefully, your teeth clinked together. Your hands found there way into his hair tangling in the blond locks.

You knew by the morning you would be sore, tired and skin would be littered in little purple reminders of this night. One thing was for sure you knew you would be coming back for more.

Slipping your hand behind you, sinking it into Chibs’ boxers, you wrapped your hand around his length causing him to growl against your skin. A sudden chill ran across your chest causing your nipples to harden at the change of temperature, Jax took one of the hardened buds in his mouth making you moan, the feeling of him nipping, along side the hot kisses Chibs was placing down you neck was driving you wild and both of them knew that as you body squirmed under their touch.

“We haven’t even started yet love and ye are a whimpering mess” Chibs smirked against your skin as his hand slipped under the only bit of clothing left on your body.

Running his fingers through your slick folds, you felt your knees buckle under you, lucky Jax stop you falling. Squeezing your eyes closed as Chibs teased your clit.

“No open your eyes darlin’” Jax grinned looking up at you.

“Fuck” you breathed leaning back into Chibs as his fingers worked magic, you was coming apart at the seems and fast.

Soon enough you had been thrown on the bed, on all fours. Chibs was stood behind you and without warning slammed into you making you scream in pleasure. There was nothing gentle about his thrusts, each one hitting the spot every time. Whilst you was distracted Jax grabbed you face in his hands forcing you look at him.

“You gonna take my cock like a good girl” he smirked as he tugged on his dick.

Words were a struggle so all you could managed was a nod.

“Good girl” he winked as you took his hard member in your mouth, gagging every so often.

With every thrust it took you closer to the point of ecstasy, the high you was feeling was unlike anything else you had ever felt. Suddenly both boys stopped and pulled out causing you to whimper at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

“Ye holding in there lass” Chibs chuckled as he ran his fingers across your back.

“Yeah” you gasped, as Jax slowly slid into you.

The night was filled with many orgasms, a lot of moaning and screaming from all three of you.

Flopping back down on the bed you tried to catch your breath as Jax passed you a lit cigarette.

“Well that was something else” Jax yawned before placing a kiss on your bare shoulder.

“Hmm mmm” you mumbled.

“Come on lass lets get you cleaned up” Chibs smiled as he reappeared with a wash cloth. “Then we can sleep”

— — —

Slipping out of the room, leaving both Jax and Chibs snoring away, you went on the hunt for coffee. Lyla spotted you instantly smirking at the state your hair was in.

“Fun night” she winked passing you a mug of steaming hot coffee.

“Best night ever” you grinned as you sipped your drink.

“So the last thing I knew you had Jax and Chibs all over you and then all three of you disappeared” she said. Smirking at her as she connected the dots. “Wait BOTH of them?”

“Yeah both of them” you winked before turning your attention to the door.

“So that’s where my shirt disappeared to” Chibs laughed as he made his way over to you.

“You mean my shirt now” you smirked raising your eye brow at him as his hands found their way onto your shoulders squeezing away the tension.

“How you feeling’ this morning lass” he whispered placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m good” you nodded “but sore but so worth it”

You handed Chibs your mug of coffee to share with you. “You’ll need that after last night��� you told him with a wink.

Jax was next to emerge from the room. “I was wondering if you was sneaking out this morning cause you regretted last night” he smirked as his blue eyes twinkled as he looked at you.

“I have no regrets what’s so ever, and I know you boys don’t either with the way you were both huffing my name last night”

Chibs spat out his coffee at your remark not realising Lyla already knew what happened.

“What, you think I wouldn’t tell my best friend about the best night of my life?” You giggled grabbing Lyla’s hand, and the coffee from Chibs and left the clubhouse to spill all the beans about the previous night.

One thing was for sure, you going to make it a habit. It’s true what they say 3 was definitely the perfect number.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Try

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/X-Men

Summary: Warren has been through hell and then some, but will meeting his soulmate turn that around?

Note: That’s right, it’s ya girl, back on my BS. I watched Apocalypse again and BIG SURPRISE, I’m in love with Warren and Kurt all over again. Still hyperfixating on Pietro also, so…expect more fics for him as well. Anyway, I’m a ho for soulmate aus and I haven’t written one for birb boi in literal years, so here ya go.

Reader is: Gender Neutral

Warnings: swears, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.8k

Warren knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He didn’t. There was no question in his mind. Anyone who was destined to end up with his winged, alcoholic ass had been fucked over by the universe. No one deserved to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives. And yet, these thoughts didn’t seem to erase the words written on his forearm:

Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.

Professor. He scoffed. He was never going to college. If his parents had gotten their way, their son “cured” of his wings, he would have ended up at Harvard or Yale or somewhere similar. But it was far too late for that. Sitting in a cage in the back room of an illegal underground mutant fighting club in Berlin…it was far too late for that. He’d probably die before he met his soulmate anyway, rendering the prophecy on his wrist—and theirs, for that matter—useless. A waste of space.

That was all he was anyway.

He spiraled. His dependence on vodka got worse. The fights got harder. He wasn’t making it out unscathed anymore, winding up with burns and scrapes and cuts, depending on what kind of mutant he was up against. One night, one of his cuts had gotten dangerously close to the writing on his wrist. He stared at it for a long time, tears burning his eyeballs until they escaped and dripped down his cheeks, angry and hot.

He hated it, but even after everything, he still had hope. He still had hope that things would get better; that he could be better, even if it seemed impossible.

And then it got…worse.

Apocalypse had come, turned his wings to metal, tuned into his anger, his rage at the world, turned him into a monster, complete with knives for feathers and winding tattoos framing his face. He wished he could blame it on mind control or something, but Apocalypse hadn’t brainwashed him, only used his anger against him. Turned him into a weapon.

And then everything went black.

When he woke up after the battle, he was in an unfamiliar room, large and white and sterile; it smelled like hand sanitizer. He heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor and when he sat up, he noticed how sore he was. His whole body hurt. His head spun. But he was alive. And when he looked down at his tattoo, the words were still there. Wherever his soulmate was, they were fine. His stupidity in joining Apocalypse hadn’t caused anything to happen to them.

For the first time in what felt like years, he breathed.

“You’re awake.” A voice said as a tall man with brown hair entered his room. “I’ll let the Professor know.”

“Where…” his deep voice rasped and the man pointed to a glass of water sitting on the table adjacent to the cot he was situated in. He picked it up and took a few long, greedy sips, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the cool drink hit his tongue. “Where am I? What is this place?”

“This is the infirmary at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” The man told him, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You’re safe here.”

Warren nodded hesitantly, but didn’t say anything else. Safe. The word was almost a myth to him at this point. But at least he felt like he could rest for a little while.

***

It had been a few weeks since Apocalypse and his horsemen had almost ended the world. Erik had decided to stick around, and two of the younger horsemen, Storm and “the Angel of Death,” respectively, had been absorbed into the school’s student body. You didn’t know the Angel’s name. No one really talked to him, not even Ororo, Storm, who had been quickly adopted by your friend group.

Supposedly, Peter had tried to talk to the Angel guy, but he didn’t say anything to him. Ororo theorized he probably felt guilty about the whole thing. She did. But you all knew she didn’t know what Apocalypse was really trying to do. He probably hadn’t either, but that didn’t seem to keep the grim expression off of his face.

It was on a nice, sunny day that Xavier called you into his office, and you went down without complaint, knocking on the door a few times before he called you inside. You sat in the chair across from his desk.

“Hi, Professor. What’s going on?” You asked.

“Ah, yes. Just the empath and healer I wanted to see.” He smiled brightly. “(Y/N), if you don’t mind it too terribly, I have a small job for you.”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen our newest pupil, Warren, around.”

You thought for a moment. “The, uh, guy with the wings? The big metal ones?”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “Warren…he’s been having quite a hard time adjusting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He came to me yesterday discussing…well, quite simply, he was wondering if any of our mutants here would be capable of…reverting him to his previous state. His wings, before Apocalypse, were made of feathers. They’ve been serving as quite a reminder to him and it’s been weighing pretty heavily on him, both literally and emotionally.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, caught his vibes from across campus.” You nodded. “It’s like there’s always a rain cloud hanging over his head.”

“Yes,” Xavier agreed. “It doesn’t have to be right away, but at your nearest convenience, if you see him around, would you talk to him? Tell him I sent you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see what I can do.” You promised him.

As an empath and a healer, your first priority was helping others. And even if he was known to be a bit intimidating, you wanted to help him if you could.

So, you walked out of Xavier’s office, attended your final class of the day, and when it was over, you wandered out into the courtyard where, because of the nice weather, students were everywhere. And luckily for you, just as you suspected he might be, Warren was sitting under a tree, still sporting his leather jacket despite the warm weather.

You shielded your eyes from the sun and walked over towards him, your heart racing as you built up the courage to talk to him. So, you took a breath and said, “Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.”

He stared up at you for a long moment, his green eyes wide in shock. He took a breath, blinked a few times, glanced down at his wrist, and then back up at you. You could have sworn you saw tears beginning to form along his waterline, and you didn’t realize why until he said, “You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

You froze, your knees going weak. You glanced down at your bare forearm and read over the words he’d just said, exactly the way he’d just said them.

You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.

“Why are you sorry?” You whispered, lowering yourself onto the grass beside him, not trusting your legs to support your weight for much longer. Now you were the one with tears in your eyes. “Don’t be sorry.”

“You deserve so much more than me.” He insisted, his eyes locked on his boots, unwilling and unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t drag you into…this. Me.”

His emotions were heavy, a bleak blue and gray haze and you felt it radiate off of him in waves. His pain, his everything. And you felt it, deep within his chest. He thought you wouldn’t want him anyway.

“Warren…” You shook your head. “Why…Why would you think I don’t want you?”

He was shocked into silence for a few seconds, thinking over his words carefully, his jaw tense and hands shaking. “You’re a telepath?”

“Empath.” You corrected quietly. “And…a healer. Which is why Xavier sent me.”

“Oh. Right.” He swallowed thickly, nodding. “Did he…tell you why?”

“He did.” You smiled softly. “And I’m willing to try if you are.”

Finally, his eyes met yours and he could tell that you meant more than just the healing when you said it. The weak little voice in the back of his head was screaming for him to push you away like he pushed away everyone else, but looking into your eyes, a genuine and warm smile on your face, he just…couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

***

Today was the day. Warren was sitting on a stool in the infirmary. Hank had run his vitals and the two of them were in the room waiting for you to come down after your class was over.

“(Y/N) is the one who saved you, you know.” Hank told Warren while he jotted down some notes.

“What?” Warren asked, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been caught up in. “What do you mean?”

“(Y/N) found you in the rubble. We didn’t think you would make it, but…they healed you. They insisted we bring you back here. Give you a chance.”

Warren was quiet for a long time, thinking about what that meant. Part of him wondered if (Y/N) had known back then that he was their soulmate, but he decided that would have been impossible with just their tattoos alone. Especially without context. They hadn’t known and yet, they’d still wanted the best for him.

“Didn’t know that.” Warren said, his voice soft and deep. He stared at the words on his wrist for a little longer, a hint of warmth swirling around in his stomach. Was this happiness? Was that what happiness felt like? He barely remembered anymore. But he knew there must have been a reason that when you walked through the door, his heart started beating a little bit faster.

“Sorry I’m so late. Professor Leaf kept us a little later than she was supposed to. Are you ready?” You asked taking off your backpack and setting it against the wall. As soon as you looked up at Warren, you felt the way his heart rate was increased and you didn’t miss the warmth swirled with the anxiousness. The anxiousness, you had expected. Even you didn’t know if you could pull off what you were going to attempt to do, but the warmth…it was a pleasant surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” He told you, shaking his head. Was he…was he smiling? It was a small smile, sure, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile before. It looked good on him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright.” You nodded, walking over towards him. Underneath where he was situated on a stool, Hank had laid out some pads from the training room, you assumed, to catch his metal feathers if they fell out rather than transforming back to his normal…feather feathers. None of you really knew how this would unfold. “Again, I’m not sure this will work. I don’t want to get your hopes up in case it doesn’t.”

“I’m not expecting it to.” Warren assured you, but it wasn’t in a rude way. “If it does, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Cross my heart.” What he didn’t say was: You could never disappoint me. Not even if you tried.

“Okay.” You nodded, taking a few steps closer until you were standing right in front of him. He looked up at you and for the first time, you didn’t feel any negative emotions from him. Only anticipation and that lingering warmth. “Here goes nothing.”

You focused on the warmth in your own chest, the tingling yellow healing power that constantly swirled around your heart, and you forced it into your palms. You reached forward for his hands and he took the hint, his larger hands wrapping around yours.

Immediately, he gasped at the sensation, warm tingles running up his arms, down his spine. It stopped in the center of his back, right where his wings intersected with his body. At first, he didn’t feel anything. And then, he felt everything. The pleasant warmth flooded his metal wings, and one by one, the knife-like feathers fell out, each one landing with a thud against the mat situated underneath him.

Hank’s pencil jotted against his notebook as he took notes. He knew you were powerful, but he’d had no idea you were capable of something like this.

Neither had you.

Once the metal wings were gone, Warren felt a new sensation: another pair of wings, this one soft and familiar, slowly emerging from him. Part of him expected the process to be painful, like the one Apocalypse had forced upon him was, but it wasn’t. Warren chuckled to himself. Of course you would never hurt him. Not even unintentionally.

After a few minutes, the feathery wings had fully emerged, stretched out to his full former wingspan and he stared up at you in awe. You stopped your flow of power to him, but he held onto your hands, squeezing them to keep them in his grasp.

He looked back at his new wings, flexed them and moved them. They felt familiar, like they had always belonged to him.

“Thank you.” He said, giving your hands another squeeze, the warmth in his chest brighter and bolder than it had been before. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” You told him, squeezing his hands right back in a way that caused his heart to lurch. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you mind if I keep some of these for research?” Hank asked.

“Keep all of them, if you want. I don’t want them.” Warren told him, standing up from his stool, his hands still in yours. “So, um…do you want to go grab dinner or something?”

“Sure.” You nodded, smiling up at him. “See you later, Hank.”

“Bye, guys, have a nice night.” Hank said as you and Warren walked out of his lab. He couldn’t help but notice the way one of your hands remained in one of his as the two of you left.

***

Later that night, after dinner and after you and Warren had split for the evening, you were walking back to your room from Jean and Jubilee’s and you found Warren, lingering in his doorway, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His eyes widened when he spotted you and he held up a finger, indicating you should wait for him, so you did while he went into his bathroom and rinsed out his mouth, returning a few moments later.

“Hey.” He said, the word casual as it fell from his pink lips.

“Hey yourself.” You chuckled, feeling ridiculously underdressed in your pajamas. But then again, he was wearing his pajamas, too, a large black Metallica shirt and a pair of plaid pants.

“How…how are you? Feeling?” He stumbled over his words, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck. You felt a wave of nervousness rush through him. “Hank said sometimes you get tired after, uh, bigger healing jobs?”

“I’m fine.” You nodded. “For whatever reason, I never get tired when I’m healing you.” You chuckled, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Well…I think I know why…”

“Heh, yeah.” He nodded, mulling over his next words very carefully. “Did you, um…I don’t know how to ask this. Did you mean what you said about…trying? About us trying…this. Trying us.”

“Of course I did.” You nodded and took a few steps closer to him. “You’re my soulmate.” You reached for his hand and he gave it to you, letting you play with his fingers. You felt the way his heart fluttered when you did. “Of course I want to try.”

“I’m broken.” He told you. “I’ve never done this before. I’m…I’m a lot, and I know that.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a healer, huh?” You tilted your head. “And if we’re being honest, I’ve never done this before either. So how about we teach each other? Learn together?”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

You let go of his hand and instead took the last few steps between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his torso. He froze for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. It had been…a long time since anyone had hugged him. But after a few moments, his arms got the hint and wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest. He rested his head atop yours and exhaled a long, long breath. And for the first time since you’d met him, you felt a wave of peace wash over him, encasing him entirely as his wings gently cocooned you in their warmth.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. You looked up at him and his eyes met yours before fluttering shut as he leaned in to press his lips to yours.

[nightingaelic]

Fallout New Vegas companions react to taking the Courier's place in Dead Money.

Arcade Gannon: Following the obligatory panic attack and subsequent state of dejection, Arcade would suck it up and start trying to get the heist done with as quickly as possible. He’d roll his eyes at Dean Domino, set aside Dog and God’s identity crisis for later and check Christine over for basic first aid purposes before trudging along toward the various goals set by Elijah. I think he’d opt for stealth over combat when encountering the ghost people out of a sense of self-preservation, but he would probably pocket some clothing and blood samples from any that Dog took down along the way to the casino. The story of the Sierra Madre would fascinate him, particularly the bits and pieces left behind by jaded treasure hunters and Elijah’s previous teams of victims. Arcade would see it as a microcosm of what’s happening in the wider world, a stellar example of partners turning on each other in pursuit of some perceived bright future attached to the hidden treasures of the old world. Vera’s desperate graffiti in her hotel room would speak to him most powerfully: LET GO. He would probably try to argue with Elijah about the viability of the former Brotherhood Elder’s plans, throwing some Latin phrasing in for good measure. No matter his level of success in this, Arcade would stow away as many gold bars as he could to lug home and use to sparingly and anonymously fund the efforts of the Followers of the Apocalypse. 

Craig Boone: During his first encounter with one of the ghost people popping up again after being downed by his sniper rifle, Boone would grunt in annoyance, swap his ammo for hollow points and switch from aiming at chests to aiming at heads. Ghost people bob and weave admirably, but Boone has a gift, and up until he actually got inside the casino, his main obstacle would be avoiding the noxious cloud. The holograms, on the other hand, would probably strike some fear into his heart. After all, how do you destroy something that bullets can’t touch? I don’t think he would put two and two together about the emitters until Christine or Dean pointed them out: From there, it just becomes a scavenger hunt to find the next piece of wall-mounted tech to shoot. Dean, Dog and God would annoy him, but he’d find a kindred spirit in Christine, and would appreciate her ability to convey meaning without words. Hell, he’s pretty good at that himself. Upon finding Elijah, Boone would immediately put a bullet in his head, look at the pile of gold for a few seconds, then walk away and out of the Sierra Madre without looking back. He’d never breathe a word of the place to anyone, but he’d track down all of the Sierra Madre broadcast systems one by one and destroy them, letting the desert swallow the place and its dangers for good. 

Lily Bowen: Grandma Lily wouldn’t understand why the angry man was so desperate to get inside the casino, but she’s more than familiar with being a forced follower of doomed causes. As such, she would be kind to her fellow captives, assuring Christine that she would be able to talk “when she’s ready,” admonishing Dean for his rude behavior and telling Elijah that he would catch more cazadores with honey mesquite than with vinegar. A trail of wrecked ghost people would follow her to the casino itself, but dealing with the holograms would be beyond her expertise: That part would have to be left to Christine or Dean. Elijah would receive a lecture once she made it into the vault, but she would probably let him live unless he attacked first. Dog and God, however, would earn the most care and compassion and even cause some introspection. Ultimately, I think she would help the two become one through intense conversation and shared understanding about what it means to be nightkin with no master, and once freed, she would take him to find a home in Jacobstown. 

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Upon waking up from being kidnapped by Dog on Elijah's behalf, Raul's immediate reaction would be something like "Again?" followed by "Carajo." Elijah’s insistence on pulling off the heist would annoy him, but Raul is constantly looking for something to occupy his unnaturally-long time on earth, and what is the Sierra Madre if not the Mojave’s most deadly time-waster? He would be sarcastic and exasperated for his entire time wearing the bomb collar, but would find ways to be tender and understanding with Christine, and patient and supportive with Dog and God - after all, he knows what it’s like to struggle with two sides of yourself. Dean, on the other hand, would vex him. Here’s another pre-war ghoul hung up on the promises and mistakes of the past, driven to the point of obsession where he can’t break himself out of the cycle. He can’t let go, and I think that doomed state of being would speak to Raul personally. I don’t think he and Dean would get along, but I don’t think they would have a final showdown in the Tampico either. Instead, I think Dean would watch Raul exit the vault’s elevator, flip one souvenir gold bar in his hand with a wry smile, then pocket it before walking out into the wastes, and the pre-war lounge singer would feel a twinge of kindred sadness before going back to rummaging through the casino’s secrets. 

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Following a tense standoff with Elijah while refusing to do as he says, Cass would eventually relent and start dragging her feet around the villa to assemble the ragtag heist crew. She’d hold each of them at a distance, intent on getting herself out alive and refusing to be responsible for anyone else. Nods of sympathy for Christine, dry comebacks for Dean and a quizzical comment or two for Dog and God would be her limit, at least until they all encountered their turning points inside the casino. Each of them would grow her disdain for Elijah and his methods, but, like Raul, I think she would be most personally affected by Dean’s story. She might find herself arguing with him like the courier did with her, about moving on from failed pasts and striking out into something new. I don’t think she’d take the time to argue with Elijah, though, and would take the first chance she got to lock him in the vault forever. She’d make off with as much gold as she could, of course. 

Veronica Santangelo: The Sierra Madre would make Veronica's head explode, though whether or not Elijah could stand her mouth going a million miles a minute once she wakes up would determine whether that would happen literally or figuratively. Tons and tons of pre-war tech lying around! But it's all under a haze of collapsed support beams, toxic gas and ghost people that can jump around like grasshoppers. Father Elijah is alive! But he's trying to break into a casino to build an army of holograms, and he imprisoned Christine. Christine is here! But she's been maimed and abused horribly, and is trying to kill Elijah. I think Elijah would try reasoning with Veronica before threatening her into obeying him - though she would probably figure out how to get the collar off or render it useless within the first 24 hours in the Sierra Madre - but I don’t think he would be able to convince her that his plan to get inside the casino’s vault would benefit the Brotherhood of Steel. The revelations that Christine would bring - the Circle of Steel’s orders, Elijah’s crimes against travelers and treasure hunters, his orchestration of their breakup in order to bring Veronica to the Mojave with him - would probably leave her feeling confused and empty about the man she considers a grandfather figure. She would probably do her best to free Elijah from the casino, but would offer him a choice if she succeeded: Leave the treasures of the Sierra Madre behind and walk away from his accursed quest for power, or remain trapped with what he’d sought. Whatever path he’d choose, Veronica would part ways with him once the vault’s elevator ascended. She’d bundle up Vera’s dress, sigh heavily, then take Christine’s hand and walk away from the Sierra Madre forever. 

ED-E: Ironically, I think ED-E would be a good pick for Elijah to use as a pawn in his heist game, though it would be kind of hard for Dog to hook a collar onto the little robot. If Ulysses can speak to the courier through an eyebot’s speakers, then Elijah can probably do the same to his already-assembled team. ED-E doesn’t have a whole lot of personal motivation, so I think the bot would just beep and go along with whatever it was ordered to do. Christine or Dean would probably take the lead, and ED-E would zoom around the villa, dodging throwing knife spears and trumpeting his location without a care. Once inside the casino, ED-E would again defer to his leader’s orders, with the added benefit of being a robot keeping him from the holograms’ notice. If allowed into the vault, ED-E would diligently pick up exactly six of the gold bars and carry them home to the Mojave, where he would deposit them at the bewildered courier’s feet with a triumphant beep. 

Rex: While much easier to slap a collar on than ED-E, I don't think Rex would fare better than the little robot in terms of leadership abilities. As an ally to whoever gets put in charge, though, he would also be invaluable at sneaking around the Sierra Madre’s various threats, particularly the ghost people. He would take a special shine to Christine and God, who would recognize the canine as a fellow being exploited by powers out of his control. Rex would absolutely hate the holograms, who smell of nothing, and Elijah, who smells of desperation and indifference. He would completely ignore the gold bars. Once freed, he would whine and beg and nudge Christine until she relented and left the city of the dead, leading her home to the New Vegas strip and another woman whose scent told him of metal bunkers and longing.