#something about face holding and forehead touching and helping to wash blood and gore off someone elses hands and carefully methodically

[favvnsongs]

@fischiee @whitmanic besties I'm having the most agonizing tender angsty blorbo feelings rn ololo

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,509 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Daryl make a break to get out of The Sanctuary.

Your name: submit What is this?

You waited for Negan to roll out the next morning, and he did so with quite a caravan and a lot of trucks. The Sanctuary felt empty and quiet. It was just what you needed. You decided to try one last chance for a weapon. Dwight’s room. You slipped inside and looked around. No sign of the crossbow or the vest—he was probably wearing them, but you found a knife in a leather sheath. There were piles of folded clothes on a table near the door and you grabbed some for Daryl, shoving them hastily into your bag, which was already loaded with water and food. You nestled the knife in on top and headed for Daryl’s cell. You carefully glanced around and listened for any approaching footsteps. You heard none. You unlocked the door and Daryl was standing inside. “Here,” you said, handing the clothes and shoes to him. “And this.” You held out the knife and nodded at him. He could read fear in your eyes but you looked determined.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I’m gonna do a sweep down to the exit and back up. I’ll be back,” you said, starting to fiddle with the keys.

“Hey,” Daryl’s hand landed on your arm. “Be careful,” he drawled. There was fear in his eyes too. You nodded.

“I will. Five minutes,” you said. You closed the door and locked it again, just in case anyone happened to check, shoving the keys in your bag and trying to walk casually when every muscle in you wanted to run.

There were a few workers mopping a side hallway, but they were almost done. Otherwise, the coast was clear. Several guards were bullshitting in the guard room with their feet up, laughing loudly and swapping stories about their best walker kills.

You inserted the key into the door that led outside and unlocked it. You pushed it open just a sliver and glanced around the small gravel lot. It was empty. And there sat Daryl’s bike.

You withdrew, locking it again, just in case someone tried it, and forced yourself to walk slowly back up to Daryl’s cell, checking around each corner before you moved. Your heart was pounding. You were so close. Almost there. You just needed your luck to hold out a little longer.

You lightly tapped on the door and heard Daryl let out a low whistle. You unlocked it, and pulled the door open. He was standing there in the clean clothes you had given him and you almost started crying just at the sight of him out of that horrible sweatshirt. “It’s clear,” you whispered. “C’mon.”

He kept his hand on the knife and followed you silently. You peeked around the first corner. Clear. The second corner. Clear. Down the back staircase. You poked your head out and checked both ways down the hall. Clear. You rifled through the keys and found the one you needed to unlock the outside door. Then you dug a hand into the pocket of your jeans and pulled out the motorcycle key. You turned and looked at Daryl, holding it out with a nod. He took it and nodded back, rocking a little anxiously on his feet and glancing back over his shoulder.

You crossed the hallway to the door and unlocked it. You could smell freedom. You pushed the door open about an inch and listened. You pushed it open a bit wider and glanced around. Nothing. You glanced back at Daryl and grinned, tilting your head.

You both slipped into the yard and Daryl went to his bike, checking to make sure there was gas in it and that everything was connected to get it started. You were waiting anxiously nearby when you heard feet scuffing on the gravel and a familiar voice behind you.

“Whoa. Hey—Y/N and—woah. Okay,” Joey said nervously, lifting his hands up. “I won’t say anything. I just��you can go. I won’t tell anybody. I swear.”

You exchanged a glance with Daryl, who had unsheathed the knife, and turned back to Joey. “Shut up,” you said. “Don’t move.” That’s when you saw Rick’s gun sticking out of his waistband. You scowled at him and pulled it out, looking back at Daryl again. No hesitation, Daryl plunged the knife into the base of Fat Joey’s skull. He dropped instantly with a weighty thud.

You stared down at him for a moment, feeling a wave of remorse. Daryl touched you on the shoulder. “I had to. He woulda told everyone,” he said. “C’mon.”

Daryl mounted the bike, kicked up the kickstand, and started rolling it to the gate. You unlocked the padlock on the gate before heaving it open as the bike roared to life.

Daryl gave you a triumphant smile as you jogged over to climb on, wrapping your arms securely around his waist. At the feeling of your arms tightening around him, he revved the engine and you were gone, speeding away from The Sanctuary and leaving nothing but a cloud of dust.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You’d been riding for a while, squeezing onto Daryl at every turn, glancing back over your shoulder every few seconds, certain that you would look back and see them on your tail.

But at some point, the realization washed over you that you had made it. You had made it. You were out. You were gone. And Daryl was in front of you, safe. You held more tightly to him and you were surprised when his right hand pressed over your left one which was resting on his side. You could feel the roughness of his palm against your skin as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You relished the feeling.

You pressed your cheek against his shoulder and shut your eyes, breathing in a gasping, shaking breath like you had been underwater since you’d walked out of the woods with your hands up at that outpost. It was like you had been slowly drowning and suddenly were able to come up for air.

Daryl must have felt you shaking because he glanced at you over his shoulder and began to slow, abruptly turning off into the woods and stopping the bike.

You straightened up, suddenly anxious and scared all over again, glancing over your shoulder as he climbed off the bike. “What is it? What’s wrong?” you asked urgently. Had you let out that sigh of relief too soon?

He shook his head and held out a hand to help you off. You accepted it and climbed down. “Nothin’. Nothin’s wrong,” he said. He was staring into your face as you glanced around. You seemed to be reeling. “I just—I thought—might just need a minute,” he said. “We can stop for a minute.”

Your chest was still heaving and you nodded at him, glancing around at the green forest you were in and then back at the man standing in front of you. He watched as your breathing slowed and became shallower, and something shifted. You shut your eyes and suddenly leaned forward, putting your hands on your knees and hanging your head, a curtain of your hair falling forward and blocking your face from view. If he could have seen it, it was contorted with emotion.

Daryl rushed forward. “Hey. Ya alright?”

You nodded, feeling lightheaded and sank down to your knees, relishing the feeling of the soft soil beneath them and the cool moisture soaking through your jeans. “We made it,” you said breathlessly. “We fucking made it.” Your tone was complete disbelief and Daryl watched you kneeling there in front of him.

“Ya. We did.” He sat down in front of you, leaning back on his hands and digging his fingers into the earth. “You did that,” he said. He shook his head. “Ya did all of it.”

You simply stared at him, trying to catch your breath, your lips slightly parted. A few tears escaped your eyes which were all the more vibrant looking due to the glassiness in them.

“Y/N,” he said, shaking his head. “What ya did—” Daryl was never much for words, but at that moment they failed him completely.

You tore your eyes away and shook your head. You weren’t ready for that yet. “Oh—here,” you said, digging in your bag. You pulled out two canteens and some food. “You need this.”

Daryl gave you a perceptive look, not missing the quick subject change, and accepted it with a nod. “Thanks.” He watched you as you raised your canteen to your lips, the bruise on your neck from Negan even more glaringly obvious in the bright daylight.

His fist clenched. “I’m gonna kill him,” he growled suddenly. The deep rage in his voice shot your eyes back up to his face. “Negan.”

You replaced the cap on your canteen and stared down at your knees in the soil. “I think you may have to fight Rick over that,” you said quietly. “Or me.”

“Nah. They’re mine,” he said, unwrapping the bread you had packed for him. “Him and Dwight. They’re already dead,” he growled.

You stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, but then dug a hand into your bag and withdrew a bandana. You uncapped your canteen and poured a little water on it. “Here,” you said, straightening up and moving closer in front of him. “You’ve got blood on your face. And it’s not yours this time.”

Daryl didn’t flinch as you gently wiped the spatter from his forehead and cheek. He sat stock still and used the moment while you were intent on him to study your face up close again, the flecks of color in your eyes, the soft fray of your eyelashes, and the full pout of your lips. He felt a longing in his chest that was impossible to ignore but he quickly squashed it down as best he could, shifting a little where he was seated. You weren’t safe yet.

“I wanted to clean you up every time I saw you,” you said quietly, withdrawing after you had gotten the last of the stains off his cheek. “Even just wipe the dirt off your face. But I was afraid they’d notice even that.”

Daryl averted his eyes back to the bread in his hands. “Ya. I probably stink,” he said, glancing up at you with one corner of his mouth twitching up. “Sorry. Ya gotta smell me all the way back to Hilltop.”

You smiled at him, just a small one, but at that moment he’d take it. “All I can smell is the fresh air and freedom.”

Daryl broke a big chunk of cheese off the wedge you had stolen and brought along and he nodded. “One more minute. And then we’ll go,” he said.

You nodded and stood up, brushing the dirt from your knees. You paced away over to a big oak tree and leaned back against the trunk, watching the archer eagerly devour the food you’d brought for him. You rested a hand on the handle of Rick’s gun, which you had tucked into your waistband. “I’m sorry. I tried to find your crossbow and get your vest but—that asshole must be wearing them.”

Daryl sighed and nodded, wrapping up what was left of the food and drinking deeply from the canteen again. “Yeah. He is. He always is.” He brushed the soil from his fingers and jeans and tilted his head toward the bike. “C’mon. Let’s get you behind some safe walls.”

You climbed on behind him and wrapped your arms around him again. Daryl focused on the feeling of you leaning against him.

For the rest of the ride, you kept your mind blank and just looked and felt. By the time the walls of Hilltop came into view, you were exhausted, physically and emotionally.

Maggie was up on the lookout post, just staring out at the landscape, sometimes deep in thought and sometimes just numb. But she snapped up straight when she heard and saw a lone motorcycle approaching. She grabbed the binoculars and looked through. “Oh my God,” she said aloud. “Sasha! Enid! Get out here!” She turned to the men on gate duty. “Open the gates!” she urged, immediately rushing to climb down.

You watched over Daryl’s shoulder as the gates opened to you and he pulled inside. Maggie was standing there waiting, a look of disbelief on her face. Sasha and Enid were running over as Daryl helped you off the bike. All of them stood looking at the two of you in disbelief. You felt like you were in a daze. The voices and sounds around you were hazy, distorted, and your vision was starting to be a bit blurry around the edges.

Maggie rushed and grabbed Daryl into a tight hug. You watched his whole body stiffen. She released him and stood in front of you, a teary smile on her face, and grabbed you tightly too. You hugged her back with everything you had.

“You’re alright? They said you were sick,” you said, pulling back to look into her face. You were surprised at how weak your voice sounded, and it wasn’t lost on anyone around you. Their faces immediately contorted into concern and Daryl moved closer to you again, studying your expression. You ignored it. Tears formed in your eyes as you thought of Glenn. “Maggie, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m alright. The baby is fine,” she said holding onto your forearms as you pulled back from her hug.

“I’m so, so sorry,” you whispered. You nodded and pulled away from her all the way, still forcing yourself to ignore how shaky and weak your knees suddenly felt. You didn’t have a second to breathe before Sasha grabbed you, followed by Enid.

Enid looked up at you. “How is everyone at Alexandria?” she asked desperately.

You gulped and shook your head, almost struggling to speak now. “I don’t—I don’t know. I haven’t been there in… a while.”

Daryl moved closer to you again and spoke your name. You looked at him and tried to focus on his face but the blur around the edges of your vision was encroaching completely now and you suddenly staggered on your feet. “Y/N,” he said desperately.

Maggie exchanged a frantic look with Sasha.

“Y/N! Hey!” Daryl said again, reaching out and grabbing gently onto your arms. You were in a fog as you held onto him, wavering on your feet. He swore under his breath. The color drained from your face and the next moment everything went black. You didn’t fall. Daryl was right there, scooping you into his arms as you went limp.

[jiminstonic]

Apothic | pjm

pairing: yandere!zombie!jimin + g/n reader

word count: 6.1k+

genre: thriller, fluff(?), mild angst

warnings: GORE, violence, puking, obsessive thoughts, death, zombie cannibalism, is it necrophilia when it’s a zombie?? (sorry if i forgot anything)

— synopsis: Ever since the apocalypse hit, it’s been kill or be killed. So, what are you to do when a ghoul would kill for you instead of kill you?

Fuck, no more canned ravioli. Chef Boyardee will be dearly missed.

You crack a smile at your own thoughts while scanning the supermarket aisle, a flickering fluorescent overhead. Dirt and various food wrappers litter the tiled floor that you tiptoe on with sock-covered feet, shoes in hand in order to make as little sound as possible. You’ve yet to see a ghoul in this supermarket, but better to be safe than sorry.

With every item you stuff in your bag, a small sigh of relief passes through your lips. Going nomad helps a lot with your need to be alone, but also comes with many cons. Sitting at the very top of the list is being cautious. If ambushed by a group of ghouls, you must find a way out all on your own. It’s a risk you’re willing to take. But you’re not stupid enough to be noisy, whether you’re really alone or not.

Maybe you’ll get a box of cereal this time. You just hope it won’t make too much noise while in your bag.

You make the round of a few more aisles, grabbing a new toothbrush and a few pens. Some rash cream too maybe, just in case. You start to mindlessly grab items that you might need until you end up in the candy aisle.

Gummy bears. It’s the first thing to grab your attention, better with the nearly vacant shelves, and you refuse to leave without it.

Carefully, you pinch the corner of the bag, gently pulling it from the rack it hangs on. It’s a slow process, and you’re on the verge of regretting it as a scraping starts to sound when you continue to tug. Finally, the rack comes to an end and the bag slips off with no more than a split second of a crinkle. That’s when you decide that you have enough for today’s supply, not wanting to risk much more than that. With a swift spin, you turn to head out, one socked-up foot in front of the other when you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Right at the other end of the aisle, stands a ghoul. It’s as still as a statue, save for the twitch in its fingers.

The sight makes your heart drop and the bag of gummy bears slip from your grasp. The sound that emits when it hits the floor makes the ghoul jump, oddly enough, but it still doesn’t make a single move. It just stands there, watching you.

That’s when you finally snap out of it, stumbling backward and running as fast as you can to the back exit. Even with the machete strapped to your side, you like to avoid having to kill them because, once again, noise. It’s always noise. The same thing that caused a headache for you once upon a time, but is now sometimes caused by the lack thereof.

You can’t care enough to try slipping on your shoes, too busy running for your life down the road. Rocks jab at the bottom of your feet, but you can only tighten your jaw and force yourself to bear it. A bite hurts a lot worse, you remind yourself.

The entire road is bare, same as when you came and is the reason why you even went into the supermarket. No ghouls around. ‘Clear skies’, as you like to call it. So, why was it just that one ghoul there? And how did you not notice it before?

Your pants come out in a near wheeze as you push yourself through the heavy door. Once it’s shut behind you, you fall back onto it and slide down to the floor. The thick air of the high school locker room suddenly doesn’t seem so bad when you’re gasping for breath.

With one last deep breath, you push yourself up with a huff. You sling the bag from off of your shoulder and let it drop to the ground, not very worried about its contents. With a tug on the strap around your torso, the velcro pulls apart and you place it on a metal table sticking from the brick wall, the machete only making a small thud.

Your mattress is in the deeper corner of the locker room with the rest of your stuff. The lockers in that spot hold more than you should probably keep, but you’re not very worried about anyone raiding the place. As far as you know, this town is abandoned.

Your feet drag across the tile as you make your way toward the showers, flicking on every one of the battery operated fans as you pass by. You don’t know how or why, but there’s still running water coming into the locker room. You’ve always tried not to question it, afraid of jinxing it just for the water not to work anymore. And you’re worried for when winter comes, since the water can only run cold. But you’re grateful for it. There’s no way you can’t be.

Usually, you’d pick a cd out of your stash to put into the battery operated player, but you don’t want to waste any time in washing off the sweat that sticks to your skin. With your clothes thrown to the floor at your feet, you turn the nozzle and immediately feel the cool water rush against your skin. You’re quick to grab the bar of soap, one of the many you’ve made sure to collect, and rub it against your skin.

You wake up randomly, not bothering to sit up and separate yourself from the warmth of the blanket, even if it is just a fireproof blanket. But the grumble of your stomach forces you to change your mind. Eating something before crashing on the mattress would’ve been a smart decision.

With a kick, you fling the blanket from your body, setting your feet onto the floor. As you stand, the faint breeze from the fans hit you, waking you further. You rummage through the lockers containing food, not being able to see much of anything—it’s still dark out. The moon is high in the inky sky, a tell-tale sign of the night’s peak. It casts its glowing rays through the high windows to beam down in sections on the tile.

Your hand finds a pack of crackers that you settle for; it’s only a late night snack anyways. Shutting the locker door, you practically jump out of your skin at seeing the dark figure that stands there. A shriek escapes you, feeling your heart drop far into your chest as you drop the crackers in favor of clumsily shuffling backward into the corner of the lockers. You can’t afford to take your eyes off of the figure if they’re here to hurt you, take everything you have left.

You can’t even see their face yet, the moonlight only illuminating their torso. Looking at what you’re able to actually see, you notice that they’re holding a bag, quickly recognizing the gummy bear logo. Your brow shoots up in question.

It isn’t until you shift your eyes back to their shadowed face that you realize they’re getting closer, the moonlight racing up their body. You push yourself further into the lockers pressed against your back, not thinking it was even possible to be any closer. Your breaths come out quicker, nostrils flaring as you begin to panic with every step the stranger makes toward you. Looking past them, you catch sight of your machete that sits on the table, useless on the other side of the room.

Maybe you can side step them, make a narrow escape and grab the weapon, impaling them with it before they can blink twice.

But that plan bursts into flames as you feel their presence just inches from you. They’re eerily quiet, not even the sound of breathing could be heard from them, only you. You slowly look at their face, the moonlight finally bringing it to light, and you panic further upon the sight.

They’re a ghoul. The ghoul. It’s the same one that you ran from earlier today in the store. It’s pale and delicate face, devoid of life and showcasing veins here and there, is surprisingly unscathed. It-...he must’ve been a gorgeous man when he was alive. His blue-ish violet lips stand out the most, especially with the dried blood that stains them. His eyes are the most unique you’ve seen for a ghoul. Usually, a ghoul’s irises were clouded over in a deathly white mist, but he only has one eye like that. The other is perfectly normal, it’s deep brown holding a single sparkle from the light. It’s captivating, to say the least.

Not once has his eyes drifted from you, and it’s starting to make you worry even more. You can already feel the sting of an impending bite everywhere he looked on your skin. It was torture, and he kept getting closer and closer, making you shut your eyes in fearful expectation. Yet, a bite never came. He didn’t fiercely tear away at your flesh with his teeth, making you his late night snack just as you were fearing. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Instead of a painful bite, you felt cold skin pressed against your chest. It has you feeling your own rapid heartbeat against your rib cage. Slowly, you open your eyes to look down, only to see him leaning his forehead against your chest. You’re beyond confused, but you don’t push him away in fear that it may trigger him to actually kill you. And so, you stay impossibly still as he has his...moment?

You watch as he slowly moves his head, the tip of his nose brushing against your skin until you feel his slightly parted lips do the same. He stays there with the tip of his nose and lips lightly touching you, right over your pounding heart. You have no idea what he might be thinking—if he can think. If there’s more to ghouls than what people know, then you are just as clueless.

Suddenly, you feel—as well as hear—him take a deep inhale. It makes you clench your fists that are pressed against the lockers since you’re still too afraid to squirm away from him. His exhale comes out as a small, soft whine, almost as if he were in pain, but still content. You’ve never heard anything so smooth and airy come from a ghoul before, most of them wasting what’s left of their voice boxes by incoherently yelling. He presses his free hand rather harshly against the locker next to your side, emitting a bang that has you flinching. With the same arm, he pushes himself upright to meet your eyes. Once again, he lets out a soft hum while you keep eye contact, and if he were still alive, you would’ve melted at the sweet sound.

It’s not until you feel a nudge at your hip that you look down, seeing him pushing the bag of gummy bears toward you. Hesitant, you glance back up at him, gauging his intentions only to be met with the same stare. He was waiting, wanting you to take it. So you did. With a shaking hand, you take the bag from him, and his arm immediately falls limp at his side as if he were carrying a large weight this entire time.

As he steps back, you take the only chance you have and run past him while dropping the bag, the machete being your only priority. You grab it, spinning around with it already raised high in the air and pointing at the ghoul, ready to bring it down into his chest. But you stop halfway, the sight in front of you completely catching you off guard. His eyes are wide, scared even, hands held in front of him to shield himself from your attack. They shake with the effort he puts into holding them up, and you slowly start to break at the dawning realization. Your grip on the weapon’s handle immediately disappears, the blade dropping to the floor with a resounding clang.

“What am I even doing?” You whisper, appalled by the aggression you didn’t think twice about. That’s not like you, it never was like you. Even if the one standing in front of you is a being that can rip your flesh and devour your organs in an instant, you were still disgusted with yourself.

Sure, his actions were confusing and you’ve never seen a ghoul act so...human. But that definitely doesn’t mean you should put a blade in his skull without a second thought, all because he confused you.

On the other hand, you’ve lived with the apocalypse for half of your lifetime, only ever knowing to kill or be killed. There weren’t many times you had to kill a ghoul, but when you did, there was never the satisfaction that others talked about after taking one down. You never felt victorious or powerful. Only guilty and despondent. Even if it was their fate, a fate that could’ve never been reversed.

So you stand there, tears blurring your vision as you’re unable to meet the eyes of the ghoul in front of you. All of your thoughts are like knives spearing your heart, and you’re unable to focus on anything else around you. Shutting your eyes, the tears flow freely as a sob erupts from you. Maybe this has been building up for weeks, months even. Leaving your makeshift family to go nomad, adjusting to being on your own, jumping from place to place, and never knowing where is truly safe. It was all piled up stress, and this was the peak of it, your breaking point.

Lost in those thoughts, the sudden feel of lips on your cheek make you still and blink until your vision was no longer blurred. He was kissing your tears. You can feel how the ghoul’s lips were pressed ever so gently on the salty trail, and it only made you feel worse to know that he was trying to comfort you only seconds after you tried to end his afterlife.

“I’m so sorry... I don’t deserve that...” Placing your hands against the ghoul’s cold chest, you softly push him away and make a beeline for the mattress. You were no longer worried about the possibility of him eating you alive—he would’ve done that already. He would’ve done it instead of giving you the gummy bears you had wanted today, instead of kissing your tears away. What a complex, lovely ghoul.

You curl yourself into a ball once wrapped up in the blanket and lay with your back towards him, not yet having the heart to face him any longer.

As for the ghoul, he never thought he could once again feel his motionless heart constrict so much. The sight of your tears made an indescribable feeling dwell within him.

He sits on the ground, leaning back against the lockers as he watches your balled up form. Oh, how he wants to hold you right now, feel you in his arms, even if they are still weak.

When he stumbled upon you today, he knew he had to have you. You were glowing under the flickering fluorescents and he swore he felt butterflies. But he was a coward, standing there as you sped off in fear, slipping through his fingers. For that split second, he had forgotten what he really is. How foolish.

He doesn’t remember what exactly happened to him; all he knows is that he slowly turned into what he is now. He can’t quite recall his own name, although he knows for a fact that it starts with a J. He also knows for a fact that he is /not/ like all of the other ghouls. Yet, they all limp alongside him as if they see nothing wrong, because they can’t. He’s positive that maggots have eaten half of their brains already with the way they have no communication whatsoever, or sense of direction and coordination. Unless they’re after food, then it’s a one-track mind.

And he can’t lie, he’s done his fair share of flesh chewing, but he’s only ever felt as if he was going through the motions. It wasn’t as important to him as it was to the rest of the walking dead. He’s never tried talking, so he must’ve lost his voice from never using it, which explains why he had such a hard time speaking to you. That, and his body that never really decomposed, leaving him on the fence of death. He had tried so hard to tell you something, anything, but it just didn’t work out in his favor.

You also smell amazing. Your lingering scent was what led him to you, after all. If it wasn’t for the way you caught his attention, he might’ve taken a few bites of you. No doubt the urge is still there, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He could never.

He can still feel the vibrations of your heartbeat, it’s calming sound that put him at ease. His lips still tingle with the warmth of your skin. Sure, it was a bold move on his part, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. He’d do it over and over again. Even if you ended up nearly bashing his head in for a second time.

His mind was running wild with the visions of you, your warmth that is so close now, yet still so far away. But his serenity was interrupted as a bang resounded. His head snapped in the direction it came from, sadly taking his eyes off of your now sleeping form. You must’ve cried yourself to sleep, he muses, wishing you would’ve used his shoulder to let out your pain.

He’s met with the darkness of the rest of the locker room, silence returning, but he can’t take any chances. Shakily, he pushes himself up, trying to take on a protective stance and shielding you with his body, but ultimately failing when his spine slacks under his own weight. The damn zombie body, he internally curses.

With dragging feet, he makes his way around the corner, only to be met with the silhouette of a ghoul standing in the doorway that he broke off himself in order to get to you. He must’ve been so consumed with tracking you down that he missed any sign of other ghouls around. Oh, how distracting you are to him.

It was obvious that the other can smell you, trying to make its way toward where you sleep while foolishly ignoring him. Without hesitation, he snarls, lunging at the intruding ghoul. There’s no way he’s letting it get anywhere near you. Not without ripping it to unidentifiable pieces, anyways. The anger quickly boiling up within gives him the strength to knock down the ghoul, letting the thought of you push him further, far beyond self-control.

You woke up slower than usual, the weight of the night before still heavy on your chest. He was on your mind right when your eyes opened to the morning light beaming into the locker room. Your dreams were even plagued with him—dreams that are rather compromising to have with a ghoul. You aren’t even sure if you really want to remember it. And it’s sad to say, but you didn’t feel so lonely.

Looking over to the lockers, you find the spot empty of his presence, making you jump up from the mattress. He couldn’t have just up and left, not after last night.

You nearly laugh at your own thoughts. Who are you to act that way toward a ghoul? It isn’t as if you slept with him. Not in reality, anyways; his little moment last night must’ve really gotten to you. It all makes your brow furrow, not understanding your own mind and feelings.

You walk around the corner of the lockers, picking up a foul stench that makes you immediately cover your nose and mouth. Whatever it could be, you know it isn’t good. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were met with at the door.

There you found him, sitting on the floor with his back turned to you, hunched over a mutilated body. Not any human body, but another ghoul, or what once was. Its head, torn off at the shoulders, lays a foot away from its body, unfortunately facing you. Its foggy eyes wide and seemingly staring into your soul. Its jaw is hanging by a thread, pulled apart with the stretched flesh hanging like strings. Whether it was always that way or not, you’d rather not know.

Both arms were ripped from its torso, one of them laying in tact, the other in pieces at each joint. Discolored blood is smeared on the floor, most likely from the gaping hole in the torso.

You try to suppress a gag—because of both the smell and sight—but it was futile. The sound alerts the other to your presence, making his head snap toward you. The same discolored blood from the floor is slathered on and around his mouth, dripping down his neck and staining his already dirty clothes. Something must’ve snapped him out of whatever mindset he was stuck in because upon seeing you standing there, visibly appalled, made his stomach churn. He pukes it all up right there, the disgusting taste of zombie organs finally registering with him.

You quickly look away, fighting off gags with your forearm pressed against your mouth. Never have you witnessed something like this. A ghoul eating another ghoul was just unheard of. It didn’t seem logical with what a ghoul’s diet really consists of: humans. He puked it all up as well, begging the question of whether he really wanted to or not. It would seem that way with how you walked up on him taking bites from the other’s intestines, but with him, you have to question everything you know.

Glancing back, you find him trying to wipe off the remnants of the other ghoul. He was struggling, even looked a little confused. So, you couldn’t help what you were about to do.

“Come on,” walking up to him, you hold your hand out toward him, “come with me.”

The look he gives you could’ve shattered your heart, his wide puppy-like eyes staring up at you coupled with the blood smeared on his face shouldn’t make you feel that way. It should make you feel disgusted, yet you only feel that way toward the mess and stench.

With a shaking, bloody hand, he takes yours, letting you lead him to wherever you were going. He wasn’t very focused on that, though. No, the sight of your hand grasping his is far too enthralling. The fact that you initiated it makes it feel even better.

Once at the showers, you pull him into the stall, making him stand just far enough to not be under the shower head. Letting go of his hand—much to his dismay—you reach past him and turn the nozzle, the sound of water smacking against the tiles echoing. You quickly take the opportunity to hold your hand under the water, washing off the blood that transferred onto your palm. You both watch as the dark substance flows on the floor and down the drain, getting stuck in creases along the way. He mimics your actions, surprising you when he skips waiting for the blood to wash off, immediately going to caress the lines of your palm.

“Why did you do it?”

Your voice is gentle to his ears, much like a soft caress. He did it for you. It was all for you. He would’ve killed anyone who walked through that door, not just a ghoul who wanted you for food. He could see no reason for anyone else to be in there anyways. He was protecting you. There’s no way he’d let anyone or anything touch you, not even come near you. He’d make sure of it even after you’re only his to keep. But he couldn’t tell you that. Not yet.

As for eating the other ghoul—that wasn’t planned. It was almost as if he blacked out. He can remember smelling you as he was ripping the limbs from the ghoul. It was too much to handle, so he bit into the ghouls thin, decaying flesh in an attempt to alleviate the hunger he felt for you.

He didn’t have the courage to confess it all to you, he didn’t want to scare you off. So, he ignored the question in favor of bringing your hand up to rest against his cheek.

“Please...”

His voice is unexpected, making you freeze completely and stare at him in shock. His eyes sparkle, staring at you pleadingly while you still try to comprehend the fact that he talked to you. There was a break in his voice that pulled at your heart, so you can’t stop yourself when you swipe your thumb across his cheek. His eyes flutter in bliss as you begin to wash the blood from his skin. The dark blood is like a waterfall on his skin, a contrast to his translucent and paling skin.

Your heart starts to beat faster as your fingers inch closer to his lips, yet they still dance across the bottom one ever so gently. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your fingertips upon feeling them, gliding his hands up your arm to hold your wrist in place. You didn’t expect the first kiss, and you definitely don’t expect when he continues to kiss different spots on your hand. It’s almost as if he’s lost in what he’s doing, his eyes shut as he concentrates on pressing his lips to your skin over and over again. You can feel the heat that rises to the tips of your ears while you watch him.

But the moment is short lived when you gently push him back, leaving him standing under the water. Hurt flashes across his features, a look that you force yourself to ignore.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to wash up properly,” you’re unable to make eye contact with him, but you still hold your tingling hand to your chest. “...and I’ll get you my mouthwash. Must still have a bad taste in your mouth.”

He can only nod in agreement and watch you walk off, never sparing him a glance. His heart hurts, but swells simultaneously at you caring for him. You’re right, there’s still a bad taste in his mouth. And he highly doubts that you would’ve wanted his nasty throw up mouth on you. How inconsiderate of him, he scolds himself.

You do exactly as you told him you would, opening up your bag and grabbing the travel bottle of mouthwash. But you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you’re basically on autopilot. You’re well aware of your heart still going haywire in your chest. It’s a little embarrassing, a ghoul making you feel this way. Maybe if you could just get past that stigma...

No way. There’s no way you’re seriously contemplating being with a ghoul. But it’s so tempting when he’s so sweet to you, practically worshiping your body every chance he gets. It’s supposed to creep you out, scare you—you know that. Still, your thoughts are filled with what it might feel like to let yourself go to him. You just don’t think you could handle it if he went all ghoul-cannibal again.

Those thoughts come to a halt once you walk up to his stall. His bare back is turned to you, littered with dark veins that demand to be seen through his deathly skin. The dried blood in his light hair washes away as he holds his head under the water. He didn’t bother taking his pants off, something you’re not sure if you’re actually thankful for.

Stuck staring, you notice the marks on the back of his right bicep. A bite. The teeth marks are messy, but left visible holes in his skin nonetheless. That must be how he turned, you think, must be why the rest of his skin is barren of gashes and punctures. Black veins branch out from the old wound, leaving the surrounding skin dark. Though it makes you wonder...did he die alone? That possibility makes your heart fall.

“Hey...”

His voice pulls you from your melancholic reverie. It still surprises you, his small voice. It doesn’t waver this time though, most likely getting used to using his vocal chords. He’s turned to face you now, chest and stomach accentuating his lean stature. You force yourself to hand him the mouthwash before you get too lost while looking at him again.

“Hey. Here you go.”

He takes the bottle from you, trying to pull the cap off, ultimately cracking it. Bringing the rim up to his lips, he takes a swig, surprisingly not struggling to keep it all in his mouth as he swishes it around. He makes brief eye contact with you as he spits it out—well, more like letting it spill from his mouth, the minty liquid dripping from his bottom lip to flow into the drain. Eyes meeting once again, he stares at you with an almost menacing look while sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight sends a shiver through you, not knowing if it’s from fear or excitement.

Still full of surprises, he drops both the bottle and cap, letting them bounce on the tile as he reaches for you. Panic shoots through you when he grasps your hips, pulling you into him and under the flow of water. Maybe this was his breaking point. Maybe he was finally going to kill you—eat you.

But he only wraps his arms around you, securing you in a tight embrace. His face fits perfectly in the crook of your neck, a fact that leaves him as elated as feeling you against his cold skin. He can hear the breaths you take right next to his ear, a sound that comes second to your heartbeat—his favorite. The pounding muscle, especially when it speeds up, sparks excitement within him. He can just imagine the rapid beating doubled with your quick breaths, how you would say his name...

Wait. His name.

In that split second, he remembers it perfectly. All it took was the thought of you. It’s always you. You are his complete motivation; he would do anything for you. Anything at all.

“Jimin...” He huffs out into your shoulder, still having a hard time getting any words out since he already doesn’t breathe. It’s the moment you realize that he’s just a human stuck in a ghoul’s body.

By now you can’t help but ghost your hands over his arms, your fingertips going against the water droplets gliding along his skin. You’re both soaked, but it’s the least of your worries when he speaks the single name to you.

“That’s your name...isn’t it?” You can feel him nod in affirmation, his cheek brushing against your shoulder almost in a shy manner. However, his brazen actions paint him as anything but shy.

“Mine’s ____,” you whisper directly into his ear, oblivious to the true effect it has on him. Your name is something that he will commit to the little memory he still has. He’ll chant it over and over again if that’s what it takes to never forget your name. Lifting his head up, he locks eyes with you. His hair, drenched with water dripping from the ends, almost covers his contrasting orbs. You feel his arms tighten around you with his next words.

“____...”—making your breath hitch—“say it...” You stare at him in confusion, not quite sure what he means. “Say my name.”

His once soft tone is suddenly demanding, throwing you off, but reeling you in all at once. You’re captivated, completely and utterly captivated by him.

“Jimin.”

And he doesn’t waste a second in connecting your lips, his hand holding you in place on the side of your neck. It surprises you, but you’re quick to melt into his lips. His grip borders on tight, and you’d be worried if you weren’t so focused on how his lips feel. Soft and plush against your own in a delicious dance. And now, you didn’t have to wonder anymore with his lips latched to yours.

Jimin turns you until your back is pushed against the stall, all while you feel his tongue peek out to graze your bottom lip. The action has you letting out a small gasp and he takes the chance to push his tongue into your mouth, leaving you even more breathless when you feel it glide against your own. You can feel his hand massaging and gripping your waist, in turn making you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. With his body pressed against your own and his tongue feeling like heaven, your mind turns to mush. You’re putty in his icy hands.

Jimin detaches from your lips and you finally take a breath of air. His kisses move further down your neck, his tongue swirling on your skin with every few press of his addicting lips. You’re practically seeing stars already, eyes drooping in bliss. With him so close to your ear, you can hear each and every hum from him that has warmth spreading throughout your body. As his lips travel higher on your neck, you lean your head back, baring your throat to him. Jimin’s practically ravaging your skin, his kisses getting fervent, making you sigh as you card your fingers through his drenched hair.

And then suddenly, with his mouth opening wider, a searing pain sparks on your neck. Your eyes shoot open to be greeted with the molded ceiling that has you crashing back to reality. A pained sound escapes your open mouth as the realization dawns on you. Jimin is biting your neck. You can feel each and every puncture of his teeth into your skin, and he only bites down harder when you try to move. With all of the strength you can muster, you push him away harshly, finally getting him to stop sinking his teeth into you.

With foggy vision, you watch as he stumbles back, hitting the stall behind him. Your blood coats his lips and stain his teeth, and you can see it on his tongue when he licks his lips. All sound fades until there’s just a constant ringing.

Clutching your neck, you can feel the thick and slimy liquid that coats your skin. Even though you already know what it is, you can’t help but look at your shaking palm, caked and dripping with your own blood. Looking back up, you find Jimin nearing you once again. Hastily, you move backward until you’re cornered like you were before with your back against the stall. He gets closer and closer, watching you carefully, especially the blood that gushes from your neck. You sob when he brings a hand up to caress your cheek, not letting you jerk away.

“Beautiful...perfect...” And he means it. The thick red dripping along your body is a divine sight. He hates that you have to hurt for this to happen, and he’d be furious if it were anyone else that had done it, but it needed to be done. How else were you going to stay with him? Surely not as a human. Of course, he loved the beating of your heart and the warmth that you held, but he knew it would get in the way of making you his. This was inevitable.

His bite will stay there long after you’ve become undead, a fact that had him even more excited. His mark on your skin would be visible forever, a constant reminder of who you belong to—who made you. It was perfect.

Jimin watches you carefully, and it seems you’ve lost the will fight, though you never stopped glaring at him through your tears. You were already bitten, it was inescapable. But little did you know this was your fate from the moment you saw him in that abandoned store. You foolishly put hope into being with him, the deceiving ghoul that he truly is.

Your eyes start to roll back into your head, legs giving out with Jimin catching you before you can hit the hard floor. Picking you up, he leaves the running shower behind to carry you over to the mattress. Your body is limp in his arms, either passed out or already dead. After all, he picked the perfect spot to bite you. With the wound on your neck, it’ll take no time for the infection to make its way to your brain. He’ll have you quicker that way.

He sets your body on the mattress, blood quickly pooling on the fabric. Already, he can see the bite mark start to take effect, slowly starting to look just like his. It’s a gorgeous sight to him, and he can’t wait until you finally awaken. Then, he’ll be able to keep you forever.

© jiminstonic 2020

tag list: @jikooksgirl19 @sicnesa @buzzyourgirlfriendwoof @deepdarkdelights @iamnamjoonsbxtch @4evahevah @moon8child

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 18: A Lord in All but Name

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood/gore, guns, violence, death, body horror

Summary: Juniper gets recognized while visiting the village.

Feedback appreciated. 18+

The morning was cold and quiet. Juniper rose with Heisenberg, setting a kettle on the stove to make tea while he made toast.

They spoke little, moving through the kitchen like a single organism, unspoken in their singular task of making breakfast.

They ate at the table, Juniper sipping her tea slowly afterwards.

“So I was thinking…” Heisenberg stood from his seat and walked around the table. Juniper looked at him curiously, his tender tone an oddity.

Her curiosity deepened when he knelt down beside her chair, she turned to face him.

He took her hands softly, his bigger and calloused fingers wrapping around her own.

Juniper’s cheeks reddened.

Heisenberg gave a tight chuckle, awkwardness oozing from him. He didn’t try to mask it with humor as he usually did, unable to meet her eyes. Instead he focused on her delicate hands.

“You were thinking?” Juniper asked, slight worry in her tone.

“Well…” he began, “Seeing as you can’t remember your last name…I was thinking that maybe, if you’d like…”

“Karl?” Juniper bit her lip, “Are you proposing to me?”

He gave a self conscious smile, pulling one hand away to rub his neck, “Not really, all the formal shit not really my thing.”

She nodded. He cleared his throat, “But I did want to ask if you’d like it maybe, you would like to be Juniper Heisenberg?”

When no answer came he looked up. Juniper’s green eyes were wet, tears threatening to spill.

“A-Are you sure?” Her voice wavered.

Heisenberg straightened up a bit, taking her face in his hands, “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”

She shook her head, a shaking smile tugging her lips.

“So?” He asked, leaning his face closer, hopeful.

“Yes.” She nodded, her eyes closing as tears ran down her cheeks, “I’d love to be Juniper Heisenberg.”

He wiped away her tears with his thumbs, “Ah, don’t do that, buttercup. I don’t want to see my little Mrs. cry.”

She nodded, touching her forehead to his. Heisenberg couldn’t help the happiness bubbling up, his lips a deep smile.

~

Heisenberg had business to conduct in the village, and Juniper didn’t want to stay at the factory. So he begrudgingly agreed.

As they entered the village Juniper chirped, “Can I go look around?”

Heisenberg chewed the inside of his cheek a moment before answering, “Sure, but meet me by the maiden statue in an hour alright?”

Juniper smiled before breaking off down a different street.

The town was much more lively then she ever remembered. There were a few small street stalls open in the village center, and people filtered about their business.

She walked along just taking everything in, unaware of the eyes keenly watching her.

A man looked her over with a critical eye, almost gasping when he fully saw her eye color.

Flashes of the bloodmoon passed over his vision, those unnatural green eyes at the forefront.

He crept closer trying to keep his composure, he had to be completely sure, she was under Lord Heisenberg’s care after all.

As he rounded a cart he saw her reach up to inspect something at a food stall, her coat sleeve pulled back as she did so.

The man sucked in a breath, her arm was bandaged….it was her.

The monster.

Juniper left the stalls, instead turning towards the more quiet part of the village. As she walked she detected the echo of boot falls, too many to be her own. She paused, worry filling her core.

Before she could react, strong hands pulled her backwards into a darkened alley.

Juniper gave a small yelp before one of the hands covered her mouth. She struggled as she was pulled against another body.

“Stay quiet.” A man’s voice growled. Juniper tried to rip from his grasp until she felt cold metal press into her jaw. She instantly froze, glancing down the barrel of a gun.

She felt her blood run cold.

“Recognize it Bitch?” The man growled into her ear, “I won’t miss like Darius did…”

Confusion knotted Juniper’s brows together, she stammered when his hand left her mouth, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man pulled her hair back, exposing her throat to the gun more. “Shut up!” He snarled, “I’d recognize those eyes anywhere…you killed my brother, monster!”

Juniper felt sweat gather on her lower back as the man began to pull her backwards. She tried struggling again until the gun was shoved into the softness of her throat.

He pulled her out of the village and into the darkened trees of the forest.

The farther they went into the quiet, the more fear gathered in her stomach. The man shoved her forward into the snow, when they were far enough away. Juniper made a sound when she hit the frozen ground, looking up at the man fully now.

He was young, with brown eyes a mix of fear and anger. He bared his teeth at her, brandishing the gun with a shaking hand.

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment before he spoke in a low voice, “You killed him, you’re a monster…you ate him like a beast.” His voice cracked a bit, “I don’t care if you’re Lord Heisenberg’s. He’s not here. He can’t save you.”

Juniper felt her heartbeat in her ears as he came closer. She tried to speak but a sharp pain to her side cut her breath short. The man kicked her again, grimacing as she cried out.

After the third kick Juniper choked out something. The man paused, “What did you say?”

She curled in on herself in the snow. He fell down to his knees over her, pulling her face up to him, grip hard on her jaw. She winced, meeting his eyes.

“What did you say bitch?” He spat again.

“Fuck you.” She growled, before ripping her head from his grip, biting down on his hand. He cried out as her teeth grazed bone, trying to stand away from her.

While he was distracted she kicked the gun away from his grasp. She spat blood into the ground as he scrambled towards the gun. Her vision was clouded by red fog as she grabbed him from behind.

He froze, straightening as he felt her fingers like claws around him.

She gripped his jaw just enough to hold it open, the strength of a Lycan surging through her muscles. The man watched with wide eyes full of terror as her two first fingers grew into long primal claws.

She forced the claws past his lips and into his throat, pushing until she felt him jolt and wimped around her fingers in pain. His saliva became a pink color as tears ran down his cheeks.

“You think I need his Lordship here to deal with you?” She purred into his ear. She stopped her fingers from puncturing anything too important. She wanted him to choke, to drown in his own blood.

She heard his muffled whimpering become a wet gurgle, her lips curling.

“I am Juniper Heisenberg, a Lord of house Heisenberg.” The man could feel her lips against his ear, her voice a mixture of sugar and venom.

“I want you to remember it, remember that name as you choke.” She hissed, feeling his blood bubbling up around her fingers.

His body became heavy in her arms, his eyes glazing over as they rolled back into his skull.

Juniper dropped a soft kiss into his cheek before letting him go.

The man dropped to the ground, last of his life running into the snow.

She stepped over the body, gingerly walking back towards the village. She brought her fingers to her lips, sucking the blood from them, her green eyes blown out and savage.

~

Heisenberg waited by the statue, something felt wrong. He pulled his pocket watch out, looking it over before shoving it back into his coat with a huff.

He turned to begin his search for her, seeing her slowly walking towards him. She looked different, eyes. large and primal.

He rushed to meet her, worry in his gut, “What happened?”

She gave him a sharp smile, he saw blood on her teeth, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She answered sweetly.

Heisenberg really looked at her now. She wasn’t the innocent little bird that came to the village long ago…she was a lioness, dangerous and beautiful.

“I’ll tell you once there are less ears about.” She nodded, “Let’s go home.”

He gave her a nod, interlacing his fingers into her own.

~

“Someone hurt you?” Heisenberg asked angrily.

“He kicked me a few times…and pulled my hair.” She admitted, “But I took care of him.”

His steps slowed, taken back for a moment before she continued, “I made him choke on his own blood, then left him for the crows to eat.” She bared her teeth a bit as she spoke.

It was much more merciful than what Heisenberg would have done, given the chance, he thought darkly.

She gave a little giggle as they crossed the old stone bridge, adrenaline still fogging her senses.

~

When what happened started to set in, Heisenberg left her alone to decompress as he finished some things in the shop.

Juniper went into the bathroom, drawing a hot bath. She poured soap into the water while the tub filled. As the room thickened with steam she took a deep breath, running her hands down her body. There were bruises forming over her side and abdomen, a deep soreness setting into her flesh.

She gingerly lowered herself into the hot water, it stung her skin as she inched deeper. The hot bite soon soothed into a pleasant warmth that reached her bones as she lay back. The factory hummed below, becoming a drowning buzz to her ears.

Juniper let out a long sigh, closing her eyes. Part of her was still fearful at what she did or what she could do. While a different part was slowly becoming desensitized to the violence, and even embracing the savagery of certain acts.

She didn’t know how to feel.

Should she be ashamed or lament her loss of humanity? Or embrace the curse set upon her in the journey towards freedom?

Even if they did become free, what then? Everything they’ve done on that road pushed them further away from innocence and normality. Life will never be ‘normal’ for them.

She sank deeper into the hot water. Maybe just the promise of a quieter life, far away would be enough. They deserved that much. Didn’t they?

~

Juniper washed dishes in the skin quietly after dinner.

She heard the radio flicker on, but the normal rock music didn’t flow. Instead a softer song hummed from the old speakers, slow and delicate. Juniper looked up curiously, never hearing music like that play within the factory.

She turned, seeing Heisenberg standing a few feet away. She wiped her wet hands on her skirt.

He began to move towards her, a sway to his step.

His lips curled up into a gentle smile, offering his hands. Juniper giggled, seeing him like this was an oddity.

He took her hands, drawing her closer. She swayed with him to the music. She couldn’t make out the words but it was obviously a slow romantic song.

He twirled around lazily with her in the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. Juniper melted into the act, her hands finding his shoulders as his found her waist.

Heisenberg softly placed his forehead against hers as they continued to slowly dance, his heart swelling.

Happiness and warmth bloomed between them.

“I love you.” Juniper whispered. She saw his face flicker with a softness, adoration radiating from his pale eyes.

He didn’t have to speak and she wouldn’t force any words from him. He told her all she needed to hear in every delicate movement. Swaying with the lulls of the radio they continued their dance into the night. Slowly, ever so slowly their swaying petered off until they just stood in the kitchen holding one another.

She placed her head against his chest as he held her close. It felt perfect.

[whispering-raine]

Heartbreak - A Sanders Sides oneshot

((TWS: HEART BREAK (yes that means that Patton is affected), PANIC ATTACK, BEING SICK, BLOOD, FEVER, PUKE, MENTIONS OF AN ARGUMENT, DESCRIPTIVE GORE/WOUNDS, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, BLOODY ARTWORK AT THE END

3rd person POV:

Roman awoke, his eyes fluttering open as he examined his surroundings. He had fallen asleep in Pattons room the night before, so this was different from the normal scenery that covered the room he would usually wake up in. Family photos of the sides displayed in picture frames, kids toys lying everywhere but his desk, which was covered in random pieces of paper and probably a few recipes for cookies and other treats. Pattons room had become Romans safe space, and vise versa.

"Good morning, my dear~" Roman whispered, giving Patton a small kiss on his forehead. Patton gave a happy hum in his sleep, a soft smile following.

But something was off. His forehead was just a bit warmer than usual. His cheeks were tinted just a bit more pink than he was used to seeing. Roman sent a sympathetic look over towards the sleeping boy, walking out of the room.

He walked towards the bathroom down the hall, teaching into the medicine cabinet and grabbing a thermometer. He walked back, Patton still sleeping and hugging a stuffed animal.

Sweat was beaded on his face, which still held a tired smile, disregarding the shape he was in. Roman was careful to be quiet, holding the speaker of the thermometer to muffle the noise as he swiped the metal across Pattons forehead quickly. 102.1*

He muttered a quick "Shit." before taking the thermometer back to the bathroom. He quickly washed it off with warm water, putting the cap back on and placing it in the medicine cabinet.

He rushed out to the kitchen, in which he saw Logan typing away on his phone and almost chugging his daily cup of black coffee.

"Logan." Roman addressed the logical side. Logan almost immediately noticed the uneasy look on Romans face.

"Ah, good morning Roman. Is something the matter?" Logan questioned, putting his almost empty cup to the side and turning off his phone, setting it down on the table quietly.

"Yeah, yeah something is the matter. Can individual sides get sick?" His breathing was starting to get out of pattern.

"Well, yes, I suppose so. Are you feeling unwell?" Logan said in a concerned tone, walking over to Roman and reaching up to place a hand on his forehead. Roman politely moved Logans hand away with his own.

"No, actually, Patton has a fever and I was making sure that this was normal."

"Patton?" Logan questioned curiously. Roman nodded, confirming what Logan had once been so curious about. Logan seemed to think for a second, adjusting his glasses quickly and standing up straighter, although gay.

"Well Nico and Thomas got into a bit of an argument last night, so that may be the cause of it. But I'll do some more research in a little while to do a better and more proper diagnosis." Logan said, sitting back down and taking another sip of his coffee.

"Thanks, Nerd." Roman said before leaving, going back to Pattons room. He was going to make Patton feel better no matter the cost. He walked back into his room, the door creaking the slightest. Roman sighed, a sad smile curling on his lips. He layed down next to his beloved, wrapping arms around him and giving him the softest hug he could manage.

"Mm," Patton hummed, slowly waking up.

"Hello darling.." Roman whispered, rubbing the smaller ones back lightly.

"Are you feeling alright? You have a fever.." Roman asked as he awaited patiently for a response.

Patton could only manage a small shake of his head, leaning farther into Romans touch. "I-Is...everyone else okay though..?" Patton slurred, his words muffled by Romans shirt.

"I'm pretty sure. I haven't checked on everyone, but Logan and I feel okay." Patton responded with a nod, almost falling back asleep in Romans arms.

But he was awoken by the voice again, "Would you like me to make you some tea...?" Patton thought for a moment, before giving a small nod.

"But I can make it myself. I don't want you to waste too much time on me." He insisted, tiredly rolling off of Roman to sit up. He leaned back on his palms, repressing a yawn. Roman sat up with him, putting an arm around his shoulders and rubbing his upper arm.

"You're in no condition to be doing that yourself. I can get it for you, I promise." Patton slid his hand over Romans, intertwining their fingers silently.

"I'll be fine."

"No you won't." Patton let out a chuckle, smiling up at Roman.

"Ro, I'm fine. I'll get right back into bed after I get my tea."

"Fine. Then let me see you stand on your own."

Patton grabbed his glasses off of the nightstand, slipping them on. Roman helped Patton to a standing position, holding him as if he were a kid learning how to ride a bike. Roman finally let go, although only inches apart from the swaying boy. Pattons knees immediately buckled, falling into Romans chest with barely any control of his own body.

"See? I'm fine!" Patton joked, lifting only his head from Romans chest. Roman couldn't help but smile at the smaller boy.

"And this is why I'm making your tea for you."

Patton let out a whine, burying his face back into Romans shirt. The both wrapped their arms around each other, Pattons hung down at Romans waist; and Romans wrapped around his shoulders.

"Come on, let me get you back into bed."

Patton gave in at this point, allowing Roman to pick him up and gracefully lay him back down onto the soft covers.

"I'll be right back."

Patton layed on his bed, trying to stop the world from spinning around him as he focussed on a stain on the ceiling. A few extra minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt, would it? Patton let his heavy eyelids shut as he curled into a ball, trying to get comfortable. He was almost immediately woken up by Roman walking in, holding a glass of tea. The glass had a cat paw pattern on it. It was always Pattons favorite.

"Hello my darling~" Romans voice rang throughout the room once again, placing the cup of tea on the bedside table.

"Hi, honey.." Patton mumbled, rolling over to face Roman. Roman smiled softly, laying down next to Patton.

"Cuddles?" Patton asked, holding his arms out and doing grabby hands. Roman couldn't help but blush at this, sweeping him into his arms and holding him. Patton giggled quietly, smiling and blushing.

"Do you know anything about what happened last night?" Roman spoke up.

"No, is everything okay?" Patton immediately grew concerned.

"Well Thomas and Nico got into a bit of an..argument...late last night." Realization struck Patton like a brick. He finally realized why he felt so horrible. Heartbreak. Then why hadn't the cracks shown up yet?

"Do you have a mirror I can borrow?" Patton asked, sitting up and rolling off of Roman.

"What?" Roman was beyond confused.

"It's complicated! I just need a mirror and quick!" Patton began to shake, worrying about almost everything at the exact moment. This has only happened one other time, and Patton was lucky to survive it. But that was years ago. Patton didn't know if he'd make it through this one. Heartbreak. Such a literal term in the sense of sides.

"I think there's a handheld one on my desk, but that's all the was across the hall. You'd be better off just going to the bathroom." Patton nodded, slowly getting up.

"Are you sure you're okay to walk? I don't want you getting hurt. I can go with you if-"

"I'm fine," He reassured, stumbling quickly out of the room. That left behind a very worried and confused Roman.

Patton ran to the bathroom, holding the wall as he did so. He slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it as he leaned on the marble counter. He brushed his bangs out of his face with his hand, seeing the smallest crack, starting at his hairline and going down onto his forehead.

"Shoot.."

Patton knew that when something like this happened, Virgil was always affected. Whether Thomas is anxious that Nico doesn't love him as much as he used to, or he's scared that they're going to break up, Virgil is going to be affected to some degree. Patton made sure to put his bangs back in place, going out of the bathroom and towards Virgils room.

He creeked open the door, not trying to scare his dark strange son. Virgils head shot up as soon as he heard the quiet noise. He took off his headphones in a rush as he paused his music.

"Hey Kiddo, can I come in..?" Patton asked gently, peeking his head in. Virgil could only nod and hum, not trusting his voice. Patton walked in, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, Pat." Virgil mumbled, his voice slightly distorted. The father figure was leaning on the door frame, keeping his balance. Patton gave a small wave, walking over to his bed and trying not to collapse on the way.

"Dad, are you alright? Last night Thomas-" Virgil said quickly, before Patton cut him off. Patton stayed silent, but moved his hand up to shove his bangs back and show the small crack - soon to grow bigger - to Virgil. Virgil let out a gasp, he swore his heart stopped for a second.

"I-It can't be happening again...! No! I-I won't let it happen!" Virgil had started crying. Patton let out a choked cough, before wiping Virgils tears away with the other hand. The only thing that could be heard was Virgils rapid breathing, until Patton spoke once again.

"I'm going to be okay Kiddo. Relax. Take a breather." He said as he held Virgils face. His own dizziness almost made him fall over as he scooted towards the scared and anxious boy. Virgil nodded, trying to get his breath back to normal. Patton put an arm around Virgil, rubbing his back in the slightest.

"Here Virge, copy my breathing." Patton took a deep, exaggerated breath, trying not to cough. Patton whispered small reassurances, such as "It's going to be okay." or "Breathe,".

They seemed to be working as Virgil slowly calmed down. Once Virgil could finally breathe again, he layed his head into Pattons shoulder, in which Patton brought up a hand to stroke his hair quietly.

"What if something bad happens to you?" Virgil mumbled, playing with his hoodie sleeves.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Kiddo." Patton said in a tone that was at least one octave down from his normal, cheery one.

It was too serious. And it scared Virgil.

"But Dad..." His voice began to distort again, "...I don't think I can live without you..." This brought on a whole new wave of tears for Virgil.

"Oh Kiddo... C'mere.. It's going to be okay.." Patton said as he wrapped his arms around Virgil as tight as he could without hurting him. Virgil gripped onto one of those arms as if Patton would disappear if he didn't. Patton could feel the crack expanding down towards his eyebrow, something he'd have to cover up later with makeup. But he decided to ignore it for now. Although a tear escaped his eye, he still managed to keep a calm smile on his face.

Meanwhile, Roman was talking with Logan in the kitchen once again.

"I guess I'm just...worried? The last time Patton was sick like this was..." Roman said, trying to remember when the time he was referencing was. Then it hit him, "Thomas' last breakup." It was almost under his shaking breath.

"What're you guys talking about?~" Remus sang, walking in with Janus.

"Oh! Janus! Just the guy I needed to see!" Logan exclaimed, ignoring Remus completely.

"Hm?" Janus cocked an eyebrow, confused but still paying careful attention.

"You were there at Thomas' and Nicos fight, correct?"

But Patton overheard everything. Of course it was Janus who would've been in the fight. He probably caused it in the first place. Another piece of his forehead cracked, leaving a terrible sight. He actually trusted Janus for once. And he was mad at himself for it.

A few minutes passed of overthinking and hugging Virgil. Patton, lost in his thought, barely even heard the small curse that came out of Virgils mouth.

"Shit, Pat, you're bleeding." Virgil muttered, his tears now dry, but the stains still on his cheeks. The hug had ended, apparently.

"Hm?" Patton was still busy thinking, only looking at Virgil in his peripheral view.

"Patton for Gods sake pay attention to me! You! Are! Bleeding!" Virgil raised his voice, done with Pattons bullshittery for today, even though it was only the morning.

"Wait what? Where?"

Virgil reached up towards Pattons forehead, wiping a dribble of the red, sticky liquid off of his warm skin. Virgil was shocked, gasping in the slightest. He put his other, uncontaminated hand on the other side of his forehead, making sure not to hit any of the cracks.

"You're burning up." Virgil whispered to himself, placing a soft hand on Pattons cheek.

"Oh, I would've never guessed!" Patton joked, giggling a bit.

"Have you taken your temperature at all??"

"Roman mentioned something about a fever when I woke up, but I'm not sure if he took it." Virgil thought for a moment, Pattons words finally registering in his head.

"You...slept with Roman...?" Virgil recoiled, making a disgusted face at Patton.

"Not the point, but yeah, I slept with him." Virgil shook his head, trying to get those thoughts out of his head.

"Just...lye down, I'm grabbing the thermometer." Virgil said as get got up.

"But this is your bed?" Patton wasn't upset by this, no, but he didn't want to intrude. Especially considering the fact that Virgil normally didn't like the other sides touching his stuff in the first place.

"And? You're laying down. You're swaying just sitting there. Did you think I couldn't see it?" Virgil growled, putting a firm hand on Pattons shoulder.

"No." His voice was fragile and weak. Virgil could feel his anxiety heighten at this. He's never seen Patton just this vulnerable before. He gave a slight force to Pattons shoulder, pushing him out of the sitting position he was in, and back onto the pillow. He had barely pushed. Just a mere pressure, almost less than gravity gave.

Patton let his legs stretch out naturally, not bothering to stop it from happening. Virgil gave a slight sympathetic chuckle, pulling a thin blanket over him from the end of his own bed.

"I'll be right back, 'kay Dad?"

"M'kay.." Patton mumbled, curling onto himself and gripping the blanket. Virgil gave one more glance towards the curled up figure on his dark bed before leaving the room.

He came almost face to face with a fuming Prince as soon as he stepped into the hallway.

"Well hello to you too, Princey." Virgil remarked sarcastically. Roman just grumbled.

"If that snake wouldn't have been the only side awake during the argument, this wouldn't have happened." Roman just now looked up at Virgil, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Fuck off, I was there, too." He slapped his arm playfully.

"Wait, seriously??" Roman almost yelled, making Virgil wince.

"Yup." He said in a monotone voice, trying to leave the conversation. He started to walk away, but Roman caught his hood, keeping him in place.

"What is it now?" He grumbled.

"Have you seen Patton?"

"Yeah, he's in my room resting."

"Is he oka-" Before Roman could finish that question, it was immediately answered by a scream, coming from Virgils room.

"Shit." Virgil immediately ran back into his room, swinging the door open. Roman followed close behind, worry filling his veins.

Patton was curled up in a tight ball, his hands held over his mouth as black liquid mixed with blood poured from it. Tears were streaming down his cheeks in a steady flow, mixing with the other two fluids. He could barely see, but he was able to quickly yell a, "It hurts!!" as he screwed his eyes shut. He was hit with another wave of pain as more blood poured down his forehead. The crack was at least two times bigger than Virgil had last seen, although he was gone for barely a minute.

"Help.." He whispered as Virgil ran over to him, but Roman was stuck at the door. He couldn't move. He didn't know how to.

"Shh, shh, I'm here. It's okay. I know it hurts. Breathe. Breathe for me." Virgil rambled, holding Patton tightly in his arms.

"V-Virge..?" Patton whispered as he gripped the fabric of his soft hoodie, letting out another, quieter sob. Virgil just nodded, allowing Patton soak his clothes with tears and blood, making a mental note to clean it off later.

Logan walked in, confused but mad.

"WHY IS EVERYONE..." he saw Patton, "...yelling..." he finished, mumbling.

Heartbreak. What everyone in that room felt. Patton. Virgil. Logan. But especially Roman.

He was having his own mini panic attack, still standing in the doorway with Logan. Logan put a soft hand on his upper arm, rubbing circles with his thumb.

"It's going to be alright, Roman. Can you take a deep breath with me?" Logan asked, gripping his shoulders firmly, but in a caring way, making sure to not let go.

Roman gave a hasty nod, looking Logan in the eyes.

"In," Logan started, mentally counting out 4 seconds exactly.

"Now hold," He said as he began to count 7 seconds.

"Now out." 8 seconds.

Logan gave a satisfied smile, "Good. Now, can you try that again?"

They did the breathing exercise for a few minutes, Logan still holding onto Romans shoulders. But Logan moved his hand a bit to wipe a stray tear that was dribbling down Romans cheek, making it dry once again.

But more tears poured as Roman shook Logan off, going to his boyfriend. Logan followed, not having much else to do. Patton had calmed down - thanks to Virgil - the slightest bit. He was still coughing up a bit of blood, and the unidentifiable black liquid from before, though. But he could actually breathe now without letting out another sob, so that's progress. Even if it's just a bit.

As soon as Patton realized that Roman was there, he crawled over to him, laying his head on his shoulder. Roman wrapped his arms around him, giving him a hug, and a small kiss on the top of his head. Much to Logans and Virgils surprise, Patton broke down once again, leaning fully into Roman.

"Let it out, baby. Let it all out... It's okay..." Roman ran his fingers through Pattons soft but tangled hair, giving him small kisses. Patton sobbed so hard that it almost hurt more than the growing cracks. He just wanted to be okay.

Logan sat on the bed next to the others, making a small circle/triangle type group. He patted the sobbing boys back softly, trying his best to be comforting. Pattons eyes began to burn, more than tears ever could. He let out a small whimper, trying not to cry out in pain. He put a hand to his cheek, in which his tears were rolling down. Or well, he thought it was tears. But it was just the same black liquid as before.

Heartbreak...

What may be the end of Pattons whole life.

His actions being uncontrollable, he coughed hard, more liquid reddening his eyes as he sobbed.

"I-it...h-hurts..." He croaked out, curling in on himself as he shook.

"I know, Pat. Just keep breathing. It's okay. You're going to be okay." Virgil spoke, sliding into the hug. Logan decided to join the group hug, they all held Patton in their arms. Patton gave a sad, bloody, smile, enjoying the warmth around him. He coughed once again, more blood spilling out. None of the sides were bothered by the stains that soaked their clothes. But they were all bothered by the sight of Patton. It hurt each of them.

"I...I love you all.." Patton said much too clearly, pain contorting his face.

"Goodbye."

Heartbreak.

What had killed Patton that morning.

[And the artwork I promised in the warnings✨]

[angelanimedesaray]

Investment Part 5: The Quiet

AN:  Soooo this part ended up being short compared to the others, cause it’s a connecting chapter.  Also I wanted to use a certain gif SO BAD but I COULDN’T because it would spoil the end.  You’ll know what I wanted to use by the end, hehehe

I kept agonizing over characterization, which is why it took me so long even though for the Investment series it’s pretty short.

Also, apologies to the people who weren’t tagged in the previous part, my tags were messed up and I just found out the other day, but I think they’re fixed now.

Characters:  Vampire!Levi, Reader, Hange (Mentioned), Erwin (Mentioned), and a SURPRISE

Pairing:  (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings:  Language, Blood, a bit of past Trauma and Fear, Gore

Word Count:  6522

<----Previous Part    Masterlist    Next Part---->

*Reader’s POV*

As you guided the horse through the dissipating fog, you kept glancing down at Levi in front of you.  He held to the saddle horn with one hand, the other splayed on his chest as he weaved unsteadily in front of you, hunching forward with barely enough distance between his forehead and the horse’s bobbing neck.  He still wasn’t in great shape, but he wasn’t near death anymore, which was a relief.  You weren’t trying to catch up to the main formation anymore--they were long gone now, and the only thing you could hope for was for them to collect you two on the way back.

The silence between the two of you was almost uncomfortable, both of you enduring what remained of the wind and rain without a word spoken between either of you since you’d forced Levi to drink your blood.  You could only imagine what was going on in his head after you’d done that.  As much as you were aware it may have hurt him, you didn’t regret it--it was what you’d needed to do at the time, no matter what your personal feelings on the matter were.

Your arm still hurt where he’d bit you, and you could feel the odd sensation of mostly dried blood on your arm at his side.  You really hoped the rain was helping to wash it away and getting rid of the temptation for him, because you didn’t have time to wrap up your arm while trying to flee the scene before Titans appeared.  He hadn’t made any complaints or obvious fidgets of discomfort, though, so you could only assume he was coping.  Maybe he was too distracted right now to really react, though there wasn’t much to distract either of you except your own thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology came out of nowhere, and it was so softly spoken the wind almost swallowed it up entirely.  Shocked, you looked at the back of Levi’s head directly in front of you.  He wasn’t turning to look at you, and he was still in that hunched over position.  There was no outward sign that he’d spoken, but you were certain that he had.

“I pushed too hard...and I can’t fix what I broke.  No matter how much I want to.”

The only thing Levi could have possibly seen in reaction to his words was the tightening of your grip on the reins to a white knuckled one, causing your bite mark to ache.  Your eyes burned from more than just the wind, and your throat closed up as you struggled to swallow the emotion welling up inside you at his words so you could focus on getting the two of you to the safehouse.

That...that was an apology that you’d needed to hear to start to really forgive him.

Seeing him again, being a part of his life again even if it was from a distance, studying with Hange and learning more and more about what was happening to him, what he was struggling with; it had softened you to him once again, had seeds of genuine care sprouting in your heart again.  However, there had still been something complicating it, something that held you back from starting to forgive him.

Now, after seeing him near true death again like that first night, then seeing him so hell bent on not drinking from you again no matter the personal cost...The sight of his fingers digging into the earth, rain and blood soaked, and his body taught and turned away as he vehemently refused your offer was going to be burned into your mind for years to come.  He’d never admit it out loud, but you had the sense now, after that display back there, that what he’d done had damaged him as well as you.  If he wasn’t traumatized from it, he was at least drowning in guilt for the things he’d done--and not just to you.

And now there was this apology, even if it was so soft spoken you almost missed it, the words disappearing in the wind as you raced forward, Levi not even turning to meet your gaze as he said it--though you strangely weren’t hurt by that fact.  You knew it wasn’t for a lack of sincerity that he didn’t meet your gaze.  He’d never been the best at communicating when it came to his emotions, anyway--he was a constant puzzle you had to pay attention to and work through to figure out what he was feeling or thinking, because most of the time, he wasn’t openly expressionate.  But sometimes, like now, he would give someone a key piece to solve the current puzzle.  And on the rarest of instances, like back there, he was open and vulnerable, though usually that was when the emotion was too strong even for him to contain.  And he probably tried to keep those moments of vulnerability to when he was alone.

Just because his emotions were usually hidden or he could be tough to read, didn’t mean he was heartless and incapable of feeling, though, like some might suggest.

Even though you didn’t say anything in response to his short and quiet apology, as you gazed at the back of his head, you could feel a part of you forgive him.  You weren’t ready to tell him verbally that you forgave him, you needed a bit more time for that...but in your heart, you were starting to forgive him.

Blinking away a few tears, you forced yourself to look ahead again, slowly bringing yourself out of the emotional funk and paying closer attention to the area around you, even though you knew Levi was going to be able to spot any Titans long before you could.

While some bases the Scouts had established were in ruins or abandoned castles, there was the occasional small house constructed high in the giant trees that grew in the area, far out of reach of any Titan but the Colossal Titan and accessible with ODM gear instead of ladders, for safety’s sake.  It was one of these treehouses that Levi guided you to for the two of you to lay low until you could be retrieved by the main scout regiment body.  Trusting your horse’s training to stay in the area, you let the horse wander as it pleased down below while you used your operational ODM gear to get the still-hurt Levi up to the treehouse.  Once the weather cleared up, and day broke, you were going to go up into the treetops as high as your ODM gear would throw you and fire your flare shots to signal Hange.

But first, you needed to tend to Levi.

Once inside the small military cabin-esque safehouse, Levi took a seat on one of the lower bunk beds, an audible ‘Tch’ sounding in the room when he found the place fairly dusty.  It hadn’t been used for a while, so it hadn’t been cleaned.  You might have to see to fixing that afterwards--if you had the supplies to clean around here, which you might, if the Scouts had kept Levi in mind while setting this place up--for his sanity’s sake.

In the meantime, you took a seat on the edge of the bunk, a hand already out to touch one of the spots that was still damp with blood.  “Let me take a look,” you asked, but Levi grasped your wrist before your fingers could brush fabric.

“I’m fine--it’s healing,” he said firmly, starting to sit up.  One of the stains darkened in the process, convincing you otherwise.

“Stop being stubborn and let me help.  Hange’s gonna want healing details anyway.”

“Leave it--I can tell her myself.”

“Levi,” you said firmly, holding his gaze with a harder look.  “Let me look--you’re still bleeding, there’s still open wounds, they should probably at least be wrapped until they seal up, to keep them clean and try and staunch the bleeding.  Or do you want to have to drink from me again because you lost more blood?”

He already might have to before the Scouts returned, but you didn’t mention that right now.  Besides, you needed a little rest before you could act as a doner again.

Levi sighed, leaning back with eyes closed, a look of displeasure on his face.  “Fine.”

Glad you’d won this little battle, you went through your stuff for your emergency medical supplies, finding the bandages and such you would need to wrap his wounds before turning around to see him already undoing the straps for his gear and sliding it off his torso.  As you came closer, the cravat was carefully set aside and his fingers started unbuttoning his rain and blood soaked shirt.

If it hadn’t been for the garish shallow hole in his chest a few buttons down, this could have easily turned into an awkward and embarrassing moment.  It was still a little awkward, as the start of a burn in your cheeks might suggest, but seeing the injury helped you mellow again.  To keep the embarrassment at bay, you kept your eyes down, looking at his gradually exposed chest and refusing to meet his eyes as you turned all your attention to his injuries.

Well, the good news was that it did seem to be healing.  The bad news was that the healing process had slowed dramatically for reasons unknown.  Clearly, he’d healed rapidly earlier considering none of the holes went all the way through, but if it had stayed at that pace, these would have been gone by now.  Your fingers even came away wet with blood--not a lot, but the point was that the wounds were still bleeding.

“I wonder why you stopped healing so fast…” you murmured, mostly to yourself as you helped Levi carefully sit up so you could properly start tightly wrapping around his torso so both front and back wounds were covered.

“Maybe I only heal fast at the start before it slows down,” Levi suggested, attempting to hold still while you worked.  Both of you were ignoring the close proximity, even while your breath tickled his bare chest, fingers flush against his warm skin where you were holding him steady.

You shook your head.  “No, I don’t think that’s it.  Based off Hange’s observations, at least.  You usually heal fairly quickly at the same pace.”

You had a theory, but considering you knew it wasn’t one you could test--or rather one you were certain Levi wouldn’t comply to testing--you were going to keep your mouth shut for now and mention it to Hange, later.

“You have been working with Hange,” Levi said as if he was confirming a theory of his.  When you nodded, he pressed forward.  “That’s how you knew about the curtains, why you made the tins, where you got the bracelet…”

It seemed he’d been paying just as close attention to you as you had been to him.  Nothing got past Levi--he was as deductive and observant as ever.  You were, too, though, and you thought you could hear a timber of...perhaps it was guilt in his voice again?  Maybe he was thinking about what led to the arrangement between you and Hange.  Or maybe he had the wrong idea about why you’d done all of it.

“I wanted to know what was happening with you, and I wanted to help however I could.  Even if it was from a distance,” you admitted quietly.

Finished wrapping him up, you pulled back, grabbing what you’d used and getting up from the bunk.  “Anyways, I’m going to see what I can do about cleaning up around here--you need to rest.  It will help with the healing process.”

“So do you,” Levi said pointedly, eyes following you as you moved around the cabin looking for anything that you could use to clean up.  “I don’t sleep much, anyway.  I’ll keep watch while you sleep.”

You were rather exhausted.  It had been a hard ride since the Scouts had left the walls, not to mention digging for Levi had been a wearisome, and he drank a hefty amount of your blood.  That meant you were admittedly worn down and woozy, but at least you weren’t injured--well, not as bad as Levi, anyway.

Speaking of, you needed to sit down and wrap that before you got started cleaning.

“You really shouldn’t--”

“Just shut up and get some rest.  I’ll make it an order if I have to,” Levi cut you off, looking slightly irritated at your insistence to try and keep him on bedrest while you darted around trying to do stuff.

Oh, ho, ho, he was threatening to pull the rank card.  That one rarely got pulled, considering he wasn’t really one for authority.  All right, you would give--this time.  As long as he was still going to take it easy, you couldn’t complain too much.

After searching the entire cabin, you came to the conclusion that no, they hadn’t kept Levi in mind while supplying this place.  You couldn’t find what you were looking for.

Heaving a disappointed sigh, you sat on the bunk opposite where you’d laid him down to rest, the bandages in hand once more.  “Sorry, Levi, but there’s nothing here to clean with.”

“We’ll make do.  Get some rest--you’ll need it in the morning,” Levi said, getting up from the bunk and finding his way to a chair by one of the windows with visible effort before sitting back down with his head leaned back, gazing out the window.

Reluctantly, you settled back onto the bunk, gaze trained on Levi and taking in his bandages, noting what spots already had red speckling through.  You took the time to wrap up your arm, officially covering up the wound and hopefully helping him ignore any lingering bloodlust he might not be saying anything about.  Silence settled over the cabin, the only sound your occasional shift on the bunk to try and get comfortable and your steady breaths.

You ended up surrendering to exhaustion with the last thing you saw Levi sitting perfectly still in his seat by the window, his gaze distant and far away, lost in his own thoughts.

*Levi’s POV*

After she fell asleep, there was nothing but Levi and his thoughts in the dark space, slivers of moonlight making its way into the room through the large trees and the window to give a semblance of light.

There was a dull ache in his jaw that had only started to dim after she had wrapped her arm to cover the open wound, but it wasn’t going away entirely.  He could still smell the blood in the air, even if it was made faint.  The wounds he’d received when he was crushed under the rubble had healed for the most part, not counting the wounds where he’d been impaled.  Those were well wrapped and covered, but they still hurt like a bitch and sapped at his strength.  He wasn’t oblivious to the wet blood that still darkened the wraps, even if it was slow.  He just had to keep with the knowledge that he was healing, and it would eventually stop and his wounds close.  He had at least a whole night and however long of the day it took for them to rejoin with the Scout formation to heal.  Even if he tried to sleep tonight, he doubted he would be able to between insomnia, pain, the smell of blood in the air, and his thoughts.

As if that was different from any other night…

His head turned slightly to look at Y/N asleep on the bunk, face cast in shadow.

He had been mulling over what he would say to her for so long, trying to get the words to work, to come out right without being too blunt or harsh.  He didn’t want to mess up this apology, which was why so much thought went into it.  Frankly, he’d imagined he’d be sitting down talking to her face to face when he finally said it, but instead, he found himself saying it in that silence during their ride back.  It had been at the front of his mind, then; glaring at him and demanding that he say something.  He couldn’t gauge a reaction or anything sitting in front besides her grip tightening on the reins and her heartbeat picking up.  He was pretty sure he picked up on a faint sound, like a whine that didn’t quite make it past her throat...but he could have imagined it.

On another note, she’d managed to help soothe another pain, possibly without realizing it.  All that time, those little things she’d been doing like putting up curtains and making those bloodlust tins, he had thought she was doing it because she was terrified of him and trying to keep him pacified so he wouldn’t attack her again.  Now she’d just told him she hadn’t done it out of fear like he’d assumed--she’d done it because she was genuinely trying to help.  She still cared, even then, after everything…

Levi let out a slow breath, eyes halfway lidded as his gaze shifted to a dark corner of the cabin.  At this point, he might as well stop being so damn stubborn about her getting involved in what was happening with him.  He’d never really managed to get her out of this mess.  She’d always been involved, and she was still involved.  There was no point in continuing to try and keep her at a distance if it clearly never worked to begin with.  He could at least control what he could, so he could make sure she at least stayed safe instead of ending up in reckless situations trying to muscle past his stubborn exterior.  But pushing her away wasn’t the way to make it work.

While coming to terms with the fact she was going to be a part of this despite his initial decision, he caught the sound of her heartbeat quickening.  Turning his head, he could tell she was still asleep, even as her breath got shallower and faster.

After all those nights your nightmares kept him awake, he was quite aware of what it sounded like when you were having one, even this early.  You were having them a little less from what he’d been able to hear at night.  As much as you’d both been getting off your chests tonight emotionally--at least in Levi’s head--that didn’t mean the trauma wasn’t still there.  Hell, him biting you again may have triggered it tonight.

As it started to get worse, twitches and whimpers coming from your bunk, Levi carefully got to his feet, a little more steady than last time as he’d had a bit more time to rest and recover.  As he walked over to the bunk, the signs grew clearer.  Little twitches from the fingers, eyes darting side to side behind her eyelids, shallow fast breaths.  It wasn’t severe enough to be waking her up, though--he was well aware you weren’t supposed to wake someone up from a nightmare unless it was at a certain point of severity.  Besides, he was fairly certain if it got as bad as some of the nights he’d overheard her, she might just wake up on her own.

Just in case, Levi settled carefully on the very edge of the bunk, sitting there and listening to her heart rate and breathing, little sounds of distress, his face completely hidden in shadow as he pushed aside the thoughts that he was the one who had caused these night terrors in the first place.

Her hand partially jumped up off the bed with a muscle spasm, catching Levi’s full attention.  Instinctively, he reached out to carefully put a hand on her shoulder, staying as gentle as he could with her as he studied her face with a sharp eye.  Any more movements like that, and he would wake her up for her sake.

Her head tossed to the side, that same arm coming up partially and curling towards her chest, prompting Levi to give her a careful shake.  “Oi...wake up,” he commanded in a voice that was still fairly quiet in the name of trying to wake her gently so he didn’t startle her awake.

It took a couple more shakes because she was so deep in her nightmare, but when he did manage to get her to wake, it was not peacefully.  Her body jerked, and her arm flung out, almost hitting Levi in the face if he hadn’t caught her hand with his.  Her eyes were wild with panic, and her heartbeat didn’t settle, giving him a cutting reminder that her nightmares didn’t always end when she woke, and the subject matter of these night terrors were...

Pushing aside his emotions yet again, Levi’s grasp on her hand tightened slightly.

I know she’s having nightmares about me.  But how the hell am I supposed to convince her I’m not going to hurt her again to soothe them?

*Reader’s POV*

You were disoriented when you woke up, breathing heavy and gaze tearing apart the shadows for the red eyes you knew would be glaring at you from somewhere in the darkness.  You tensed at the feeling of something grasping your hand, heart speeding up with the thought that the creature from your nightmares was right beside you and already had a grip on you, about to tear into you mercilessly.

Before the panic could take over entirely, your hand was pulled in, and you found it splayed against a warm and bandaged chest, one hand on your wrist and the other covering yours.  You paused because you were confused by the unexpected action, and it definitely served to make you stop long enough for your head to start to clear.

There was, in fact, someone right beside you--Levi.  You could make out his form in the faint moonlight that was let in through the open windows, his eyes somewhat visible between the little light and how close he was.  He had to be sitting right on the edge of your bunk, now that you thought about it.

But, what you were mostly focused on was the feel of him holding your hand against his chest, able to feel him tangible and warm beneath him, a clear sign that he was real, not whatever you had seen in your dreams or might see lurking in the darkest corners.  You could feel his heartbeat faintly with how firmly he had your hand pressed against his chest, and yet he wasn’t rough with you.  He was careful and steady, and even though neither of you were speaking, it was almost like he was reassuring you in the suddenly softer darkness.

Hesitantly, you looked up at his eyes, those crimson eyes that peered at you in the darkness and terrorized you at night flashing through your mind.  Yet, when you looked at him--what you could see of him--all there was, was the feel of his very human heartbeat, and those blue grey eyes of his studying your every move carefully.  Not crimson--blue grey, and there wasn’t a hint of malice from him.  Just genuine concern.

Abruptly, the red eyed demon that manifested in your dreams and came to torment you at night was completely separated in your mind from Levi.  Even knowing what he was, what he was capable of after being on the receiving end, knowing those red eyes had originated from him, a sense of safety started to fall over you.  Even if that demon somehow became real and came after you in the dark, he was perfectly capable of protecting you from it; and you knew he would.

A little piece that had broken in the Underground started to heal inside you at the unexpectedly soft and gentle action from Levi.

“It was a dream,” Levi suddenly said, voice a little gruff, but the intent to calm was still there.  “You really think anything dangerous would get past my watch?”

Indeed.  If there was any real threat, Levi wouldn’t let it waltz right in and harm you.  You were safe, which meant you could go back to sleep with the knowledge that there was nothing your night terrors could do to truly hurt you.

Relaxing substantially, you let out a shaky breath and attempted to settle back down to sleep.

*Levi’s POV*

Levi held his position until he felt and heard her starting to settle down, her heartbeat calming down, breathing evening out, and hand starting to go slack in his grip.  Satisfied with the results of his attempt to calm you down and get you back to sleep, and admittedly surprised at how easy it had been, Levi started to pull away to go back to his chair by the window.

Her grip tightened on his hand before he could pull away, and he looked back at her, surprised, since he was sure she was asleep, or at least practically asleep.

“Stay…” she mumbled, the words almost incoherent.

Levi stood there for a moment, debating.  He was supposed to be keeping watch, but he also didn’t want those nightmares coming back.  Did he comply and settle back down, or trust she wasn’t awake enough to tell and pull away?

Technically, with these new abilities of his, he could watch for trouble from this very spot considering he could hear any Titans approaching--or any kind of trouble, for that matter.

Had this been anyone else, hell no, he wouldn’t have even calmed her down the way he had.  But her...well, he’d cared about her before this garbage fire of a situation, and what he’d done to her had served to make him realize just how much he deeply cared.

So, for her, knowing she wanted and needed this…

Levi carefully sat back down, noticing that she did relax with his proximity and quickly slipped off to a deep and hopefully far more peaceful sleep.

Just to be safe, he kept her hand cradled carefully over his heart the entire night.

*Reader’s POV*

You woke up with the first rays of sunlight through the windows signaling the start of the next day, eyes crusted with a good night’s sleep.  Levi was already up and moving around, a breeze coming in from the open door Levi was standing in.  You sat up slowly, rubbing at your eyes and taking in the scene.  Levi was already covered up, his bloodied shirt buttoned up over the bandages once more, jacket and cravat back in place.  It was almost like yesterday had never happened.

Not that you had much time to dwell on such a thing.  If it was daybreak and the skies were clear, you needed to get up to the trees and fire the signals before the Scouts had a chance to get any further away from your position.

Levi turned when he heard you getting up, expression unreadable as his gaze swept over you with an examining air.  “You overslept.”

Looking at the amount of daylight, you knew you hadn’t slept in that much.  “Not terribly.”

“You said there was a signal you needed to fire before the main group pulls too far ahead.  You’ll want to do that now,” Levi told you.

Right, your ODM gear--it was next to the bed and ready for you.  Did Levi get it ready?  Had he set it up while you were still asleep instead of deciding to use it himself?  You were the one who knew the signals, so it wasn’t like he could have signaled them himself while you were asleep.

At his comment, you got off the bunk, pushing hair out of your eyes as you started putting the ODM gear on, a slight furrow on your face.  You wanted to get above the tree line, but you weren’t going to be able to fire the flares and operate the ODM gear at the same time, even if you did it one flare at a time.

Your gaze slid to Levi as your ODM gear clicked into place, and his eyebrows rose at the sheepish look you were giving him.  “What?”

“Its two signal flares at the same time, and I want to try and get those signals above the tree line, but it’s impossible while using the ODM gear, so--”

Levi let out a long-suffering sigh, reaching for the pouch at his side and pulling out his flare gun.  “I get it.”

“Green and purple flares.  Hange said she would make sure there were people keeping an eye out for our signal so they could find us.”  Your eyes lowered to his bloodied shirt in concern.  “How are you doing?”

Levi picked at his shirt with a displeased sigh, clearly wishing he had a change of clothes.  “Almost healed.  I’ll be in perfect shape by the time the formation passes through.”

Considering he was already agreeing, loading the purple flare into his gun, you assumed that meant he was well enough to be carried around in ODM gear.  He’d probably do the flying part himself if he was completely healed.  Those injuries probably didn’t feel good with the straps rubbing against them.

Gear in place, you loaded the green flare into your gun and handed it to Levi, stepping out the door onto the bare, no railing balcony that served as a landing platform for ODM users.  You craned your neck up to gauge how far away the treetops were, looking at Levi who was standing silently beside you.

“I’m just going to propel us above the tree line, and you fire before we head back down,” you told him.  Levi’s gaze flicked upwards to gauge for himself how high the two of you were going to go before it settled back on you.

“You confident you can bring us up and back down while holding onto me?” Levi asked seriously.  It was already difficult to fly around in ODM gear holding someone, so his question made sense.

“Well, even if I dropped you by accident, I’m sure you could catch yourself before you hit the ground with those new reflexes of yours.”

Levi snorted in derision.  “That’s reassuring.”

“Well there’s no point yapping about it--let’s just get it over with.  The sooner the better, like you said, right?” you said pointedly, pulling the controls into your hands and facing him with arms open.

He didn’t even need to give you the death glare that said ‘We will never speak of this to anyone,’ and you had the decency to hide your smile as he clambered into your arms, one of his arms hooked around your neck and both his hands keeping a firm grasp on the flare guns while you made sure you had a firm grip on him.  Once you were certain he wasn’t going to tumble out of your arms and you could still use the ODM gear, you kicked off the balcony, shooting one of the grapples into the trees.

Like last night, it was much different maneuvering while carrying someone, and far more difficult.  However, you grit your teeth and focused, able to feel Levi’s grip tighten slightly at your outward sign of concentration to do this.  Clearly, he didn’t want to get dropped.

A few more grapples and well-timed bursts of gas allowed you to slingshot the two of you out above the trees and into the clear air.  As your momentum slowed, Levi outstretched one arm to fire the purple shot, then angled the other as far from your head as he could without losing his grip considering you were starting to go down again and fired the green shot.

With the purple and green smoke trailing high in the air, you instinctively wrapped one of your arms around Levi as you started to fall, angling your body and firing another grapple into the trees, branches cutting at your face on the way down until you saw the safehouse again, grappling the two of you back to the safehouse.

As soon as your feet were steadily on the ground, Levi slipped out of your grip, heading inside without looking back at you.

“You’re bleeding.”

Your hand raised to your face to see if any of those branches had cut deeper than you’d thought, but you didn’t come away with any blood.  The bandage on your arm, though, was freshly red.

Shit.

You’d forgotten about your arm injury while carrying him.

Cursing your carelessness, you headed inside the safehouse, spotting Levi leaning partially out a window and looking out over the forest to give you the chance to change your bandages without the blood bothering him as much.

He must have been getting thirsty again, if all that blood you’d given him had somehow been used up faster while he healed.  Not that he was going to let you offer again, if he was up and walking around unimpaired again and you were both simply waiting to be recovered.  He would definitely wait until you were back behind the walls before he went looking for a drink, and it wasn’t going to be you he tapped into.

Once the bandage was carefully wrapped around your arm, Levi turned back into the room, walking over to the bunk opposite yours and sitting on its edge.

“If you’re going to be involved in all of this, there needs to be ground rules,” Levi suddenly said, gaze boring down on you with intense seriousness.  Your heart, however, leapt up in hopeful excitement.

“What are you thinking?” you asked hesitantly.  Surely whatever he asked of you for the ground rules, it would be worth him finally relenting and letting you help him.

“You stop pushing your idea to have me drink from you.  I don’t want to hear it again,” he said curtly.  That one you could have predicted, so you simply nodded your head.  “I don’t want you anywhere near the dangerous stuff if it can be helped.  Any experiments Hange conducts about my diet, anything that will include this hunger taking precedence, I don’t want you near it if it can be helped.  Don’t ever follow me when I go hunting again, either.”

Levi’s gaze was hard as flint, but you understood his motivations for these kinds of rules clearly.  With how much he was afraid to hurt you again, how drawn to your blood he seemed to be, he didn’t want you in any situation where he might bite you again if he lost control--not if it could be helped.  At least he was willing to negotiate under extraneous circumstances.

“I can agree to those terms,” you said with another small nod.  Levi looked away, finding dirt on his hands from where it had touched the edge of the bunk and brushing it away with disgust, getting to his feet again.

“I’ll tell Hange and Erwin when we’re behind the walls again.”

*Kenny’s POV*

Normally, Kenny didn’t bother himself much with what was going on in the Underground anymore.  He had far bigger things to concern himself with, far more important thinks.  Anything that might have brought him to the Underground these days had either died or left.

But, that didn’t mean there wasn’t the occasional occurrence that piqued his interest and was worth turning a few filth-covered rocks over in the darkest corners of the Underground.

Kenny had heard a rumor.  One he normally would have ignored, if it hadn’t been for one glaring detail that had rubbed him the wrong way.

Everyone with their ear to the ground and the properly placed contacts knew that there was a rash of killings happening in the Underground--more than usual, and done by the same person.  Of course, the Underground was the perfect place for fostering serial killers, as he should know.  It would have been passing information that Kenny eventually forgot if it hadn’t been for the nickname they were giving this guy.

The Ripper.

Give me a break...

That was supposed to be his moniker, one he’d earned from his earlier years and had transformed his name to legend.  Now some newbie was taking that badge out from under him.  He couldn’t have that, now, could he?  He had a reputation to maintain.

First thing’s first, he had to find the guy.  No one was really paying much attention to his victims, since they were mostly the low-level thugs and scum of the earth kind.

Kenny, however, knew how to look at a body and a crime scene and know what kind of a killer he was dealing with.  This guy’s targets already helped narrowed the kind of person he was dealing with, but he wasn’t settling on any stereotypes until he’d seen several of the bodies and got a real feel for how this guy killed.

That would be even more revealing than the targets, in his professional opinion.

One thing he’d been quick to find out, was that the official number wasn’t accurate, because all the bodies hadn’t been found.

For example--Kenny was currently in an abandoned house, crouching down beside the hole in the floor that served as a dump site for one of the many uncounted for victims.  After seeing that several of the counted bodies were in dark corners and back alleys that were rarely frequented, it wasn’t hard to deduce that there was at least some effort put into hiding some of these bodies.

But looking at this guy, it was clear that some of the worst were going to be the hardest to find.

The body was long dead and in a state of decay, but it was still clear that it had been soaked in blood and ripped into.  The head was almost torn off of the neck that had been ripped almost completely through in jagged, unclean tears, like something had bit into both sides in a manner more befitting a starving wolf.  The rest of the body, save a few bites along the lower neck where neck met shoulder, was left alone.  Judging by the state of the guy, this had to be one of the first.

Kenny frowned, looking over at the rug that had been hiding the hole, now rolled aside by Kenny to reveal the body beneath.  The wounds didn’t quite match the effort to hiding the body.  These wounds that were more befitting a mauling in the street of a rabid animal, yet they were contrasted by the intelligence of this body being so well hidden that the remains had only been found by someone looking for them.

Though he could definitely see how people might be tempted to dub him a ripper after seeing this sap and some of the found bodies.  Always going for the neck, usually ripping it right out…

A flash of white cut through the darkness as a thrill went through Kenny at the game of cat and mouse he already saw being set up in front of him.

This was going to be quite a show.

He was looking forward to the chase.

Next Part---->

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn​ @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus​ @sunny-flo​

Investment Tags:  @regalillegal​ @cecldcecld​ @soft-levi-girl-blog @kitomashi @hurwen-calaeril @doragonraitoningu​

Vampire Levi Tags: @thesilencebeforeastorm @mysteriousmagicx @super-peace-fangirl​ @psychiccvampire

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Forest Fires | Pt. 2 | Geralt x Reader

Requested By: salmonbutter

Word Count: 2,053

Warnings: Mild Gore, Mentioned Violence, Sexual Themes.

Summary: A master Huntress, you found a gravely injured Witcher in the woods. He’s lived through the night, but it is clear that he is not healed yet. You don’t understand it, but you are absolutely certain that you will care for this man until he is healed. Thankfully, you are an expert healer. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You lean back, out of breath. The amount of time it took for you and Geralt to make it back to your cottage——both for him and his injuries and for you and your now wobbly legs. Half-carrying a Witcher through a dense wood is not an easy task, you have learned. But, you suppose, the important thing is that you made it back.

The Witcher is now laying on your bed. You stripped it and covered it with old sheets because he refused to lay down until he was sure he would not be soaking your good bed things with blood. You tried to talk him out of it, but it was ultimately useless. The mysterious stranger is stubborn as an ox.

You can see from the grimace he keeps trying to hide that the salve must be wearing off. The gashes are so deep, you know that he must be in a considerable amount of pain. Thankfully, he managed to eat a bit of bone broth that you had to spoon-feed him. You could tell he was feeling horrible about the whole thing. He seemed abashed, like no one had ever taken care of him in his life. Perhaps they hadn’t. You’d heard plenty of stories of the Witcher School hidden away at Kaer Moren——brutal conditions, honestly. Especially for children. If any of the stories were true, that is.

Now, you pace over to the medicine cabinet, pushing aside a few bottles and jars to reveal a small jar of milky liquid that you keep hidden behind less dangerous herbs.

When you bring it back to the Witcher, who struggles to sit up. You shake your head at him, eyes narrowing. You are a capable healer, and you don’t take well to unwilling patients.

“I’m going to have to stitch those up,” you tell him matter-of-factly. It is the best way to keep the gashes from getting infected, and it will allow them to heal much more quickly. You gleaned during dinner that it had been a dire-wolf that had nearly killed him. So, luckily, there was no risk of poisoning.

The Witcher looks defeated, clearly dreading the upcoming events. “Do you have any strong liquor?” he asks seriously. You simply shake your head and find a spoon in the kitchen before walking back to the bedroom.

He looks cautiously at the concoction in your hand. “It is milk of poppy,” you tell him. “It will ease the pain and help you sleep.”

“No need to use your personal medical supplies on me,” he says bashfully——guiltily. You will have none of it.

“I am more than capable of brewing more,” you point out. “Just a spoonful and you’ll sleep through the whole thing. And from there on, smaller doses to ease the pain.”

He still looks at you defiantly, even as you go to sit on the bed, carefully pouring out a bit of the liquid into the spoon. “You almost died,” you say, almost frantically.

You are struck by how personal this already feels—how much you want him to be okay; how much you want to make his pain go away.

He finally nods gruffly, promising to replace your stock. You brush off the comment and spoon some of the mixture into his mouth. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You cork the bottle and set it on the night stand. “Now sleep,” you say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder—the uninjured one. The drug, already working, already has his amber eyes falling closed, though you can tell he is trying to keep them open. It isn’t long before he falls asleep.

Now it’s time to get to work.

***

By the time you are finished, it is late evening. The forest is dark, but alive with its usual sounds. The comforting sounds that lull you to sleep each night. Thanks to the Witcher, Geralt, who is now asleep on your bed. Thankfully, his face looks peaceful. The poppy milk is strong, and he should be having a restful, dreamless sleep.

At the thought of sleep, you realize you are utterly exhausted.

You look over the Witcher once more, making sure that every inch of the deep scratches are stitched and covered with more potent healing salve. You place a hand gently on his forehead, checking for fever. You find no signs of infection or discomfort, so you finally allow yourself to get up, stretch, and walk to the bathroom.

It is late, and you don’t wish to boil water, so you quietly slip outside and fill a bucket with water. The water is cold, but the warmth of the fire is enough to keep the chill out of your small cottage. You wash quickly, scrubbing the blood, dirt, and grime from your hands and arms with homemade soap. Lavender, cedarwood, and patchouli replaces the coppery scent of blood and the damp scent of dirt. Once you are certain your body is clean, you use the rest of the water to scrub your hair.

By the time you are finished bathing, you are so exhausted that you walk blindly to the small couch, clutching an extra pillow and a patchwork quilt. You fall onto the couch and are asleep almost instantly.

***

You wake up slowly, sleep still clouding your head. For a moment, you are confused. You never sleep on the couch. You rarely even sat on the old piece of furniture; you used it primarily when you had guests, which had become exceedingly rare in the last months. It was dangerous to travel, with the war raging on. You were safer here, alone.

At the thought of guests, you snapped into reality. Suddenly, you remembered——you had found the man, the Witcher, Geralt, in the woods. He had slain some hellish looking creature. A dire wolf.

Fully awake now, you untangle yourself from the ball you’d managed to roll yourself into in the old quilt, and get up. The early morning sun is shining through the window you’d left unshuttered overnight.

You discover Geralt is awake in bed. Before you even speak a word to him, you place a hand on his forehead, breathing a sigh of relief when it is no warmer to the touch than your own would be.

“Thank the gods there’s no infection,” you say. “Are you in pain?”

You study his face, and then the stitches that look as if they are the only thing tying him together. They are the only thing holding him together, honestly. If you hadn’t found him when you did; if he hadn’t found the strength to walk back with you. You are slightly baffled by the tight feeling in your chest, like you can’t breathe. You barely know the man.

“Some,” the Witcher confesses, a wince giving away as much. “But I can manage.”

You raise an eyebrow. Just like a man to think that just because he isn’t bleeding out anymore, he is okay. You grab the healing salve that you’d left sitting on the nightstand and waste no time applying it to the stitches.

The Witcher sucks in a breath, and you bite your lip apologetically. You know it can’t be comfortable, but the salve will soak in quickly and numb the pain.

The two of you are silent for a moment before he finally speaks. “I… Would really like to wash,” he says, “If you could spare a bucket of water and soap?”

You almost laugh at the request, especially how timidly he asked. He is a Witcher, a mutant that fights monsters, and he is embarrassed to ask if he can wash. Instead, your lips just twitch into a smile.

“I’ll draw a bath.” You are out of the room and going to fetch a bucket before he has a chance to protest.

It takes a while, because you have to go out to the well, fill your bucket, bring it back, and head it in a large pot over the fire. Once the tub is full, you dip your finger in to test the temperature, making sure it is not to hot or too cold. Satisfied, you begin adding herbs and oils to the water——all to help ease pain and speed up healing. And, of course, to prevent infection.

Once the bath is ready, you go back to the bedroom to fetch him.

“You didn’t need to do all of that,” is the first thing he says. He still looks as if he feels guilty. Again, you wonder at the idea that he is not used to anyone caring for him. You suppose, as a Witcher, he is usually the one doing the caring. Caring in the form of killing monsters, anyway.

“It will be good for you,” you protest as you help him out of bed and toward the bathroom. “You can barely stand, I don’t know how you would wash yourself.”

His amber eyes widened. “You don’t need to help me wash, I will manage,” he says quickly, averting his eyes as soon as your meet his.

“You smell like dead dire wolf.” You smirk, deciding on sarcasm in response. “This is more for me than for you.”

His lips twitch into a smile for a brief moment and he allows you to remove the clothes left on him. Of course, you politely avert your gaze even as you slip off his underclothes, despite the strong urge to look at him. He is all muscle, and you are curious. But you cannot. You are a healer. You should be healing him——your mind shouldn’t be on such things.

You help ease him into the warm water and he sighs as he sits down. “You know your oils, Huntress,” he says, leaning his head back.

“I’d be dead if I didn’t,” you say matter-of-factly. You hand him a bar of soap, letting him wash his front.

“Thank you,” he says, serious as ever.

“No need for thanks, Witcher,” you say as you find another bar of soap and a washcloth, sneaking a small smile at him. You can’t help it. Maybe there is something about Witchers that is magnetic——or maybe he is just somehow magnetic to you.

At once, you become painfully aware of how awful you must look. You stumbled into bed, fell asleep, and woke up and immediately went to tend to him. Your hair is probably a horrible mess. Your clothes…

You push the thoughts out of your mind, reminding yourself that he probably isn’t even looking at you. You pull up a stool and sit behind him, wetting the cloth and gently washing away the remaining blood and dirt from his back. He doesn’t seem to mind the attention at all.

Once that is done, he attempts to push off the end of the tub and begin washing his hair, but that clearly is not going to be an easy task, so you place a damp hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got it,” you tell him. He looks like he is about to protest, but no sound comes out.

You pull out the tie holding his silver hair back from his face, and it falls over his shoulders. Once again, despite your greatest efforts not to think about it, you wonder at how nice his hair feels between your fingers.

You wet his hair and quickly blend a few oils along with soap and gently begin washing his hair.

So soft.

You mentally smack yourself and try to focus on the task at hand. But then a sound pulls you out of your own thoughts.

As you massage his scalp, a soft moan escapes his lips, and you both freeze for a moment.

Your eyes meet his amber ones as he looks up at you, your hands frozen in place.

After a few moments of silence, you finally break eye contact. You don’t know what to say, and it appears that he doesn’t either.

So, you leave unknown words left unspoken as you finish washing his hair. You can hardly admit it, even to yourself, but you definitely take your time, dragging the task out a bit longer than it really needed to take.

If the Witcher notices, it does not seem like he minds.

[maxbradley]

Crash

***[Mature Content]***

"Get outta here, Brad." Shoving him off. The humidity must have shortened brain circuits because the next thing the black dog knew was that his muzzle was pressed against a nearby locker—swollen hands blocked the horizontal fall, and were made numb— "Listen, Goof boy." Turned him 'round and jabbed straight at the face—"Hrr-” — A bit of blood and sweat trickled down Maximilian's bare chest. Livid eyes burned holes through Uppercrust's contorted face, "Listen to what?!" The hands slammed themselves up to the other's chest to thrust him back into another metal object, which clattered and shook violently. The sophomore stormed off down the narrow pathway, waist towel in hand. He had barely gone ten feet when a rough arm gagged the neck, putting him into a lock— "Brad!-” Coughing— "Let go!!”— The yell became a scream "As you wish you little fucker!" A strong kick to the back sent Max reeling to the stone floor. The blood from the initial attack slithered onto the cracked surface. The only thing that ran through his brain was revenge—A near killer instinct that never gave halfway during that triathlon of an event—

Both rough hands pulled back at sandy brown hair as the standing figure's thick eyebrows raised as he inhaled deeply, letting the adrenaline slide— "Max, Max, Max. Do I really have to remind you why I'm like this?" A small chuckle. "No, you don't." By now Max had gotten himself up again, wiping off the bodily fluid from the side of his mouth. The left side sported a purple bruise. The humidity—the warm water vapor helped in nothing to control his shaky intake. "Let go of it, Brad. What's done is done. Shut the hell up and get outta here. I have no time to deal with a loser like you— The brows on the jock were still raised. Max had expected a sudden fury; the face showed little to no emotion, but the next actions spoke volumes. Again wheeled around to the side of the lockers, banging at the side and back of the kid's head—Every blow more sickening than the last—violent, unforgiving—hot loathing to the core. It was soon making contact with one of the shower poles and the protruding knobs. The white dog was never done and threw the victim onto the tile wall coming back with a supernatural grasp giving even more thrusts of the head and body on the white plane. All this time the boy screamed—shrieked in fury and pain. Convulsions didn't cease until the scarlet liquid seeped into his gloves. Max Goof was choking on his own flesh and blood— "You IDIOT! Do you have any idea what you and your team did to my reputation?!" No sympathy. No pride. Undiluted hate. "You- you've deserved everything that happened to you." The boy was murmuring down at the waist cloth sprinkled red and white. He didn't dare make eye contact this time; he was afraid to face the very thing that undermined his being back in high school… back when he—himself—was the loser. A cough let the coagulated blood fall between their feet. Bits touched the predator's toes. Dark blue eyes peered down before returning to the crooked head. Fingers wrapped themselves around the kid's neck and forced eye contact— "Today, Goof, you've lost." Words could not describe the darkened features of the young man's countenance. Once so full of emotion and life, Brad seemed so subdued that the enigmatic smile was all of a sudden more than just a show of pride. A heartbeat shot Max's emotions to the stratosphere— Humiliation, hatred, and insecurities broke into sobs. This change of pace took the sports fanatic by surprise, releasing the grip on the kid's windpipe, letting him sink down to the reddened tile. Salty tears washed away the gore… From the blue a fresh towel was thrust into his lap, "Shut the fuck up. You're a man—Now, get up before I make you." The black dog buried his wet face into the cloth, soaking up as much of the excess as he could. The stained gloved hand pulled at dark hair and stayed there, while the other did pull weight together to get himself up. The waist towel loosened, nearly fell off—but was saved in the nick of time. This little wardrobe malfunction startled Brad—flesh tone changed color and made him turn around to scan the locker room to see if anyone had heard in on anything that occurred. Splashes of a crusted red umber decorated the number of impacts given for the poor bastard. Against his will, the human side bounced back, not helping to stop the guilt that scorched his soul. The breathing had become just as shallow as the other. What the hell have I done?��– A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. Am I really that angry? Dammit! Why does he have to be so cute?! Why is he so determined to make a fool of himself; and so full of life, friends—Family! Shit! I'm a jealous bitch! "Brad…-- Whipping his hair back—"What?!" Abnormal and hollow; eyes wild. "Don't even get near me anymore. Don't talk to me— Uncontrolled feelings flooded into fleshed strong arms—One on the shoulder, one on the waist. Both canines were shaking, and the overbearing humidity did not aid one bit in finding their sanity— "Don't touch me." Pink attacked the boy's cheeks as the reality struck him cold. Bleeding and all, a tongue rammed into the warm crevice and nearly sucked out the feeble life he had left. The boy was about to crash down and burn again when the other arm took an iron clamp up and down the exposed back pulling him forward, closer than ever before. Bellies were touching—Max grabbed a strong hold wrapping himself around the man's shoulders for support in partial fear of dragging Brad down with him. The lip lock broke for an instant, "I want your fury—I want your spirit. Give me everything it took to win!" The command injected newfound energy. The hands on Brad's neck dug into the nerve, onto the shoulder blades and onto his back—leaving imprints wherever the gloves made contact with the bare skin as their mouths clasped onto each other—traveling down the forehead, bruised cheek and eyelid down to each other's neck and collarbone—varied to each other and never in sync. The jock wanted to break the boy's vertebrae, ribcage—arm—anything, just to get a whimper or a yelp of pain— The expression that played on both faces was not that of bliss, but of incessant rivalry, mixed into that of confused pleasure and stimulation— "Stop—we should stop—please, Brad," panting. "Bradley." Another deep kiss led to a fumble of hands rubbing at bare chests, up and down Max's slender sides, finally reaching that last cover, "You won't be needing this anymore— The sudden refusal knocked the senior down, slipping on the slick tile along the way. Head fell with a thunk— "Ohh—what the hell-!!" Massaging that little bump, which was nothing compared to the blood loss at the back of the Goof boy's skull. Max, as satisfied as he was, only displayed a show of disgust… Or, was it a longing for something other than the lying body at his feet? "Maximilian—we got a good thing going here—why stop now??" "Roxanne." "… what.. ?" A phlegm-filled gulp—"Roxanne." How was it possible, after all the times he suppressed her very existence, hitting it off with other girls—her image was all of a sudden as vivid as death? "Your first time?" Brad was leaning forward in curiosity in an all-too-casual sitting. His neck bent back to try and find the answer in the kid's reddened eyes. "…. No." ~~ "But, what do you mean I can't see you again?" "A lot's been going on, and I can't take you with me." "Roxanne, please—I'll even transfer out of this campus— Slapped away, "Come back to your senses, Goof!"~~ As the name rang like mad in his ears, the 19 year old peered over the guy in front of him again. No, Roxanne was not his first time—she wasn't even a lover. No one ever was… His weakened heart suddenly ached for some pure form of affection. And now, it seemed that his last chance at true happiness had flown away… The only thing left was an empty shell of lust—a primitive desire. All he ever knew was school, friends and sports… Roxanne and his dad. The last fence to hurdle, separating him from selling his soul to the devil, who took advantage of his hesitant stature, "Relax, Goof, everything's gonna be fine— Everything's gonna be fine. Everything was thrown back to a sharp clarity. What the hell was he doing? What would happen if his father found out about this? The expression of worry was blatant. "Oh, Max. Nobody's gonna know what we did here. At least, I won't tell." "… Yeah." The gloves were removed. The last spark of innocence was extinguished, "Sure you won't, Bradley." There was no sense of letting his one chance of humiliating the X-Games King get away. "I might as well make the best of it." A low growl to his now darkened features. All the senior could do was let out a small gasp. The eyelids drooped to indifference. Not a smirk, not a frown. The movements were brutal—towels were ripped off, exposing themselves to each other. Max slammed his body full-length over the other, letting Brad's head fall to the tile again— And again as the black dog took his turn—ramming his mouth into the other while strangling him with both hands—"What the hell are you doing?!—” Hacking The pressure tightened, "Please!" and suddenly gave way, I'm supposed to hate this person— "Remember?! I'm supposed to hate you! Despise you—" Fever attacked as the boy manically pressed forward—"fuck you." Bradley's eyes widened until only the pupil was seen, at a loss for air and for words. As the words sank in, something clutched at his own heart. Out of fear, he let Max do exactly as he threatened, letting those ebony fingers grab at his crotch and pull and tug, and squeeze at everything—Loud moans were all the crazed boy could perceive—but he wanted something more out of this jerk— The legs went up in the air, massaged ferociously before letting a throbbing organ inside. A little howl, "Ha ha—Max, you look different… " a nervous chuckle. "Well, you told me to give it my all." It was now obvious that something in this kid's mind had snapped—that childish spirit had gone only to be replaced by a somber mannequin. The senior's breathing came in abnormal intervals; he could only utter this, "No—wait—Maximilian—-!!" This boy of no sexual talent dominated over the leader—going in deeper and deeper with each thrust. All Goof boy could imagine was revenge, torture. He already regretted not being close to a power tool—As the blood attacked his reddened cheeks and down his fur in drying clumps with all the sweat rolling down his body and biting his tongue to not join the chorus below him, all he wanted to do was go even further— To the point when he began to rock in all directions to find the place where the jock was most vulnerable, "Haa! Haa! M—Max. Max… ! Ngh—nggh—MAX!— A hand wrenched onto the other member and with a strong thumb tortured it at the same time the sophomore delved in again. The multitasking was doing the trick—"STOP!”—Pain-filled howl— Eyes flared as a corner of the predator's mouth jerked upward, "Everything!!" Both figures arched forward, backward, inverting against each other and grinding. Vapor, sweat on each and every part of their bodies. Bradley realized that he'd been ignoring every plea. Max could no longer contain his innate desires, pulled out and bit the tip before swallowing the organ whole, "Agh! Do you want to rip it out of me?! Stop it!" Up the naked fingers went from behind, legs high in the mist— The jock went beet red. Nearly fainting, he felt the final strokes of the tongue and thrashing of teeth before moaning aloud, "You goddamn Freshman!" A burst of semen went up in the boy's mouth— Horrendous flavor. He spat it right in the guy's face. Never had a feeling over him been so foul—A wave of nausea only fed into the boy's anger, fury, loathing for the man under him. The black eyes finally took a good, long look over the surface of that lean, toned… Before going down any further, Maximilian's eyes snapped back—locked to blue orbs, which were half opened before making contact. A dominant fear of the new predator ran circles in the jock's mind. He didn't know what to say—what to do—Usually, he would set the ground rules when it came to sex. I've laid more men and women than anyone on campus! "And now this-" inaudible whisper. Goof didn't even flinch. It took this long to come to terms with the fact that he was smiling. Smiling, not for the pleasure of either one of them, but because he was so close, "And… I'm about to win, Brad." The young man's state of mind shifted gears—the shallow breathing that carried the fear soon returned to its normalcy, and then a crease formed down the middle of his forehead. It was lethargic at first—And then those elements of bigotry and pride which he had always thrived on flooded into him like before— "Shit!" a shout of frustration and a fist at the cold tile. The boy was within him again. Max gave him no time for a comeback— The next thrust was one of the strongest, knocking the air out of him, and again—once more as the boy screamed out, "This is for you, Brad!"—Eyes livid—entire body shaking—fists clenching and unclenching before settling on slugging the brat in the face— "This is for everyone who ever tried to break me, whenever I was down— "ALWAYS, BRADLEY! ALWAYS!!" Maximilian was becoming either deaf or blind to whatever he spat out in the current situation, because the screams had gotten harsh and blood-curdling—more blows, bruises quick to form—Claws dug into flesh and pried open ridges— "BUT WHY?!" The bloodied hair matted over his face "Max!" Ill attempts at spitting out the copper "WHY?!?" Max Goof had lost himself to years of literal and imagined persecution—Faces flickered for milliseconds on end as the hardened member dug even deeper, tearing at the entrance's sides— "You motherfucker! You're gonna kill me!!" No generous amount of unsettling bodily fluids was enough to conceal the same exact being that had tried to kill this same kid much earlier. Legs slammed straight down. There was no room left for that foreign object to budge— "Shit!! Sh—it! Fuuuck—!" The other writhed in pain at the height of his anger, to be so close only to be shut out… Again. "Get—" Brad's laid back attitude scorched off. The boy's inferiority complex kicked in with bitter disappointment. "Brad… ley?" "Get, the hell, out of me.” Another sickening heartbeat was accompanied by a tearful gasp. The worm pulled out. Before he could even begin to apologize the pissed jerk jutted his arms right into the broad shoulders, rocked himself up and over the ex-predator, causing him a near concussion, grabbing at a leg and twisting the whole body down to the ground— "oof!”—Backside in full view—"Bradley, I'm sorry!" All the pain and pleasure had reached its peak, and was about to be released. The leader's aid consisted of rough slides up Max's ass, ramming into the zenith, All those suppressed shrieks and moans of the obscene belted out getting lost within all that jungle rhythm in the mist—that whitewashed rainforest— "Agh—Bradley! Haa—ha!—Nggh! Please, Bradley—" The slamming continued, frantic. The one last ill hold onto his dying rage as the same image of the same girl emerged, then realizing who was actually over him now, "I hate you— I hate you!" Roxanne!! "I HATE THE WHOLE WORLD—!!— Ah!—Tension released from his own cock right before the crazed jock let out his second wave of cum, "I want to die." Both expressions were shattered with scarlet. Both were hard of breathing, unable to understand the void of time. The boy's hand fell limp on the tile; his body sank to the floor in a puddle of their own sweat, blood, and tears. A splash of cold relief washed away all existence of what happened here, in this unnecessary lovemaking—lust. A strong limb pulled the dead weight up to its feet. Out of the void was a warm, sturdy shield, pressed against the swollen cheekbone. Eyes barely open, the loser shuddered and let out a withering sigh as the cascades fell on the embrace. Bradley, finally eradicated of all his hatred toward this naïve individual, planted a firm, prolonged kiss on his head, face buried in his bloodied hair… "Oh, Max, I hate you too. So much." His arms wrapped even tighter with the energy he had left. "Roxanne." The demon turned child wept at his grave loss… "Maximilian Goof, no matter what the hell happens next, I won't let you die—Promise of an enemy." Saddened in the heart, face down—hidden in his rival's chest, this loser couldn't help but attempt a smile.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Lest You Be Judged (SpicyHoneyMustard, lemon)

Summary: Edge and Red are Chosen, their vows are sworn not only to Rus, but to the Judge, and the Judge is inclined to stake their claim.

Tags: SpicyHoneyMustard, Fontcest, Fellcest, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Established Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, LEMONY GOODNESS!!

Notes:  In this chapter we have violence (not towards each other), character death, (not any of our boys!!), and some rough, dominating sex. You want some of that? Come on in!

Sequel to:

Showtime

Secret Garden

A Judicious Amount of Effort

Musically Inclined

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

He felt it only seconds before it struck. The ripple of virulent Intent suddenly gushing around them and there was no time for thought, only reaction that had been trained in Edge from the moment he learned to summon an attack.

“DOWN!" Edge shouted and pushed Rus down to the floor, flattening him to the ground as he covered Rus with his own body and a shield of energy. Even through the shielding he could feel the sear of an attack landing above them, right where Rus had been innocently standing only moments ago.

~~*~~

Five Minutes Earlier

It was a Tuesday and today was a rare occasion when Rus was allowed to go to the Embassy cafeteria for a meal. Such a normal task that any other Monster wouldn’t give a second thought about required heightened security and careful planning when it came to the Judge. Gone were the days where Rus could stroll casually around the building and the city, and few would guess how much their Judge missed those small freedoms. Something as simple as ordering a cup of coffee without having to allow Red or Edge sip from it first or going to the midnight showing of a new blockbuster movie was as lost to him as everything else from his past life.

Rus understood the limitations he existed under and didn’t ask for such things often, but when he did, Edge was weak to that soft, yearning request. A moment of normalcy, that was what Rus craved, even if it was only the illusion of one.

Embassy workers were given notice days in advance, the kitchens were limited to only the most trusted and properly screen cooks. Most of the people eating in the cafeteria in that hour span were in the Royal Guard and if Rus noticed, he sustained a remarkably naïve expression about it, smiling and nodding at any greetings, all of which were kept to the barest minimum as the diners were warned against any overt expressions of worship or prayers.

Rus took a tray from the stack like any other Monster, his plain daily robes sweeping the floor as he contemplated over the day’s choices.

“mac and cheese or mashed potatoes?” Rus mused. Neither Red nor Edge took a tray, as Red preferred to steal from Rus’s plates and Edge refused to eat the greasy monstrosities at the cafeteria before he was ever Chosen.

“get both,” Red shrugged, “ain’t like you can’t afford the tab.”

“Neither and get a salad,” Edge retorted. “I wouldn’t consider either of those a nutritious side dish.”

“mac and cheese and a salad,” Rus decided. He picked up each and added them to his tray. “does that make you happy?”

Red swiped his bony finger through the whipped cream on the slice of pie that joined the rest on Rus’s tray, licking it clean. “honey love, i’m always happy with you.”

“On that my brother and I are in agreement,” Edge said, his voice pitched low enough that only the two people closest to him in all ways could hear it. He wasn’t often demonstrative in public, but the reward was a pretty blush warming Rus’s cheek bones. Rus often liked to nap after his meals and Edge was about to suggest they return to their quarters when he was finished for a different sort of entertainment when he felt it.

Intent.

“DOWN!” Edge shouted, pushing Rus to the floor. The tray flew from his hands, dishes breaking and splatters of macaroni and pie colorfully decorating the tile floor. He crawled on top of Rus, summoning the bubble of a shield around them even as the attack washed overhead, so close he could feel the searing heat against his back even through the heavy layer of his magic. Glass shattered and pebbles of it rained down on them, fragments bouncing away.

Another attack and the room shook, more dishes clattering to the floor, screams as others fled the cafeteria where moments before they’d been enjoying a peaceful lunch. The sounds of a pitched battle rose around them. Edge could hear his brother screaming obscenities, his magic viciously pitted against their attackers and where was the rest of the fucking guard? Edge was useless to him as backup, he could only hunker over Rus, holding his struggling body down with his heavier weight.

Beneath him, Rus was wailing, “red! edge, let me up, he needs help!”

“I’m not moving,” Edge snarled back, “stay down!”

“please!” he begged, but Edge was unmoved. He was Chosen, as was Red, this was their duty and he would see it done.

An attack thudded into the ground close to Edge’s shoulder, barely diverted under a wave of bones. Edge ducked his head down, tasting his own sweat as it ran down his face. Magic shielding was absolute, they weren’t getting any air and the bubble around them was heating rapidly. Beneath him, Rus was panting, trapped beneath his weight, and their clothing where his back was mashed beneath Edge’s front was soaked with sweat.

“please, no,” Rus sobbed, sagging into the floor and Edge couldn’t allow it to distract him. He turned his head enough to catch a glimpse of the furious battle raging around them. Through the overturned tables and the sprawl of bodies he could see the familiar pattern of his brother’s attacks against their unknown assailants, mingled with foul curses hurled back and forth. He calculated there were at least three attackers and even as he watched, one of them took a sharpened bone through the eye, blood spraying even as they shivered to dust.

Two remaining and he couldn’t see Red, his brother was concealed behind a flipped over table. His attacks were slowing, Red was strong, but he had little stamina, he needed to finish this, quickly. A second assailant screamed as they were pierced through by a fan of sharpened bones, the splattering gore puffing to dust in the air.

One left. The attacks were faltering, the pattern of bones growing sloppier. Red was wearing out and the rest of the Royal guard was down, injured or dead, he didn’t know, and Edge couldn’t help him, he couldn’t shield and attack, and Rus couldn’t be risked.

Come on, brother, come on, Edge chanted in his own mind. Eliminate him!

Instead, he heard a sharp cry in his brother’s voice, and Edge pushed away all emotion, the thread of his own fear unraveling as he braced to go on the offensive. The shielding around them shattered, the unpleasant backlash of a broken spell choking him even as he was dragged away from Rus and Edge was already reaching for an attack when he realized it wasn’t their assailant who had a hold of him. "That's Enough!"

That voice boomed through the room, the remaining glassware shattering under its force. Edge managed to lift his head and there were no darkened, empty sockets in the being that stood before him. Their sockets blazed with burning light and Edge had to look away, cringing from the glorious power radiating off him, ancient and ethereal.

The entire room went ghostly still, the silence broken only by the groans of wounded guards. The Judge moved and their feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. They glided over to where the last attacker was hidden behind a splintered table, other broken furniture sliding out of their path untouched. They reached out, fingers curling as they took hold of the last one, dragging him out by his very soul as he snarled and struggled. His blood was a rich green, dripping from various cuts and soaking into his torn shirt, pattering in rounded droplets to the floor like a scattering of coins.

Edge knew him, he realized with a jolt. Jaime, a Monster who’d joined the guard at the same time as Edge and left it before they came to the surface, before everything. Jaime abandoned his post when Toriel ascended the throne, spat on the ground at the very mention of her name. Intel stated he’d joined a group of dissidents calling themselves the Accolades of Asgore and any information past that was sparse. Asgore was dead, dust, but it didn't stop these fools from rebelling against their Queen and her attempts to find peace for them. He didn’t know how they’d gotten past Embassy security. The only reason that made sense was a spy within their ranks; they’d need to go on lock-down until they discovered the truth, run a series of background checks to see who was not as they seemed.

His thoughts raced as Edge watched the scene before him, the rising halo of golden light surrounding the Judge. He should look away, he didn’t want to see this, had never seen it. He didn’t want to see and yet, Edge stood and watched, squinting against the light, his sockets burning as he took it in.

He’d always supposed it would be horrifying to witness, that the Judge might take on some eldritch appearance, siphoning away HP as Karmic Retribution took the Judged down to one HP.

The truth was very nearly a letdown. The Judge only reached out and lightly touched Jaime's forehead, his chin, then his chest, fingers brushing across the front of his shirt directly over his soul.

Jaime’s dark, hateful eyes clouded over, hazed to gray as he stared at nothing with his mouth agape, his gaze focusing inward. Those milky eyes filled with tears, wet and staring as he was Judged.

“Oh, my Lord,” Jaime whispered. Those tears brimmed, running from the corners of his eyes, gathering to drip from his chin. “I hurt so many people. Why? So many people hurt and dead, innocents, they didn’t deserve that. I could have done so many good things and all I did was hurt. I could do so much more.”

“Yes,” the Judge whispered, “You Feel It, Don’t You? We Are All A Part Of This World, All Of Us, Together.”

“I feel it,” Jaime wept, “by the Angel’s grace, I feel it I…!” He grunted suddenly, surprised, words trailing away as he looked down in confusion at the crimson bone protruding from the center of his chest, directly into his soul. His expression fell to anguish even as his outline diminished, falling to the ground as dust.

A few feet away, Red swayed on his feet, panting as he leaned against the splintered remains of a chair with one eye strobing crimson. There was a fresh crack over the darkened eye socket, dripping marrow running in.

“tough shit, asshole,” Red growled. “you had your chance.”

The Judge rounded on Red furiously, the halo of light flaring with the blistering heat of the sun’s corona. "Why Did You Do That? He Was Judged!"

Red only stared doggedly into that unearthly fury with his own. "you do your judgements and i do mine," Red snarled. "he tried to kill you. no one gets a second shot at it, i don’t give a shit what sunshine and fucking rainbows their soul pukes out after!”

With slow, cautious steps Edge moved silently to stand by his brother, facing the Judge’s fury unflinchingly. It would be the grossest of lies to say that he was not afraid, but he wouldn’t let his brother stand alone.

The Judge’s jaw worked, the aura surrounding them flaring brighter, until Edge was forced to look away, his watering sockets streaming from the brilliance.

Then the golden light was abruptly doused, leaving the room chilled in its absence. The Judge turned, their robes sweeping against the floor in a tinkle of broken glass.

"Attend Me,” they said, shortly, and strode away. Towards the elevators and despite his confusion, Edge went. He could hear another security team coming in behind them amidst the groans and whimpers of the surviving guards, but no one tried to intervene, no one spoke to them or questioned what happened. They could watch the security feed for their answers, for now.

Edge followed them into the elevator, Red at his heels. The door closing and Edge hardly had time to contemplate the discomfort of being trapped in an enclosed space with such power crackling over him like so much static when the Judge abruptly pushed the stop button.

There was no time to ask or even think as unnaturally strong hands took hold of him, Edge’s breath jarred out of him in a rush as the Judge pushed him roughly against the wall. Their face was barely an inch from Edge’s, Rus’s face though Rus never looked at him that way, never with such raw, pure hunger, dredged from primordial depths as they breathed out, "We Need You."

Edge swallowed hard against the sudden knot in his throat. They had never, never like this. "But you’re--"

"We Need You." Insistently, a mouth suddenly hot and wet against his cervical vertebrae and when Edge didn't reply, only hung trembling in his grip, they drew back, uncertainty creasing their face, the Judge's face, but also Rus, always Rus. "Do You Not Want--?"

Edge took a breath, steadying himself, and pulled them down. This was Rus, who was as much the Judge as the Judge was him. He’d sworn an oath before the Angel, the Queen, and the Judge, and he would not break it. He pressed their mouths together in a light kiss, each touch careful and submissive as he murmured, "Whatever you want. Anything. I'm yours."

But he couldn’t help shuddering, sharpened fingertips gouging into the side of the elevator as strong arms hooked under his legs, pulling him off his feet. Bracing his shoulders against the wall as a slim, lithe body insinuated itself between his legs, rubbing their pelvises together through layers of cloth. A slippery tongue investigated his clavicles, delving underneath to slide against his sternum from within his rib cage as they mumbled out, pleadingly. "Let Me Have You, I Need To Be Inside You, All Of You.”

They'd never done that, not since Edge was chosen. Rus made it clear from the beginning that he preferred being the penetrated partner. But Edge didn't hesitate, already forming a cunt for him, the slickened folds clinging uncomfortably at the crotch of his trousers. The issue resolved itself quickly. His trousers weren’t ripped free so much as they simply ceased to exist and the hands holding him up were gone, yet he stayed where he was, braced against the wall, hanging as though gravity ceased to apply.

Blunt fingers pressed between his legs, recklessly parting the lips of his pussy and Edge couldn’t hold back a gasp as they pushed inside. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to tense at the unfamiliar sensation. Knuckles scraped his walls as they moved in him, scissoring impatiently inside him, invading him and working him open. Despite everything, anything, it didn’t hurt, the thrust of those fingers got easier as it went on and on. No matter what his head thought of this, his pussy seemed to be in agreement, getting even wetter and the obscenity of the slick sounds from the Judge’s fingers moving inside him was humiliatingly loud.

He didn’t realize the exact moment he went from enduring to pleasure. But suddenly those twisting fingers glided over a place inside him that felt incredible, a lightning shock of unexpected arousal trembling through him. A shocked sound gurgled from his throat and Edge clung to whatever he could reach, the wall, the Judge’s shoulders, clutching as his hips lurched into that touch.

Breathy laughter, hot against his cervical vertebrae and the sound was richly amused, holding emotions that Edge didn’t dare contemplate. He could only writhe in between the body pressed tight against his own and the wall, broken fragments of pleading falling wordless from his mouth as he thrashed. The crest of orgasm was barely out of his desperate reach when those long fingers withdrew and his cry of betrayal choked off as he felt a larger, harder pressure against him, the head of a cock prying its way inside the narrow passage.

It didn't hurt, it was only so much, too much. His pussy stretched to accept the wide girth of the shaft, achingly huge inside him and Edge tipped his head back, stared sightlessly up at the glaring fluorescent lights as he was taken. It didn’t hurt, didn’t, only it was so much and he was barely accustomed to having it inside him when that cock withdrew, leaving him yearning and empty.

And came back, faster, again, the Judge grunting low and deep as they found a rhythm, every sound greedy and desperate, driving in, pistoning inside him. The power coming off of them was almost unbearable, scorching over Edge like the backlash of an explosion. His own mana felt like it was boiling inside his bones and he wondered deliriously if it was possible to be fucked to death.

A small, scarred hand took his own and Edge gripped it mindlessly. To his dim surprise, that feeling from before was rising again, his pussy tightening, rippling as the slippery friction of the Judge’s cock moving within him made him gasp and writhe. Tears were stinging hot on his face, running down bittersweet into the corners of his mouth and he couldn’t control it, it felt like that pleasure traveled directly from his cunt to his soul in a jolt of brutal lightning. He arched as he came, clawing at whatever was beneath his hands, the sensation too intense to call it merely pleasure, ecstasy cushioned with near pain.

Through the haze of his own orgasm, he heard the Judge hiss agonizingly through their teeth. Thrusting in deep as they came inside him, filling Edge with the obscene wetness of their come as they stilled, holding deep inside Edge as they shuddered and quaked, soothed his aching pussy with spurts of sticky liquid warmth.

The sensation of power prickling over him faded, dimmed, as they both slid down the wall to the floor in a clatter of bones. It seemed strange for the Judge to be so light on top of him; somehow Edge expected them to weight more, the burden added to Rus’s very bones.

They lay in a panting tangle and Edge only opened his sockets when a thumb swept across his cheek bone, a failed attempt at wiping away his tears. Red was crouched next to him, his gaze absurdly gentle.

"hey,” Red said, softly. The hand touching Edge’s face was dotted with bleeding punctures where Edge’s sharpened fingertips had dug in at the moment of climax. “you gotta get up, i can't carry ya both."

That fading power surged back with a suddenness that made Edge cringe from the renewed tidal wave of force. Above him, the Judge’s head jerked up, the blaze of light igniting again in their sockets.

"No,” the Judge said, and Edge could feel the word vibrating within his joints. "You're Mine As Well."

He lunged, dragging Red beneath him and Edge could only watch dazedly, his legs still sprawled awkwardly apart and the cooling wetness of come leaking down his femurs to puddle beneath him.

If his brother was shocked or afraid, none of it showed on his face, he only relaxed back against the hard floor, his smirk the same as he always wore. “fucking right i'm yours. do what you gotta do, honey, i'm ready.”

A low, hungry sound came from the Judge and then they were on him.

Edge had watched the two of them together before, countless times. Never had it been like this, his brother’s hands pinned back against the floor by nothingness, his clothing torn away by unseen forces. He spread his knees wide on his own, the shoes he was incongruously still wearing braced against the floor. The Judge was still wearing the remains of their robes, fouled with come and marrow, torn open from the collarbone to the hem as he settled between Red’s bent knees.

The fluttering fabric was a hindrance, giving Edge only glimpses of his brother’s pussy as it was penetrated, the lips spread wide around the head of a honey-golden cock, straining to accept the girth of it as the Judge nudged their slow way inside. Red only struggled to arch into it, his pelvis rising from the floor in mocking invitation.

“come on,” Red goaded, “you c’n do better’n that!” And was he brave or foolish, Edge didn’t know, watching as Judge reared back, their eyes lights bright with astonishment and fury as they did as Red ordered, snapped their hips forward, driving in with ragged bursts of breath, fucking into that tight, slippery pussy. His brother’s face tightened, sockets squeezing shut, his claws flexing as he clutched at the Judge’s shoulders and took it, his mouth running a litany of swearing and goading as he took everything the Judge offered. Whatever meager restraint they’d managed to keep with Edge was lost, broken, a deep, soul-wrenching roar coming out through clenched teeth as their hips hammered against Red’s.

Who only hung on, legs wrapped around the Judge’s hips, his heels grinding against their pelvis as he moaned, all his careless provocation dwindling to a single bare thread of sound, “oh, fuck, sans—"

Edge watched, listened, as the Judge crooned back, ludicrously kind even as they ravaged Red's smaller body. “yeah, 'm here, always here, sweetheart. never leave you.”

It seemed to set off a cascade within his brother, a domino effect that left him gasping and whining, his sharp fingers clawing through the Judge’s robes, leaving ragged slits in the fabric to show the glimpse of scratched bones beneath that welled with beads of marrow. The wet glick of their cock moving in Red’s pussy slowed, stilled, and Edge watched with a sort of perverse pleasure as they came in near unison, slumping down on the floor together in the puddled remains of orgasm.

Long minutes passed before the Judge lifted their head and no, not the Judge, only Rus, looking in bewilderment at Red who seemed only semi-conscious beneath him, then blinked at Edge with bleary confusion, husking out a weak, “w’appened?”

"I've got you." Edge wasn't sure that he did. With the last of his strength he lifted Rus's light weight into his arms as he struggled out of the clinging tangle of Red’s limbs.

“what did i—” the haze of his eye lights sharpened as the clutter of his memories seemed to sync and then they went wide with horrified realization, his hands moving over Edge’s bare bones, frantically searching. “did i hurt you?!”

“No,” Edge told him immediately.

Rus’s mouth thinned, disbelieving, as his gaze swept over all of them. Edge supposed he couldn’t blame him; their clothes were in ruins, they were all dappled in colorful smears of come and marrow and flecks of dust. “i know how you like to split hairs, so you’ll forgive me if i ask that again. did i or any part of me hurt you?”

“No,” Edge repeated, firmly. It was the truth. There was a certain ache in his pussy, true, but it was not unpleasant, only strain from unaccustomed use. “You didn’t hurt me. The Judge didn’t hurt me.” He scattered gentle kisses over Rus’s face, whispered with as much soothing as he could muster, “I’m fine, love. We’re all fine. And I love you, all of you.”

“goes double for me,” Red rasped out. His sockets were barely open, showing a gleam of crimson. He managed to roll to his hands and knees to crawl over to them and Edge could only hope that he was the only one who saw a hastily suppressed wince as Red joined Rus in Edge’s lap, snuggling in close to them both. Edge had the randomly wild thought that Red wouldn’t care about the security cameras for the sex, but he’d delete every fragment of video for this. “all i need is a hot shower, honey, and i’ll be fine.”

Rus’s drew back, his soft, pale eye lights flicking from Red to Edge and back again. His chin began to wobble, his sockets filling, and he reached out with trembling fingers to touch the fresh crack the attack left over Red’s socket, already crusted over with dried marrow. His fingertips glowed a delicate green that was not the Judge’s magic but his own, or perhaps it was one and the same. The cracked narrowed, faded, vanishing beneath his touch and left behind only a bloody smear to flake away. Then he crumpled against them and those warm tears finally fell, dripping wetly to cool against their bare, aching bones.

They both held him tightly as he cried; for the Royal Guards who were killed in the attack, perhaps, or his regrets for what Red and Edge allowed of him, or for himself, for what a Judging cost him. Edge didn’t know.

What he knew was that his soul was filled to overflowing with desperate love for the gentle person in his arms. The same love he could see in his brother’s eye lights, deep and endless, and layered beside it was matching determination to keep him safe against anyone who dared to hurt what was theirs.

The small space of the elevator was growing claustrophobic. They would need to go soon, try to find a way back to their quarters without being seen by too many others, to keep from entirely shattering their illusions about their Judge. There would need to be an inquiry, Toriel would need to be informed and her own security tightened. There were so many necessary, terrible things that must be done.

But Edge only sat there with his love and his brother in his arms, holding them close, and made a grim promise of his own to the Angel herself. Anyone who tried to take this from him would pay and the wrath of the Judge would be a pittance compared to his own.

-fin

Next Chapter

[notapaladin]

glory and gore go hand in hand

What’s this? MORE emotional teocatl smut? Yup. You know my brand by now.

The Great Temple has been dedicated to the gods with thousands of sacrifices, and Teomitl's praises are being sung from one end of the empire to the other. He should be proud, but instead he’s just so, so tired. Acatl’s here to help.

Also on AO3!

-

There is blood on his hands. And in the creases of his elbows. And under his fingernails. It’s starting to dry, sticky and cold and disgusting, on his skin.

He can’t stop shaking. His skin feels too tight and too dry, still almost feverish, and it’s a blessing he’s still on his feet. At least he’s alone; at least nobody is here to see the Revered Speaker of Tenochtitlan struggling even with the simple task of washing his hands. Oh, they’d tried, of course—he’d left the dais and almost immediately been surrounded by his nobles and his attendants, all seeking to bring him aid, but he’d sent them all away. He thinks he’s seen too many people today, even with Huitzilopochtli’s light a blinding, scorching presence under his skin.

He’s definitely seen too many people. He hadn’t been able to look at their faces, hadn’t been able to bear their expressions, but—

There’s so much blood. He scrubs harder, cold water splashing from the basin onto the floor. His skin is crawling, but the rough towels help a little. When he tries to take a slow breath—slow, something to calm his racing heart—the action makes his shoulders ache again.

He can still feel the knife in his hands. He hadn’t been able to feel much while it was going on—his world had been heat and light and fire, lava pouring through his veins and the Southern Hummingbird’s breath in his ears—but he’d known he was holding the knife, had felt the resistance of muscle and bone and hot blood pumping over his hands as he’d grabbed and twisted and pulled.

He clenches his fists. It doesn’t help. He can still feel the sweat-slick grip of the knife in one hand, the steady beat beat beat of a pulsating heart in the other. No amount of lather or cold water will wash it away.

His people are praising him in the streets, for he has shown their strength to all those who would doubt them. The rulers of Metztitlan and Tlaxcala and Huexotzinco have seen the price of opposing him; though they leave with lavish gifts, he knows they’re happy just to escape with their lives. He has been a conduit for Huitzilopochtli, His hand in the Fifth World strengthening the boundaries and keeping them all safe from His sister’s rage. Under the sea of blood he’s spilled these past few days, Coyolxauhqui has been all but drowned; Her bottomless rage will not touch those he loves. He should be happy.

He wants to cry. He wants to shake until he falls apart.

He wants Acatl.

Hurry up, he mouths at the basin. You said you’d meet me here when the sacrifices were over; where are you? His lover had had no role to play in the rededication of the Great Temple and its twin shrines to Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc; it had been harder than he’d liked to find a private moment to speak. Just to speak. They hadn’t even been able to touch. He misses him like a lost limb.

And then the sound of a rustling entrance curtain lets him know he’s no longer alone in the baths; he picks out a familiar, steady tread of bare feet on stone, and his shoulders slowly start to relax. He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t have to; he knows he’s safe. Acatl could hold a knife to his throat—oh, there’s an interesting idea—and he’d still be safe.

“Acatl.” His throat hurts.

“My Emperor.”

Acatl’s voice is soft, tender, awestruck—in truth the voice of a priest addressing his Revered Speaker, not a man speaking to his lover—but then he must realize the state Teomitl is in, because he steps forward to stand in front of him and gently, so gently, take his hands in both his own. “How do you feel?”

He sucks in a breath. He can’t quite look at him. Their joined hands are easier to take in, though Acatl’s are clean and cool and dry where his own are so hot and sticky-damp with water and blood that he’s surprised they haven’t started to steam. At least his fingers aren’t shaking quite so badly anymore. “...It was…” He swallows. “So much.”

“I’m not surprised.” Acatl presses soft lips to his forehead. They’re cool too—or maybe it’s just that his skin is burning. “You’ve never channeled so much power before, or for so long. But...you handled it very well.”

“I can’t get all the blood off,” falls from his lips, but what he really means is Help me. That, he bites back; he’s in no shape to break down yet.

Acatl strokes the backs of his hands, thumbs moving in soothing little circles. “...Let me?”

He nods. He’s still not sure he can trust his voice.

Acatl doesn’t seem to expect him to talk, at least. He turns away to wet a clean towel and start at the insides of Teomitl’s elbows, wiping at the drying flecks of blood with a gentler hand than Teomitl had used on himself. When he breaks the silence, his voice is quiet. “I know you don’t expect gratitude, but you’ve done more for our world these past few weeks than your brothers did in both their reigns put together. You’ve kept us safe for centuries to come. I’m so proud of you, my love.”

Even though he knows his lover is right, he’s too tired to appreciate the compliment. “You’ve saved the Fifth World half a dozen times over, and you’re proud of me?” It’s bitter and ungrateful, but he can feel tears prickle in the back of his throat and being caustic even for a moment will stop them from falling. The sudsy water sluicing over his arms feels like a balm.

Acatl doesn’t rise to the bait. The towel slides along first one of Teomitl’s forearms and then the other, gently clearing away the stuck-on gore. “I am,” he says softly. “You were magnificent. I’ve never seen the Southern Hummingbird’s power so bright and clear, and I have met Him in person.”

It hadn’t felt magnificent from where he’d been standing. The priests of Huitzilopochtli had moved like a well-trained unit to hold down victim after victim, and all he’d done was bring the knife down and hold the heart aloft for a moment before throwing it in the cuahxicalli. The stench of burning flesh has yet to leave his nostrils. He doesn’t want to see or smell meat for a week. No, a month. Maybe by then it won’t turn his stomach.

“Don’t let Quenami hear you say that,” he mutters. “He was…unpleasant.”

Acatl’s head lifts, eyes narrowing, even as his hands continue the work of getting blood out from under Teomitl’s nails. “Hm?” That single-toned hum carries a myriad of undertones, not least of which is the strong suggestion of murder.

More cold water is poured over his hands. It unknots something in his chest, and he can breathe a little easier. And, too, it gives him the strength to continue. That’s right. My enemies are Acatl’s enemies, because he loves me. “I could feel him standing there, all seething jealousy. I swear he was waiting for me to make a mistake or—I don’t know, drop the knife in someone’s chest cavity like Tizoc did that one time. I know you said to leave him be, but…”

They hadn’t quite fought about it, when he’d first brought it up in the long months before Tizoc’s death. He’d only drawn Acatl aside and told him the truth, as plainly as he could possibly make it. That if he had his way, Quenami would follow his Revered Speaker into the afterlife; that he deserved it a thousand times over, for having nearly taken Acatl from him.

That if Acatl really wanted, Quenami would get to live another day.

“Yes,” Acatl had said after a long pause. “Spare him, keep him as High Priest, so that he may know he’s beaten.”

Quenami had not felt beaten on the top of the Great Temple. A spot in the back of Teomitl’s right shoulder crawls with the memory of false, poisonous good will, a manic and vicious helpfulness that had just been waiting for him to falter. The man clearly has neither forgotten nor forgiven the moment after Tizoc’s death when Teomitl had drawn him close and told him just who he ought to be thanking for his miserable life.

Acatl’s voice takes on a honed edge. “...I changed my mind.”

His head snaps up, and for the first time he looks into Acatl’s eyes; their depths are as dark as ever, but now there’s firm resolve in them. And anger. His heart had started to slow down to normal, but now it’s kicking up again just registering the heat in that gaze. Acatl praises him for his power and strength, but his lover has never seen himself in a temper; it’s enough to send a lesser man than Teomitl to his knees.

Cool fingers tighten briefly on his own as Acatl continues. “Obviously, he has learned nothing from your mercy. Whatever you wish to do with him, I will not gainsay it. His replacement will surely be a man of better sense and decorum.”

It’s what he’s wanted to do for years, and part of him jumps at the chance. The rest of him studies Acatl’s face, remembers the way his lover is forever second-guessing himself, and asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Acatl grits out. “I can forgive insults to myself, but it’s a different matter when he thinks to undermine my Revered Speaker.”

You shouldn’t have to forgive anything, he thinks, but then the possessive notes in his lover’s voice hit him and he almost gasps. Yes, yes, that’s right. I’m yours. For a moment he almost can’t speak. They’re not close enough. The water on his skin isn’t cold enough. “...Oh, Acatl-tzin,” he breathes.

Acatl makes a soft, desperate sound. For an instant he looks as though he’ll kiss him, but instead he whispers his name like a prayer. “Ahuitzotl.”

“No.” He shakes his head, feeling the shiver travel down his spine. That’s not what he wants. He’s been Ahuitzotl too much lately, and it’s never rang true from his loved ones’ mouths anyway. “Call me by my name.”

Acatl closes his eyes, trembling faintly, and lets go of his hands. They’re clean now, at least on the surface. “...Teomitl.” And it sounds like a man addressing his lover, and it almost breaks his overfull heart.

He draws in a long breath, leans in, and falls into Acatl’s arms. Hold me, he thinks. Hold me until my skin feels like mine again. He doesn’t need to say it out loud; his lover’s arms slide around his waist, holding him securely as the earth holds the foundations of the Great Temple, and for the first time air comes easily to his lungs. He can take one breath, and the next, and the next, as long as he keeps his head tucked into the crook of Acatl’s neck.

Acatl’s voice comes out muffled from where he’s got his face buried in Teomitl’s hair. “Duality, you’re still so warm.”

He feels warm. Acatl’s skin is cool next to his, and when fingers splay open along his spine he shivers. “The Southern Hummingbird was...it was overwhelming,” he whispers. He can admit that, here and now. “I thought I would burn alive.”

There’s a pause. A long, indrawn breath, Acatl’s ribs expanding with it.

Then Acatl is pulling back and kissing him, long and slow and sweet, and he melts into it. His heart is still too fast, skin still stretched too thin over his joints, but with his lover’s mouth on his he’s starting to feel human again. In this, at least, the heat of lips and tongue against his is more than welcome.

“My love,” Acatl murmurs when the kiss is broken. “My jade and quetzal feathers. Let’s see if we can’t make you feel a bit better, hm?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask what Acatl has in mind, but his lover acts before he has the chance. One hand leaves his skin for a moment to dip back into the basin, and that’s all the warning he has before cold, wet fingers trail down the side of his neck. He trembles, breath catching in his throat. “Oh. That feels…” It feels incredible, is what it feels like. The cold on his overheated skin sends a jolt straight to his cock, and he has to bite his lip for a moment to maintain equilibrium.

Acatl watches him with something like concern. It’s terribly sweet, but in this instance entirely misplaced. “Too much?”

“Do that again,” Teomitl rasps out.

A smile flits across his face. He does it again. This time he brings his nails into play, scratching just hard enough to leave stinging lines behind, and Teomitl has to close his eyes as the sensation grounds him. It’s the most natural thing in the world to settle his hands at Acatl’s waist and tilt his face up, leaving it all under his lover’s control. He thinks again of a knife at his throat, and when sharp nails run over the thin skin of his collarbone his toes curl.

“Fuck, Acatl…” It’s almost a moan, and this time when his heart kicks up it’s not from the aftereffects of magical strain. His body is remembering it’s a thing that wants.

“...More?” Acatl almost—almost—sounds unruffled, but Teomitl can hear the catch in his voice and the way he shifts his weight in anticipation. It’s good to know he’s not the only one affected by what they’re doing.

Still, it’s kind of a stupid question under the circumstances. He’s breathing roughly already, more than half hard, and the loincloths they’re both wearing feel like too much fabric. He slips his hands into the waistband of Acatl’s loincloth, feeling the way the man shivers at wet skin on skin. “Yes. Gods, please.”

“Mmm. Alright.” He’s hyperaware of the warm breath on his face as his lover speaks; his skin tingles in all the places they aren’t touching. Acatl doesn’t close the distance between them; his fingers slide over his chest, circling one nipple with a thumbnail and making him twitch before continuing their journey down his stomach to the knot of his loincloth. Though he unties it gently enough, there’s a weight to the way the fine cotton tumbles carelessly to the floor that makes Teomitl quake.

He opens his eyes to find Acatl’s gaze locked on his, dark and deep and hungry. Oh yes, he thinks breathlessly. That’s what I want.

There’s nothing else he can do but kiss him, and this time it’s rough. This time it has teeth catching at Acatl’s bottom lip, hands all but tearing at the thin fabric of Acatl’s loincloth, the line of his lover’s body like lightning as it presses fully against his. Acatl’s hard and throbbing against him, bare skin like a brand. The Southern Hummingbird’s magic had felt like it was erasing him from the inside out, but the first grind of Acatl’s cock against his own is putting him back together. When his lover growls into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulderblades, he moans in response.

Then Acatl breaks their kiss, moving to press him up against the nearest wall; he gasps at the cold, smooth plaster against his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the sizzling shock of a hot mouth descending on his neck. The faint scrape of teeth isn’t enough to leave marks, but it’s enough to make his blood sing, make him twist and arch in Acatl’s arms—and then his lover reaches between their bodies to take him in hand, and he bucks with a rough cry. When Acatl lifts his head, he’s smiling like a wolf. “Oh, how sweet you sound.”

Teomitl can’t stay quiet, not even if his life depends on it. He spares a tiny scrap of thought to be glad for thick walls, but then Acatl squeezes and all thought flies out the window. “Ah...nnngh, gods…” His lover’s touch is slow and sure and relentless as it always is, pumping him steadily, and he can’t stop himself from thrusting into it. More. Gods, I want—

He surges forward, burying one hand in Acatl’s hair and wrapping the other around his cock. When he twists his wrist just the right way, it’s Acatl’s turn to moan out loud, music to his ears. “Ah, Teomitl…!”

There’s a deliciously hitched gasp in his voice; with his head pulled back his throat is right there, and Teomitl can’t resist just a bit of payback. He mouths along his throat to his collarbone, just this side of bruising, and only when Acatl is fucking into his tight grip does he lift his head and pant, “Did you think—hngh—I’d be selfish?” Coiling heat is rising in his veins like smoke, like the tide, but he can’t let himself focus on it when Acatl is rock-hard and leaking in his hand. He wants more of this, too.

And he gets it. Acatl’s never as loud as he is, but the roughness of his voice and the way he’s braced himself against the wall with an arm next to Teomitl’s head speak volumes. “You never are,” he growls, fingers rippling as they slide slick up Teomitl’s shaft again. “You are—hah, gods, you feel so good, my lord...”

Calling him magnificent, praising him for his rule—those are empty words. But Acatl’s voice cracking with pleasure, the strength of his lean body pressed against him, the way he’s panting with each stroke...that is praise he can take real pride in, and it sends fire through him. And, too, Acatl’s wonderful long-fingered hand is still working over the head of his cock, making his own hand falter. The pressure building at the base of his spine threatens to spill over. A little more, and he’ll fall over the edge. “Going to—!”

Acatl’s eyes are the hottest, darkest thing he’s ever seen. “Good. Let go for me, I’ve got you.”

He comes so hard he’s surprised his legs don’t give out. He could almost scream, but then Acatl’s kissing him and what comes out is a filthy, incoherent moan that reverberates through them both. The heat of Acatl’s body pressing him against the still-cold wall, the lightning shock of his release—it feels like it’s going on forever. Love, comes his first thought in the moment of clarity that follows. I love you.

And he doesn’t want to leave him unfulfilled. Not that there’s any risk of that; a few firm, rippling strokes and Acatl follows him a moment later, pulsing in his grip and spilling over both their stomachs with a long groan. He drops his head onto Teomitl’s shoulder, breathing hard, and for a long while he doesn’t speak.

When he does, his voice is soft. The hand he slides down Teomitl’s back is softer yet. “Mmm. Feeling better?”

“Mngh,” he says. He feels like melted rubber. He can’t even remember the last time he was this relaxed. It’s a real struggle to nod, to remember how to reopen his eyes when a blink closes them. “...I do.” Maybe it’s reckless of him—Revered Speaker or not, they have to be at least a little discreet—but he can’t stop himself from adding, “Take me to bed?” Even though leaving the baths will require the currently monumental tasks of getting themselves clean and dressed, Acatl’s here. Acatl will take care of him. And then they’ll be together in his chambers, and Acatl will keep taking care of him.

Acatl sighs fondly and holds him a little closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “...I can’t. There is to be a banquet in a few hours, remember? A great feast in your honor.”

Teomitl groans. He’d managed to forget about that, but now it’s coming back to him. He’d rather be at a street stall with Acatl by his elbow, but the Revered Speaker whose Great Temple will seal Coyolxauhqui for centuries must have a meal worthy of his station. “Come eat with me, at least.” Or else he’ll be alone. Surrounded by flattering nobles and fawning servants, yes, but alone.

Another kiss, feather-light, on his mouth. “I would love to.”

He finds himself smiling as he kisses back, just as softly. No, he’s still not looking forward to the banquet, but with Acatl by his side it won’t be so bad. They’ll grumble about political nitpicking together, and he’ll feed Acatl choice bits from his own plate.

And if he still avoids the platters of roasted peccary and venison, he knows his lover will understand.

[geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek]

(you make me) the happiest fool alive

geraskier | teen | 2.3k | canon compliant, fluff

selkimore guts continue to drip down his shoulders from his hair, and jaskier wonders just exactly when he’d gotten accustomed to their awful rotten meat smell during his travels with geralt.

he thinks it says something about him, about his devotion and loyalty—or just his absolutely hopeless feelings for a witcher, but jaskier likes to pretend he’d do it even if he weren’t deeply, madly, insanely in love with gold eyes and white hair.

he wouldn’t, probably, but he likes to pretend he would.

( read on ao3 )

“Another day, another hunt,” Jaskier says, sifting through his bag for one of his scented oils. He makes a triumphant sound when he finds the one he wants, then continues, “Another bath at the inn to rid the fearsome witcher of the stench of selkimore guts, hm?”

He turns around, brandishing the vial he’d chosen, beaming at Geralt sitting in said bath and glaring up at him. Said selkimore guts continue to drip down his shoulders from his hair, and Jaskier wonders just exactly when he’d gotten accustomed to their awful rotten meat smell during his travels with Geralt.

He thinks it says something about him, about his devotion and loyalty—or just his absolutely hopeless feelings for a witcher, but Jaskier likes to pretend he’d do it even if he weren’t deeply, madly, insanely in love with gold eyes and white hair.

He wouldn’t, probably, but he likes to pretend he would.

For show, because he is nothing if not melodramatic whenever possible, he screws up his nose and complains, “Gods, that’s rank. How do you stand it?”

As usual, Geralt merely grunts, settling back in the tub as Jaskier comes around behind him, kicking a footstool up to sit on. “You get used to it,” he says, voice gruff.

“That’s...actually quite sad,” Jaskier says, not unkindly. He pours the cherry blossom oil into his hand, chosen for its soft, unobtrusive smell that he’s found is most gentle on Geralt’s overly sensitive nose. “That you had to. And it’s not pity,” he adds, when Geralt turns and opens his mouth no doubt to snap at him. “No one decent should have to get used to the smell of selkimore guts. I mean, honestly, it’s so hard to wash out, and it lingers, you know? Of course you do, you’re always the one wearing them, what am I saying?”

“Nothing helpful,” Geralt snarks anyway, and Jaskier gives him a gentle swat on the arm. He picks up the bucket of water he’d set aside, and murmurs a gentle Eyes closed as he pours it over Geralt’s hair, watching in fascination as the selkimore guts are rinsed out and snow-white hair can be seen again. Geralt brings his hands up with water to rub it out of his eyes as Jaskier begins rubbing the oil into his hair.

It’s a ritual at this point: Geralt comes back from a hunt covered in blood and guts and gore, sometimes his own, mostly the monsters’, and Jaskier has a bath prepared for him, soaps and oils at the ready to help clean him up and unwind his muscles. It had been several tries of trial and error to settle on scents that didn’t make Geralt gag or give him a headache on top of all the other aches, but they’d found a few.

He prefers soft natural scents, Jaskier’s found, nothing artificially created by man, something he could find if he stepped outside and walked into the nearest forest—florals mostly, but nothing so heady as a perfume, just a few petals left to soak in the oil to infuse their scent just enough to be noticed but not overwhelming.

Jaskier has taken to wearing them himself over the expensive perfumes he usually prefers, if only because they really are much nicer and Geralt seems more at ease.

He finds he does a lot of things these days simply because they put Geralt at ease; nothing brings him greater contentment than to make Geralt’s life a little easier.

And this—being able to bathe him after a hard and arduous hunt—is one of Jaskier’s secret pleasures. He massages the oil into Geralt’s hair, humming softly, almost absently, using his fingers to comb through mats and tangles as he works it in. He pulls it through the strands gently, careful not to snag too suddenly because while Geralt will only grit his teeth, Jaskier knows his scalp is more tender than he lets on, and he tries not to cause any more pain than necessary.

Once he’s thoroughly worked the oil in, he picks up the bucket again and fills it with the bathwater, tilting Geralt’s head back as he dumps it over him again to wash out any residue, using his other hand to keep it from going in those beautiful gold eyes. He sets the bucket down and runs his hand through that white hair once again, ensuring it’s smooth and tangle-free, and if he indulges himself in the silky feel of it for a moment, well—Geralt won’t say a thing, if only to avoid having to acknowledge it in the first place.

Jaskier, contrary to popular belief of certain white-haired witchers, isn’t an idiot, and he isn’t ignorant—he knows that he’s painfully obvious with his feelings, that Geralt can most certainly smell the longing and pining that must be pouring from him.

His heart is on his sleeve always and no more so than when he’s around Geralt, but if Geralt wants to ignore it, then Jaskier will pretend the longing and pining are for someone else.

Hair clean again, Geralt sinks further into the hot water, letting out a grunt of satisfaction. Jaskier pours a few drops of the oil into the water to absorb into Geralt’s skin, and then busies himself with putting it away in his pack and tidying up the room while Geralt has his rightfully earned soak.

It’s a content silence that fills their room, and Jaskier is almost—almost, because he knows Geralt has learned to appreciate his lyrical voice even if he doesn’t want to admit it—surprised that Geralt breaks it a while later with a soft, “You’re unusually quiet tonight.”

Jaskier hums, smiling at the turning of the tables, and moves the stool around to the side of the bath so he can look at Geralt. He drops his hand into the water, lukewarm now, and leans his other arm on the edge. “Just appreciating the atmosphere, I suppose.”

“You’re pining,” Geralt says, and oh. Perhaps he will acknowledge it after all. “I can smell it from here.”

Jaskier takes a breath in through his nose on reflex, despite his own, lesser senses. “I'm pining,” he agrees softly, cautiously. His heart starts beating faster, and he knows Geralt can hear it.

“Who is it this time?” Geralt asks, eyebrow quirked. The corner of his mouth curls up, and Jaskier fights the urge to lean into him and kiss it. He looks smug and content splayed out in the bath as he regards Jaskier. “Another countess? A baroness? The barmaid downstairs?”

Jaskier snorts, allowing a small grin to cross his face as he shakes his head. He doesn’t feel quite up to playing their game tonight—something in the air, he thinks—but he says, “Happily married to her husband. Wouldn’t even give me the time of day when I approached her! Can you imagine!”

Geralt only huffs, still smiling that small, barely-there smile of his that makes Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat and his heart flutter, butterflies in his belly. His gold eyes drop down to where Jaskier’s fingers absently trail over his arm beneath the water, and Jaskier holds his breath, waiting, waiting to be pushed away, to be brushed off, but he doesn’t move away or tell him to stop, so Jaskier exhales and keeps doing it.

They sit in silence again, until Geralt asks, “So who is it?”

His fingers still. Jaskier makes himself look at those gold eyes. “Are you sure you want to have this conversation?”

Geralt’s comfort is his top priority, so Jaskier offers the out. Geralt looks at him, expression inscrutable for how well Jaskier has learned to read him in the years they’ve been traveling together. Jaskier knows what one eyebrow raised means, what certain grunts convey, the fondness Geralt feels when he rolls his eyes at something Jaskier does—but he can’t quite read this.

“I asked, didn’t I?” Geralt says instead, still low and soft. “Who is it, Jaskier.”

You, Jaskier’s mind says, but it gets caught in his throat. He clears it with a cough, looking away. There’s a tight feeling in his chest, something like anticipation and apprehension all at once. “I—do you really have to ask?”

He startles slightly when Geralt shifts, and even more when Geralt lifts a hand to tangle his fingers, rough from handling swords, with Jaskier’s own. Jaskier looks at him and sees nothing but fondness in his intense gold eyes.

“I'd like to hear it,” Geralt says simply, bringing Jaskier’s hand up to his lips. Jaskier shivers with pleasure when he leaves light, barely-there kisses on his knuckles, breath hot on his wet skin. He grips Geralt’s fingers tighter.

Jaskier gives in. “You,” he breathes, watching the way Geralt watches him, lips still on his skin. “It’s you. It’s always been you. Never in my life have I felt like I do for you. Love has always been fleeting for me—passionate, yes, but fleeting, there one day and gone the next. You, though—”

Geralt has leaned forward, and Jaskier can do nothing but watch with wide eyes as he brings their faces together, his other hand coming up to catch Jaskier by the chin. His breath is hot over Jaskier’s lips, and they stare at each other, nothing but a breath of space between them.

“I, what?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier takes a shuddering breath.

“You are an everlasting kind of love,” Jaskier says, feeling his heart hammer behind his ribs. He closes his eyes and leans into Geralt, foreheads touching, and the words pour from him, because he is nothing if not a poet.

“You're there in the morning when I wake, the first thing I see when I open my eyes. You’re there in the afternoon, while the sun is high; in the evening, when it sets. You’re there as I lie down to sleep, my last sight before dreams claim me and even then, you’re there with me.

“I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I will continue to love you even after I’m gone and you walk this earth without me once again.”

When he finishes, his words running dry, he takes a breath, shaky and uncertain, though he feels lighter, a weight lifted from his shoulders. He opens his eyes again, looks at the thoughtful expression on Geralt’s face in front of his own.

“Hm,” Geralt says, and it makes Jaskier laugh for no reason at all, light and slightly hysterical.

“You asked,” he croaks out, and it draws an answering smile out of Geralt.

“I did,” Geralt agrees, “and I’m no wordsmith like you, but I am not...unaffected. I do feel things for you. Annoyance and irritation mostly,” he jokes, and Jaskier gives an indignant huff for the principle, but lets him continue, “but I do care for you.”

Jaskier knocks their heads together gently, noses brushing, lips almost meeting. “I don’t need grand gestures and flowery words from you, witcher,” he murmurs. “They’d feel dishonest, I think, false flattery. And you are nothing if not genuine to a fault.”

“One of my many talents,” Geralt says dryly. He tilts his head, and their lips brush, soft and light. “But maybe you deserve flowery words and grand gestures.”

“Maybe I do,” Jaskier agrees, sighing when Geralt pulls the kiss once again. “But I don’t want them. Not from you.”

“No?”

“You are all I want,” Jaskier confesses. He leans into Geralt when he leans back, chasing him, wanting that closeness. They’re dancing around each other now, teasing it out, enjoying the anticipation. “Just you.”

He feels the way Geralt smirks against his mouth. “Just me? Nothing else?”

Jaskier pulls back, smothering his own smirk when Geralt chases him, his strong hand pulling Jaskier forward again. “Well,” he says, drawing it out, “maybe I want you to kiss me, you great ox.”

Geralt lets out a soft, genuine laugh, and Jaskier has only a breath to appreciate it before his mouth is occupied with Geralt’s, and finally, finally they’re kissing, and Jaskier melts into it with desperation, pushing against the side of the tub to be closer, closer, closer, to climb into Geralt and live beneath his skin, curled up in his heart like he lives in Jaskier’s.

It gentles from desperate to calm, and Jaskier pulls back to breathe, though he doesn’t go far—Geralt doesn’t let him, one of his large hands threaded into Jaskier’s hair during the kiss, and he doesn’t want to, regardless. They stay pressed together, just enjoying the closeness.

“I should probably get out of the bath,” Geralt says after a moment, and Jaskier pulls back reluctantly.

“Probably,” he agrees, and he stands, stretching his cramping muscles out as he goes to fetch a towel. He comes back, holding it out as Geralt stands, water dripping from him, and he doesn’t bother averting his gaze—he never has; Geralt is shameless, and so is Jaskier.

Geralt steps out of the tub, wrapping the towel around his waist, and Jaskier turns to grab his clothes but is stopped by a hand on his arm. He turns back, mouth open to say—something, he doesn’t know, because Geralt crowds into his space and immediately takes his mouth with his own again, tilting Jaskier’s chin up with gentle fingers, and Jaskier loses himself in him.

“Clothes can wait,” Geralt growls against his lips, and the heat beginning to rush through him agrees.

Clothes certainly can wait.

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

PART TWO! SAME WARNINGS: smut, blood, gore ish, and drug abuse. SMUT

She faintly hears the roar of the bikes and she smiles. She was gonna be okay. She could still hear Kozik sobbing in the background when Tig burst through the door. His baby sister lying atop a broken chair, a spindle broken off in her leg, breaking skin on the other side, a lake of blood on the floor, Kozik sitting in it quaking and shivering.

“Christ, someone grab him. Call an ambulance, Juice grab a towel to tie off the leg.” Tig kneels in the sticky blood, caressing her head in his ringed hands.

“Alex.” She whispers, a hand meekly reaching for him only to fall into the blood.

“It’s okay baby. It’s okay.” He whispers, letting Chibs tie the towel as tight as he can to curb the bleeding until the ambulance arrives.

“I’m sorry Celeste.” A soft whisper escapes Kozik’s lips over and over again like a chant.

“Kozik, what happened?” Tig asks as the medical team stabilizes her leg and gets her out of the apartment.

“Kozzie boy, what ‘appened to the girl?” Chibs asks, resting a hand on the man’s shivering shoulder.

“I pushed her. I’m so sorry. Tell her I’m sorry.” He murmurs, sinking back into the pool of blood. Jax and Opie pull him back up, taking him to the shower and washing the blood off him.

A few days pass, Her heart racing when Kozik walks in the room, hands folded at his waist and his eyes on the floor.

“I can’t, Tig.” He turns to leave but her voice stops him.

“It’s been a year, and you haven’t returned my calls, yet you aren’t even going to visit me in the hospital?” She calls. He sniffles.

“I’m sorry, Celeste.” He whispers, heading out of the room.

On the day she’s released Tig greets her at the door. They head out together and he drops her at him apartment.

“You be careful in there.” He calls.

“There’s only two more chairs.” She giggles, heading inside to find him. There’s a needle on the table, freshly used, and no Kozik in sight. “Pretty blue eyes?” She calls. Hearing the bedroom door open, his head appears from down the hall.

“Christ, I’m so sorry. Look at you.” He smiles, grabbing her arms and swinging them wide to get a good look at her.

“You look pretty beat up. You doin’ okay?” She asks, eyeing the table.

“I’m okay. That’s from yesterday. I haven’t shot up today at all.” He nods, proud of himself.

“Aw, sweet boy I’m so proud of you.” She smiles reaching for a hug. With wide arms, her draws her in, hugging her tightly.

“I missed you so much.” He whispers, sniffing back the tears. “I’m sorry I never answered your calls. I’m sorry I let you bleed out on the kitchen floor. I’m sorry for calling you when I should’ve just left you alone.” He gushes, hugging her a little tighter as he buries his nose deep into her neck. She was warm and comfortable and everything he wanted and needed.

“It’s okay. I’m just worried about you, ya know?”

“I know, I’m going to rehab tomorrow. Will you drive me?” He asks, leaning a little ways back. She grins at him and kisses his forehead.

“I’d love to.” She pats his shoulder before heading into the kitchen to find something for them to eat.

The next morning she found him sitting in the living room with a small bag packed and a nervous smile.

“You ready for the best decision of your life?” She asks, patting his shoulders. He stands and pulls her into a hug.

“I love you so much, pretty girl. You literally saved my life.” He cries, his big hand caressing the back of her head and his cheek pressed warmly and gently against hers.

“Not yet I haven’t.” She giggles, pressing a cute little kiss to his cheek and grabbing his hand. “Let’s go, big baby.” She chuckles as she leads him out of the apartment and down to her car.

“Thank you, Celeste. I couldn’t do this without you.” He gives her a serious look. As she walks him to the door of the rehab center, her heart begins to pound. He leans down to kiss her, but she turns her head, his lips landing on her cheek.

“You can give me a non platonic kiss when you’re sober over a year. Got it?” She giggles, poking a finger into his chest. A little defeated, but he nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“I love you so much, Celeste. Thank you.” He whispers.

A year passes and she receives a letter in the mail. She was living back in Los Angeles again, with her current boyfriend. Opening the letter, it reads:

Hey you,

It’s officially a year.

Is that kiss still available? Kidding, kidding.

But hey, I joined the marines. It’s going well so far.

Can’t wait to see you again sometime. Maybe I’ll be

Stationed in Los Angeles someday. Anyway, just wondered

How you were doing? I miss you a lot these days.

Really sorry about that heroin phase. Thanks for

Believing in me, pretty girl.

I love you!

Herman Kozik

Tears fall down her cheeks as she reads the letter over and over again.

Her boyfriend peeked over her shoulder to see a Polaroid picture gripped in her fingers, her other hand clasped over her mouth as she sobbed tears of joy.

“Your brother?” He asks with a smile.

“No, my best friend.” She smiles, sniffling as she wipes away the tears.

As the years went by, they lost touch once more.

“Hey! It’s Alex. Uh, you gotta come home. We’re going on lockdown and I need you home.” He informs, and she starts packing immediately. She didn’t question him. She packed her bags and got in her car heading for Teller-Morrow. Upon arrival, she was greeted by Juice and all of her favorites. Jax came over holding a baby and a squeal escapes her as she races to greet him and his little angel.

“Aw Jax!” She coos, grabbing the baby from him and coddling him close to her, grinning at the little dude and cooing little nothings at him. She hands the baby over to the blonde, gripping him in a tight embrace.

“It’s good to have you home. You should consider moving back.” He chuckles, waving his baby in her face like a carrot on a string.

“You’ll have to do better than that to get me to stay here. But that little guy is pretty cute.” She grins, poking the baby’s cheeks and getting a precious laugh.

“Oh shit, here comes Ope and Tig.” Jax warns as Opie comes jogging towards her with two kids and Donna close behind. A bigger grin broke across her face as she jumps into his arms.

“Jax was right. I gotta move home! I’m missing so much!” She cries, a few joyful tears falling down her face as she hugs Donna tightly and introduces herself to their two children. Tig waits impatiently for her to get done.

“You just keep getting prettier.” Tig ruffs, gripping her in a tight hug.

“And you keep getting older.” She croaks, gripping back just as tightly. She’d missed so much of everyone’s lives and it broke her heart. They all had growing kids and beautiful families. She wondered what her life would’ve been like if she and Kozik had stayed.

“Let’s get you inside. Got a few guys you should meet.” Tig huffs as he drags her inside. She meets Happy Lowman, the Tacoma Killer. A tall bald man with lots of tattoos, but an overwhelmingly loving demeanor; at least she thought so.

“You okay with that, Tiggy?” She almost knew that voice. Something about the gravel in it and the sweet ting made her heart skip. Ducking through the crowd to see who the owner was; she finds herself staring at him.

“Yeah, it’s really great.” Tig bites. Kozik got in Tig’s face grinning. “You want a kiss?” He asks, frowning at him. She hid a little while longer, just to be sure the man she was watching was in fact him. Herman Kozik. Pulling the Polaroid from her purse, she compares the man to the photo. The twinkling blue eyes, the same stupid spiky hair; without a doubt. Somehow time had done well by him. He’d gotten a little taller, a little broader in the shoulder, and he’d filled out well; decorating his skin in ink that drew her in. The leather fit tighter on his shoulders, his jaw was straighter and her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear.

“How the fuck are you two not married?” Gemma asks as she steps up next to the petite Trager girl.

“I-“ she couldn’t say anything. She was too enthralled by his beauty. He wasn’t a nineteen year old kid anymore, and neither was she.

“Go talk to him. He’s got a Polaroid of you in his kutte pocket. Been asking Tig all day when you’d be here. He’s suffered enough.” She chuckles, walking away.

“Christ.” She mutters, shooting tequila before she makes her way towards him. As she got closer, her legs got weaker. How had it happened? Time had sculpted him into a beautiful statue of stone hard muscle and beauty. Finally as she tripped over her own feet, she collides into his back, bracing herself against him.

“Woah!” He chuckles, turning and grabbing her hands. Helping her up, he leads her to the bench seat, grabbing her a beer. “You’re already falling for me and I don’t even know your na—“ His mouth snaps shut. She found herself swooning at the sound of his deeper laid back voice.

“Hey you.” She whispers, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she looks up at him. His beautiful twinkling blue eyes met hers and he was home again. Nineteen years old lying on the beanbag in her bedroom laughing at her getting drunk enough to try dancing. “Are you gonna say something now smooth talker?” She giggles, poking his chest. One thick finger reaches for her chin and lifts her eyes to meet his.

“Celeste?” He asks.

“Herman?” She asks, side-eyeing him with a smirk. In one slick movement, he’s crushing her against his chest, which got wider and stronger. She swore she heard a sniff, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t felt so at home in so long, happy tears streamed down her face.

“Tell me something, Celeste. Is that one year kiss still a thing?” He asks, smirking at her.

“Herman Kozik, if you don’t kiss me right now, I might literally explode.” She giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his lips.

“So what happened to platonic?” He asks, poking at her sides.

“Fuck being platonic. I love you.” She whispers, grabbing a handful of his spiky hair and kissing him harder.

“I love you too. I’ve been waiting for you to come home for so long. Tell me right now that this is just the beginning. Because I saw the way you looked at Jax’s baby. I want that with you. I want it all with you. Be my old lady, Celeste.” He begs, squeezing her hands in his.

“Herman—of course.” She whispers, letting him slide a ring on her finger with a little round diamond atop it.

“Thank Christ.” He heaves, gripping her tightly against him once more.

“Can I show you something?” She asks, unbuttoning her shirt at the table.

“If it involves any more skin showing, no.”

“It doesn’t.” She assures, pulling off her top shirt to reveal a cropped tee and under her breasts, the wings spread to cup her breasts, was his crow. ‘Herman Kozik’ written across her ribs.

“How long have you had this babe?” He coos, his fingers running delicately over the ink, tears filling his eyes.

“I got it for your one year.” She murmurs, shyly pushing her shirt back down.

“You did this for me?” He hushes, his hands snaking around her back and sliding her into his lap. His hands rest in the small of her back, his face pressed against hers. “Did you say if I don’t kiss you you might literally explode?” He asks. She nods, giving him a knowing smile. “You sly little girl.” He whispers, kissing the sensitive skin under her ear. “Don’t kiss me, or it won’t be platonic. We were scared of a word I didn’t even know the meaning to.” He laughs.

“You don’t know what it means?” She asks, mockingly offended.

“Not a clue, but at nineteen, I figured it was bad.” He laughs.

“Platonic. Non sexual.” She cackles, tipping her head back. He took advantage, his lips meeting the smooth skin of her throat.

“Non sexual. Jesus Christ. We were fucking, and I couldn’t kiss you, because it would be non-platonic. Let’s try this again, ya know, non-platonically.” He huffs in her ear, scooping her up and making his way to the room they shared at nineteen.

“Herman, I love you so much. I love you.” She whispers, kissing his chin and cheeks and nose.

“I take it you missed me.”

“I wanna see just how many tattoos you’ve gotten since we turned nineteen.” She croons seductively in his ear. Removing his clothes as fast as possible, she takes in the ink decorating his perfect skin. The S O A’ that donned his chest, her fingertips brushing over it as her lips meet his smooth chest, kissing the letters.

“Christ baby.” He huffs, fingers tangling in her hair.

“Don’t kiss me.” She warns with a dangerously sweet smile. He growls, taking her down onto the bed, his lips meeting hers in fit of heat and desire.

“Babygirl, I’m gonna kiss you so much, you’ll get sick of it.” He growls low in her ear, and just like when they were young, she arched against his body and it drove him crazy. With his eyes locked on hers, he watched the moment he slid fully into her, like a movie on her face. First her eyes grew wide, but then her lip was being bitten and her head rolled back eyes closed. He ground hard against her, and she loved it. Stopping his thrusts, she turns over on her tummy, sticking her ass in the air and pressing her head down. his tongue passing over his lips before he slides back into her at a new angle, he reaches down, grabbing a handful of her hair at the base of her neck as she bounced her ass back against him.

“Herman Kozik.” She whines as they get closer and higher. He reaches around her bouncing hips and fingers find her sweet spot, flicking and rubbing the sensitive nub, pushing her over the edge and watching them both fall into bliss.

“Christ. That was better than I ever pictured it.” He breathes, pulling the sheet up over the two of them.

“You imagined it?” She asks with a giggle, her fingertip lightly tracing the letters on his chest and neck.

“Babygirl, I thought about you under me way more than I’d like to admit.” He chuckles, kissing her lips lazily before pulling her back against his bare body.

[justjessame]

A Reluctant Hero Chapter 18

I was looking out the window at the rural wildness that surrounded JD’s house, completely bare as JD and I seemed to stay, when he walked up behind me and pulled me back into his chest. His head was propped on top of mine, his arms wrapped around me, and I felt so much peace that I wondered when the bubble would burst. It had to, right?

“We still haven’t taken advantage of your love for my porch swing, Ani.” I smiled at how playful JD sounded. “How about it? Drinks on the swing?”

I tilted my head to look up at him. “Are you suggesting we go butt ass naked on the porch?” His smile lit up his face. “How often do you get visitors out here?”

“Rarely, like fucking very rarely.” I raised an eyebrow, and noticed that the sky was darkening with the threat of a storm. “Come on, you know you want to-” Tempting and teasing. Shaking my head, I grabbed the blanket we’d curled up in on the sofa after dinner the night before.

When he looked at me in curiosity, I rolled my eyes. “I’m NOT going to chance splinters in either of our asses, mister.” He was laughing as he followed me onto the porch, and after I’d arranged the blanket, he sat, pulling me against him as he pushed to get us swinging gently. “This is nice, but I don’t know how long we’ll get to enjoy it.” I pointed to where the darkness was growing closer. “Storm’s coming.”

“I’m not afraid of a little rain, Ani, are you?” I considered it as the first drops began to fall, and soon they were pounding against the metal roof of the porch and I smiled at the sound. I waited, watching for lightning and listening for thunder, when none seemed forthcoming, I stood up and saw him staring up at me.

“Not afraid of rain?” Holding out my hand, he took it and I pulled him down the steps and into the coolness of the rainfall. “Then let’s make the most of it.”

JD could take a hint. His hands cupped my face as the water drops were drenching us both, and then his lips claimed mine, his hands moved down to pull me tight against him. It didn’t take long for him to walk me to a part of the house where he could press me against and then my legs were around his waist, and we were making enough noise to make thunder jealous.

“Every time I think I have you all figured out,” he was breathing into my skin, drinking the rain water from my skin as he pounded into me. “You up the ante, Ani.” I arched into his thrusts and his moan tingled on my neck. “You like this, don’t you?” I bit his shoulder as he hit my magic spot and earned another moan. “Wild and outside, the two of us uninhibited by-” I arched again and he had to stop talking.

 We were shaking by the time we finished. Soaking wet, even without layers of clothing, shivering slightly as our body temperature seemed to come down, but our eyes couldn’t leave one another’s. “I love you,” I swallowed hard, thinking it was too soon, but it was true nonetheless. I’d never said it first, but then again, I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt it first.

He was still panting slightly, but he was smiling. “Anilea Ampsted, I thought you’d never realize it.” I waited, feeling my own smile curl up. “I think I’ve loved you since-” he kissed me, seeming to gain some strength to continue. “Since the first time I saw you waking up in my bed.” His hand moved up, fingers brushing my wet hair out of my face. “I love you, I love you,” he kept saying it, kissing me between each declaration, on my cheek, my jaw, my forehead, my neck, and finally touching my lips again.

 We took a hot shower. Yes, more pounding water, but there was a sweetness to having him wash and warm me. I returned the favor, making sure that there would be no doubt that everything he felt for me was reciprocated. When we were dry, and warm, we wrapped up in a fresh blanket on the sofa and watched the flames of his stove flicker.

My back to his chest, our fingers linked, I felt like I wanted the moment to last forever. But of course, we’re talking about JD and me, so when his phone rang I nearly laughed. Almost, but then I saw his eyes widened and I thought, ‘this is it, the bubble has burst’, but no. Not even close.

“Kelsey just went into labor,” he said, as we both stood up. “We have to-” I was grinning up at him.

“Let’s get dressed and I’LL drive, Grandpa,” he was looking like he was going to argue, but I silenced him with the warning of, “you want to survive to see the baby, right?”

 It took the two of us less time to dress than one would imagine. He reluctantly handed me the keys to his truck, and I rolled my eyes at him. Then we were heading down the road as he helped the GPS navigate, you know in case it missed a turn or something. We made it to the hospital far sooner than either of us expected, even with me driving at a reasonable speed and not taking turns on two wheels.

Inside, we were directed to the maternity wing, JD’s hand holding tight to mine he pulled me along with him. I was going to offer to wait in the waiting room, but JD clearly had other plans. He found Kelsey’s room and tugged me along with him.

“Thank God,” Kelsey breathed, reaching out her hand. “I thought you’d be too late.” JD took her hand and she smiled. Dorothy had her other hand and I was trying to figure out how to slip out before baby Richter made a grand stretching appearance, but Kelsey caught me. “Oh, no you don’t.” She was glaring at me and I shook my head, hand on the room’s doorknob. “Don’t you fucking dare, Anilea.” My eyes widened and I took my hand away. “You’re part of this fucking family-” she stopped, as what I assumed was a horrific pain ripped through her, her hands squeezing Dorothy and JD’s so hard that I could see their fingers turn white. It took a few beats of her breathing through her nose and trying to break her parents’ fingers before she relaxed and could speak again. “That means you STAY.” Shit.

 I found a spot beside JD, far away from where the baby would pop out, and held the cup of ice chips. Feeling like I should be fucking useful somehow, I’d hold the cup for Kelsey whenever she asked. It didn’t take long for the doctor to declare Kelsey was fully dilated and ready to push. I shot a longing look at the door, but she caught me again. Fuck.

“I’ll break your fucking legs if you even think about it again,” she gritted out, her breathing turning to panting as the doctor instructed her to get ready. “If I have to fucking be here, then so do you.” I was going to point out that she HAD to be here because she was the actual mother, but I thought better of it.

 It felt like hours passed before we heard the baby cry. And there it was, covered in gore, and screaming like it would rather be pushed back inside. Yay, I thought, afraid to look at the door again now that Kelsey seemed less occupied by labor. Even if I’d rather be on the moon right now than in this room with a screaming baby covered in goop. It wasn’t the screaming, or the baby that was causing me discomfort, but the smear of blood, the hanging cord that Kelsey asked if JD would cut, and then I swayed and sweet nothingness took over.

 I woke up in my own hospital bed. My head had a bandage on it, and I vaguely remembered Kelsey giving birth. Squinting against the light that felt like it was beating into my brain through my open eyes, I heard the door open and turned to see who was entering.

“You’re awake,” JD sighed, sounding relieved. “I didn’t want to leave you, but-”

I shook off his worries. “New baby, I totally understand.” My hand crept up to see how bad I smacked my head when I fainted, because that was the reasoning I’d come up with as he walked in. The bandage wasn’t as thick as it could be, so I felt some relief of my own. “So?”

He looked confused. “So, what?” I rolled my eyes.

“I went out before I heard what she had, boy or girl, grandpa?” He smiled and took my hand, kissing the knuckles.

“Boy,” I grinned at him as he continued. “Although he nearly became a eunuch when I heard you keel over.” My smile dropped. “Scared me to death hearing you hit that stand.” I closed my eyes in embarrassment. “Faint at the sight of blood, Ani, you keep surprising me.”

I snorted, and pain shot through my head. Fuck. “Yeah, I have a weak stomach, which Kelsey knows, when she’s not in the throes of pain.” He smiled. “What’s his name?”

We talked about the baby, about Kelsey, and about when I could be released from the room now that I was awake. The doctor came in and told me that he’d have my paperwork brought up, warning me to take it easy, and that I had a concussion, but I would be fine as long as I listened to his orders. I tried to keep the eye rolling to a minimum.

Once I was on my feet again, I made JD take me back to Kelsey and the baby. I wanted to see the little guy, and make sure his mom was doing alright after my spectacular exit. She was holding her son, a tiny little guy swaddled in a soft blanket with a tiny cap on his head when we walked in.

“Look at you,” she smiled up at me. “You’re upright again.” I shook my head and got closer. “Ani, meet my little guy, Gideon Richter.” I bit my lip at how tiny he was. And much more appealing now that he wasn’t wearing the insides of his mother. “Gideon, this is your-” she stopped, looking up at her dad and smiling. “Nana Ani.” My eyes widened. “Dad tells me that you two figured it out, finally.” She rolled her eyes and patted the bed beside her. I crawled in next to her and gently touched Gideon’s tiny head.

“He’s beautiful, Kels,” I was smitten. When his tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine, I felt my heart clench. “Congratulations.” I wasn’t paying attention to her or JD, because for a couple of beats, Gideon’s tiny face was focused on mine and I couldn’t see anyone else. Jesus, is this that biological clock everyone mentions, I wondered as I felt a yearning I had never felt before.

“Thank you,” she kissed his little head softly and handed him to me before I could argue against it. JD was by my side, holding his grandson’s head in one huge hand while I cradled him to me. “You’re a natural.” She whispered, watching me hold her son. “When can I expect a baby brother or sister?”

[dapper-ships-herself]

First kisses aren't always so sweet

I know I said the next thing I was going to write would be one of those two scenarios I posted about, but then this came to me last night and I wrote it in a fury, so that's where we're at.

A Gilahara (Chuuya and ADA! Gillian) piece.

Warning from some description of violence and blood, if that bothers ya.

---------

Dust stuck to Chuuya’s lungs, the jacket sleeve he held to his face doing little to keep it out. Rubble crumbled beneath his shoes, glass crunching with each step.

“Damn.” He cursed. He didn’t know where anyone else was right now, all he knew was that thing and its handlers had sure done a number on this place.

A colossus, summoned and brought to life by that damn Mary Shelley and her cult of freaks. What a mess.

He heard a cough up ahead, and his head snapped in its direction. A figure could just barely be seen through the haze. Instinctively, his body went into a ready stance, poised to launch himself at the potential enemy. It was only as they drew closer that he realized who it was, and he instantly relaxed.

Gillian, with her fluffy, brown hair matted with dirt, and black smudged along her face and clothes, the cloth also ripped in some places. Despite that, despite their surroundings and the obvious hell she’d just been through, when she saw him at the same moment he registered her, she smiled. “Hey Chu-tan, fancy meeting you here.” Her voice sounded hoarse from the dust in the air, but it still sounded like music to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His question was rough, but in actuality he was so relieved to see her he felt like he could just run right to her and crush her against himself. His feet stay rooted though, because that relief is mixed in with the absolute terror of realizing she’s here, where that thing is still lurking somewhere.

“Same as you,” She says “I’m trying to fix this.”

He grits his teeth. “No offense, Gillian, but I just watched what it’s capable of; there’s no way you can beat it.” So get away from it.

“I won’t know unless I try. And does that mean you’re gonna stop it? Because you seem to be no better off than I am right now.”

It was true he’d seen better days. His own body was covered practically head to toe in grime, his suit ripped and covered in flecks of blood that had mixed with the dirt to form a gross muck. Still, he stood straight, hopping down from the raised bunch of concrete he’d been on to stride towards her. “What’s your plan, then, huh? How are you going to stop it? Your voice? I doubt even your ability is enough to calm that thing down.”

“Look at what it did to this place; imagine what it’ll do to the city if it’s not taken care of here.”

He stopped mere inches from her, his eyes boring into hers. He saw fear deep within the blue, but it was wrapped in a thick iron determination that didn’t falter even under his hard stare. It wasn’t that he thought she was weak, he knew the strength hidden in her small body, knew the force of nature her voice could be. Thinking about her going against that thing, though; even she… “It’ll crush you.”

“What’s your plan, then? Do you even have one?” She crossed her arms defiantly, her gaze not leaving his once.

His scowl deepened. He had an idea, all right, but it was stupid. He’d been mulling over his options just before she’d shown up. He knew how extreme the situation was, but the consequences just didn’t seem worth it. There was certainly some other way to stop that thing from reaching the city, something that wouldn’t come at such a great cost to himself. That was before he knew she was here. Here, in this place and ready to throw herself in its path if it meant saving even one person. A rumble in the distance reached them.

“My ability,” he started. He saw her expression shift with the change in his voice, confusion blossoming at the flat acceptance it’d taken on, all anger and frustration drained away in a second. He seemed calm. “has another aspect to it. A true form, capable of crushing an opponent in seconds, leaving nothing in my way. All I need to do is let lose all my inhibitions and I will be unstoppable. It’ll be more than enough to stop her Frankenstein.”

“What?” She whispered “If you have something like that, then why…” some realization sparked in her eyes, and they widened slightly. “What does it cost you? Moves like that always cost something. My own scream leaves me emotionless and robotic for hours, what does this true form do to you?”

“It’s called corruption, and that lack of inhibition means that once I activate it I can’t stop it. Corruption will keep fighting even after everything around me is crumbled, and it’ll sap away my strength until it uses me up entirely.”

“No… No, how could you ever use such a dangerous ability if it destroys you? There’s no way- Dazai. You and him used to be partners, didn’t you? His ability would stop yours before it could do permanent damage.”

“That’s right.” He nodded watching her work it out.

“But he’s miles from here! He’s back in the city, we have no way to even contact him if there was a way he could get here in time!” the fear buried in her eyes was starting to leak out, as she realized what Chuuya had already decided. “You can’t.” Her whispered voice broke, and then the panic made it rise again. “If you do that then you’ll-“

His hand came up to grip the back of her head, pulling her towards him at the same time he surged forward. He kissed her, deep and rushed, pouring more words than he could ever say into the action. The open palm of his other hand rested on her back, helping to push her body further into his. He wanted to feel as much of her as he could while he had the chance. He was acutely aware of her own hands wrapping around him to grab at his shoulders, and of the tears he could taste mixing with the flavor of her lips. Who did they belong to?

He made himself pull back, and only allowed himself a moment to rest his forehead against hers, before pulling away. His coat whipped up around him as he turned his back and walked quickly away from her.

“Chu-tan. Chu-tan, wait!” She called behind him. He refused to look, even as he heard her footsteps trying to catch up.

His ability activated around him, and with a single leap he was far above the ground, heading in the direction of the noise the thing made.

“Chuuya!” She screamed, raw and loud. It still sounded like sweet music to him, as it faded into the distance.

------

The earth was shattered beneath him. Cracked and splattered with gore. Pieces of that thing littered the ground, its blood mingling with that of the people who’d controlled it.

He loved it.

Manic giggles peeled from his throat. With each wild swing of his arms, more balls of dark energy flew from his palms and tore apart his surroundings.

This was bliss. Pure carnage, unobstructed chaos, ruin beneath his feet. He threw his head back and full on cackled. Blood flew from his lips into the air.

---

Her feet pounded against the ground, desperate pants sounding from her as she ran.

---

A spray of dust flew into his face. Not that it mattered. Stone cracked and blew away at his touch, and he laughed at it, his wide eyes not really seeing it. All he cared about was destruction, all he saw was red.

---

She stumbled, and her palm was sliced by a sharp chunk of rock. She payed it no attention, not stopping in her race.

---

He threw another black ball, stumbling forward from the momentum, nearly falling over before catching himself. His arms hung limp before him. His laughter didn’t stop, but it was heavy now.

---

She could hear the rumbling so close now, a random crashing that shook the ground and made her steps unsteady.

---

Blood trickled from his eyes like crimson tears. It came from his nose, from his mouth, from his ears, turning his face into a red mess.

---

She could see him. He stood hunched over in the midst of his wreckage, rippling with energy and a crazed look in his eyes. Angry red and black lines covered his skin like great wounds cracking him apart.

Gillian pushed forward, skidding over scattered rock, jumping over the deep fissures marring the ground. He was still so far away.

She couldn’t help it; his name flew from her lips in a desperate cry. “Chuuya!”

His head swiveled to face her. His smile twitched for a moment, before spreading even wider than before. Finally, something new and whole he could break.

He was in front of her in a blur, his bare hands snatching her by the neck in the same second and lifting her from the ground. She gave a strangled cry as her windpipe was crushed.

“Ch-Chuu-ya…” She forced out. He squeezed harder.

She strained to look down at him, into his crazed eyes that watched her struggle with glee. His fingers dug into her throat, bruising the skin.

Still though, still her eyes softened from fear to utter gentleness. “Chu…-tan. I know… you’re still there.”

Her shaking hand came up to rest against his pale cheek. She reached deep within herself, grabbing hold of every bit of power she could muster in that state, and poured it all into her command. “Come back, Chu-tan, please.”

He shuddered, the silvery purple aura coming from Gillian washing over his body. His grip loosened slightly, and her breathing became easier. With more breath, her voice became stronger, and she spoke again. Her voice echoing and ethereal, ringing through the open space.

“I know you can do it, Chu-tan. You are not lost to this power. Do you hear me? Turn off corruption, come back.” Her soothing voice flooded him, clashing against the chaos within him, mixing and roiling. The darkness raged, rearing and spitting and clawing, but the light just embraced it. The marks on his skin started to flake off and drift away in wisps of smoke. He stumbled forward, her feet thumping back to the floor, his grip on her neck a weak squeeze. Her other hand cupped his face as well, her thumbs wiping away the new clear tears cutting a path through the blood.

“Come back to me.” She said. With the grip on her throat gone, her power ripped through the sourness she could feel and made her voice come out strong and sure.

His legs buckled, and he fell forward, taking both of them to the ground. The marks of corruption faded and flew away, his eyes losing their wild energy and falling closed as the exhaustion immediately lulled him to sleep before he’d even finished falling.

Gillian landed on her butt, and caught Chuuya against herself, his head resting against her chest. She gasped for breath, her mouth tasted of iron and her throat was raw and pained from a combination of being choked and forcing so much power out like that. The will of corruption was strong, she could feel the mindless chaos fighting back against her, but there was no way she was going to have submitted to it. Not when it was threatening to take Chuuya.

She looked down at the dirty mop of hair she could see and closed her eyes in relief, a few tears squeezing out. She wrapped her arms around his slumbering form and buried her face against his hair, not caring that he smelled like grime and ruin. “It’s alright now, Chu-tan. We’re both alright.” Despite everything, despite the pain she was in, she smiled, warm and real.

[ahsgotham]

The Life - Michael Langdon Story P5

OH BOY HERE WE GO THIS IS WHERE THE STORY STARTS TO PICK UP

Summary - After the reader is shot, Michael is determined to bring them back to life and get revenge.

Warnings - a WHOLE satanic ritual, gore, also some pre smut, swearing, again steamy stuff because i feed y’all, not a warning but there’s some fluff, small time jump (like a few hours)

Michael laid your limp body down on the floor, where he had drawn a pentagram.  He brushed the hair out of your face, revealing your still eyes staring back at him.  It made him shiver as he looked directly into your lifeless eyes.

Michael extended his arms, and made a long cut across his forearm, letting the blood drip out.  He did the same with his other arm, as he let them hang.  He got onto his knees.

“Father!”  Michael shouted at an intense volume.  There was a significant shakiness in his voice.

“Please, bring life to the one I love!”  Michael shouted louder.  He had never admitted out loud that he was in love with you before.  But he needs you.

“She has been murdered, but it is not her time to go!”  The shakiness in his voice intensified.

He smeared his blood over your stomach quickly, but not as quick as to seem rushed.  A single tear fell from his eye.

“Please...”  He got quieter, starting to give up hope.

The room fell silent, but he heard a quiet breath.  He went alert, looking down at you.  He lowered his face down to yours.  

“Y/N?”  He whispered, running his fingers through your hair slowly.  

“Wake up.”  He spoke again, resting his forehead on yours.

A few seconds pass, and Michael lifts his forehead up off yours.  He lets more tears fall from his eyelids.

Suddenly, your body springs up and you let out a gasp for air.  You take a few more gasps for air and you turn around.  You see Michael, sitting there,  **naked** with his jaw dropped.

“Michael...”  You couldn’t help but tear up as well.  You pulled him into hug you, his grip was tight and desperate.

“Ow...”  You felt a pain in your chest.  You pulled away from Michael’s grip to see a deep wound in your chest.

“Is that a... gunshot?”  You wince, the pain of the wound taking over your body.

“The pain will only last for a few days... but I do have to take the bullet out.” Michael says.

“How are you going to do that?” You say, grabbing your chest.

“I have to dig the bullet out.”  Michael murmurs.

“Oh...”  You gulp, already feeling how painful it will be.

“Do whatever you need to do to lessen the pain.  Please.”  You grab Michael’s hand and squeeze it softly.

Michael squeezes your hand back, showing a little bit of a soft side.

“Close your eyes.  I’ll squeeze your hand when I am about to start trying to dig it out.  Okay?”  He says.  You nod back.

You close your eyes and begin to brace yourself, even before anything happens.  

You fell Michael squeeze your hand.  You take a deep breath in and a deep breath out.

You let out a piercing scream as you fell Michael’s finger dig into wound and move around as he tries to pull out the bullet.  Michael looks away, not wanting to see you in pain.

You try to bite your lip, but the pain is too much to handle.  You continue to scream and cry, and soon Michael is able to get the bullet out.

You let out the last of your screams, resting your head against Michael’s chest, still sobbing.

Michael hugs your head tightly, resting his face on it.

“It’s okay.”  He whispers into your head, kissing it occasionally.  Michael doesn’t usually act like this, but after you almost died, it was understandable.  Your tears slowly faded as you began to calm down.

“I don’t remember anything... I... what happened?”  You pant.

“Ms. Mead, she shot you.  Venable told her to.  You dropped to the floor and I... I had to save you.”  He explained, still hugging you tightly.

"Ms. Mead shot me?" You slowly pulled away and raised an eyebrow. Michael nodded.

"I wouldn't expect her out of anyone to shoot me. Yes, she was a servant of Venable's, but I liked her." You grunted. A sad expression appeared on his face.

"Are you okay?" You ask.

"Yes." He responded.

"It's just... I modelled Ms. Mead off of someone from my childhood." He explained.

"Modelled?"

"She's a robot." He said.

"Oh." That surprised you.

"I guess that explains why she always took orders." You say. The two of you sat in silence for a second.

"I missed you while you were gone." He broke the silence.

"I wasn't gone. If I was, I wouldn't be here." You smile. He smiles softly back.

You leaned in and gave him a kiss. A few seconds later, he began to pull away. You pushed his head back into the kiss, accidentally tugging on his hair and making him grunt. You surprised him. You were always the one to pull away, but now you were the one pulling him back.

You laid him down in the pentagram, now being the dominant one in the situation, which was different.

Michael planted kisses in your collarbone as you pulled on his hair. This was different than last time. Last time, although rough, had soft moments. This time, there was no holding back. The kisses were hungry, and the touches were sure to leave bruises for both of you. Not to forgot that you were inside of a pentagram this time. You didn't even notice the pentagram below you was bubbling. All that you could focus on in that moment was you and Michael.

----

You entered the lounge to see Dinah, Mr. Gallant and Emily sitting there.

"Oh my god, Y/N!" Mr. Gallant came up to you and hugged you.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked, turning in her seat to face you.

"I'm fine." You say, hugging Mr. Gallant back.

"We heard what happened." Dinah started.

"You were shot. We got worried." Dinah said in a motherly tone.

"I'm just glad you're okay." Mr. Gallant smiled as he slowly moved away from the hug.

"I'm not hurting anymore. I'm just mad." You sat down beside Emily.

"Yea. Venable's a bitch." Emily scoffed, adjusting in her seat.

"But Ms. Mead was the one that shot her." Mr. Gallant stated.

"How do you guys know about this?" You asked.

"Everyone does. We heard the gunshot and Michael shouting. He shouted at Ms. Mead. He was furious." Dinah responded.

"I only have one question... how are you still alive?" Emily asked.

You opened your mouth to begin speaking, but hesitated. What would they think if you told them Michael conducted a satantic ritual to bring you back to life?

"I don't know. It was a miracle." You lied.

“Well, you’re okay, and that’s what counts.”  Dinah says.

Then, you started to remember something, and a feeling of anger washed over you.  Ms. Venable had made Ms. Mead kill you.  You wanted revenge.  You needed revenge.  And you knew you would stop at nothing to get it.

“I’ll be right back.”  You quickly got up off of the couch and made your way to Michael’s room.  You barged into the room without knocking.  Michael was sitting on his laptop, and he slowly turned around.  He cocked an eyebrow, he could sense that you were angry.

“Michael, we have to do something.”  You huffed.

“About what?”  He asked, although he fully knew what you wanted to do.

“About Venable.  And Ms. Mead.  And all of this.  I want to get out of here.”  You explained.

"I want them dead, Michael. I can't even stand the thought of them. I want them gone. Permanently." You paced around the room.

"Y/N,". Michael got up out of his chair and walked over to you. You expected him to tell you to calm down.

"I cannot express how much I want to rip their throats out." Michael snarled, surprising you.

"But we have to wait. We need to get them vulnerable. They have to feel threatened." He said.

"How would we do that?" You ask.

"We need to kill somebody." He said bluntly. You stepped back.

"Or multiple. Evie is already dead, and if we kill more, Ms. Venable will become stressed. More and more until the point of insanity." He explained his plan to you.

"And as soon as she's at the brink of losing it, we kill her. And we take Ms. Mead for ourselves." He finishes.

"O-ok." The intense plan shook you.

"Who would we kill first?" You ask, scratching your head. Michael thinks for a second.

"Andre." He says.

You step back a little.  You never really liked Andre, but his mother, Dinah, was one of your greatest friends in the outpost.  You knew Andre hated Dinah, but did Dinah hate him back?  What would happen if you or Michael killed him?  The stressful thoughts rushed over you.

“Y/N,”  Michael spoke.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  He rests his hands on your shoulders.

...

“Yes.”

Part 6 Coming Soon (?)

tags: @red-roses-and-fake-diamonds @majestichoechlin @frozenhuntress67@richiethotzierz @skullchik89 @zayy2018 @hiyyyaaaaahhhh @kelseytbr @frenchzodiacgirl @namelesslosers @michaels-slut @sweetcredence @heelsamizayn @parris-symone @trashandshook @cashtons-empty-wallet (sometimes when i try to tag people they don’t show up, sorry if you asked to be tagged and aren’t!)

[carry-on-my-pretty-weeper]

Ms. Independent

Author: carry-on-my-pretty-weeper

Character(s): Winchester Sister!Reader, Castiel

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: blood, gore and death

Author’s Note: I hope this is what you wanted! i’ll finish with the other requests soon!

Request: can you do prompts 2 and 3 with Lucifer x Reader or Castiel x Reader?

2 “What if I just left?!” “I would be happy”

3 “No, no, please stop bleeding.”

@goodgodimaweirdperson

“Listen I’m not going to stay behind to be a fucking babysitter, okay?” you huffed angrily at your boyfriend, Castiel.

“Y/n I’m just worried. With Michael out there setting hunter traps I just think it’d be wise to stay back with Jack. Maybe you could train him a bit. You know how he’s getting impatient with not going on hunts,” he tried to explain but you weren’t having it. You should be out there with your brothers. Hunting. It’s what you did best. After almost losing Dean you needed to kill something. A monster preferably. But with the way this conversation was heading, it could end up being your own boyfriend.

“I get that Cas but other hunters can train him! And I am not about to stay behind while my brothers are out there hunting without me!” you fummed as you grabbed your hunter bag and headed to the garage.

“Y/n, I understand you want to-”

“No! You don’t understand! I’m not going to sit idly by while the world is going to shit,” you shouted spinning around on your heels facing him, “I’m going to go out and I’m going to help, whether you want me to or not,” you stated with no room for argument. Storming to your car you open the door and slam it behind you. Throwing your bag in the back, the passenger door opened. Cas sat in the front seat and waited expectantly. “What are you doing?” you interrogated as you glared at him.

“If I can’t stop you then I’m coming with you,” he replied as-a-matter-of-factly. Putting the keys in the ignition you started your car. Great, now I’m the one being babysat. By my own boyfriend no less.

“Nice to meet you I’m Agent White and this is my partner Agent Smith,” Castiel said as you showed the victim’s mother your fake badges, “we have a few questions about your son’s murder.”

“I’ve already told the police all I know,” she declined averting her gaze as she was about to close the door. Stopping it gently with your hand.

“Please ma'am, I understand this is a difficult time for you but we want to bring justice for your son. And to do so we need your help,” you explained hoping that if you appealed to her emotions she’d let you in. Emotionally and physically. Just as you thought she hesitated. After a sorrowful sigh she open the door for the two of you.

Sitting down in her living room you went through the routine questions. Well, routine hunter questions. From the information that you gathered you deduced that what was killing the people in the town was a werewolf pack. “Thank you Ms. Stevens, you’ve helped us greatly,” you announced as you guys started heading out but before you reached the door she called out to you two.

“Wait!” she exclaimed catching both of your attentions.

“Yes Ms. Stevens?” Cas inquired.

“The day before he was murdered he was talking about a girl.” She wrung her hands and got teary eyed. “I don’t know who she is but they were going to meet in the park. I-I didn’t tell the police because I didn’t want them to spin the story in a way, in a way that wasn’t true. My Benjamin is- was a good boy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she babbled on as she tried to stay strong. Reaching for her shoulder you tried to comfort her.

“I’m sure he was a good man, we’ll find whoever did this. I promise,” you reassured her.

Exiting the house you immediately got to work. Asking locals about him and if he was seeing anyone, investigating people close to him, and stocking up on silver bullets. From what you gathered this girl was seeing someone else, a werewolf probably, that might’ve gotten too territorial. As expected you and Cas started fighting over what to do. You wanted to go in and kill them meanwhile Cas wanted to wait for Dean and Sam.

“We don’t have time for them to get here, by then more people will be dead!” you shouted in your small motel room.

“If it’s a trap we need back up,” he sighed obviously getting frustrated with you. He took a seat with a huff.

“I don’t need anything,” you grumbled as you started packing your stuff. Cas looked over at you obviously confused as to what you were doing.

“Y/n why are you packing?” he asked as he quickly stood up and walked over to you. Rolling your eyes you continued without a word. Grabbing your hand to get an answer you twist it out of his grasp and push him back. Goddamn hunter instincts.

“I’m going to kill those sons of bitches without my brothers. I don’t need their help. Or yours,” you spit like venom.

In all honesty you didn’t mean it to come off so nasty but you were so angry. It felt like no one had faith in you. For whatever reason it seemed like everyone just saw you as weak. That pissed you off. You weren’t weak.

“You don’t want my help? Then what if I just left?!” he demanded holding your gaze.

“I would be happy!” you exploded not realizing what you said but before you could take it back he was gone. Kicking a chair you let out a frustrated cry. Why would I say that? Well fine, if he’s gone then I’m going.

Slamming a door for the millionth time that day you storm to your car. You peeled out of the parking lot as fast as you could and booked it. The more you thought about Cas the faster you drove. Trying to take your mind off of it you turned on your car radio. Then out of nowhere a car cut you off. You tried to swerve to miss it but hit a tree and everything went black.

Castiel was back at the bunker when he got a call from your phone. He had time to think and he felt bad for making you feel inferior, that wasn't his intention. He just wanted to keep you safe but needed to let you deal with this. Especially since Dean was presumed dead to you. You said that to not get your hopes up but he knew you secretly wished he was alive and fighting. To your joy he was. But it took a toll on you. So you threw yourself into hunts. He just wanted to talk to you to straighten things out. He immediately answered the phone but a voice he didn’t recognize was there.

“We have your Winchester,” was all it said before the call ended. A look of fear crossed his face before dropping the phone.

Waking up your head hurt like a bitch. You tried to touch your forehead when you realized your hands were bound. A door clicked and you pretended to be passed out. “We have your Winchester.” You could see shadows move closer to you and before you knew it you could feel someone’s breath on your face. A hand gripped your face and lifted it up as you struggled. “I thought you were awake,” he remarked as you glared at him, “I can’t wait for your angel to come. Cause as soon as he’s here we are going to kill him,” he teased in a sing-songy voice. Anger bubbled up in your chest and you bit his hand as hard as you could. A scream ripped his throat as he slapped your face. You had gotten a small chunk of his hand and spit it out at him.

“You so much as put your hands on him and I’ll kill you. Not quick and easy. I’ll do it slowly. Draw it out. To the point when you are begging for death but I won’t give it to you. I’ll prolong it as I see fit,” you threatened with a look scarier than death. You could see him become momentarily fearful before covering it up.

“That’s some big talk for someone who’s bound and captured,” he sneered as he hit you again. Spitting out blood, if it was yours or his you weren’t sure, you grinned up at him.

“Fuck off.” The fact that you were still cocky angered him. You goddamn Winchesters acting all high and mighty all the time. But compared to that new being, you Winchesters were nothing.

“He never said I couldn’t rough you up a bit,” he growled more to himself than to you as he formed his claws. As he said that you had loosened the restraints just enough to get one of your hands free. He swung at you but you grabbed his arm stopping him. You used the chair and broke it on him causing him to pass out. Checking the inside of your right combat boot you found the blade you were looking for. Just as you did another werewolf entered the room as you lunged at him. Swiping with your blade you caught his arm and a part of his face. He tackled you to the floor and had had your blade inching closer to your chest. Using your knee you got him where the sun don’t shine which caused him to topple over. Finally you stabbed him killing him. Hearing a groan to your left and the door open letting in a few more werewolves, you knew you were going to have a fun time.

Cas finally found the old abandoned warehouse that he presumed you were being kept at. Entering silently he found a bunch of dead werewolves littering the floor. Then he saw you slumped over in a corner not moving. No no no no. Your clothes were bloodied and torn. There was a major gash in your head with blood trickling down your face. Running over to you he kneeled down and tried waking you up.

“No, no, please stop bleeding,” his voice wavered and his legs felt like jelly he shook you until your eyes shot open.

“Ay, let up would you? I’m not dead just exhausted,” you mumbled tiredly. Relief immediately washed over him as he held you close. “Ow!” you exclaimed as the contact made some of the cuts on your body sting. Pulling back he brought you in for a kiss and you kissed him back letting out a sigh of relief. You were glad to be back in his arms.

“I thought I had lost you,” he whispered as if the very thought was painful.

Placing your hand on his cheek you reassured him, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” So you both held each other until Cas broke the silence.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Cas.”