#“well what if you could bust a move to it?”

[entitled-fangirl]

Unknown.

Jace Velaryon x wife!reader

Summary: the maester revealed news to Jace of his wife. Jace is the first to tell her.

Warnings: pregnancy, worries, talks of death, labor, etc

A/n: Guys the angst won't stop 😭

Masterlist

..............................................

"I have spoken to the maester," Jace began. 

"And?" She asked hurriedly. "Am I well? Is death at my doorstep?"

He couldn't help the small smile that rose to his lips. "No," he confirmed as he brushed her hair from her face. "Quite the opposite, in fact. You're the very picture of health."

"But the-"

He moved his index finger over her lips. "Death is not at your doorstep. Life is."

She was puzzled at his words and pulled his hand down. "Speak plainly."

"Don't you see?" He grinned. His free hand moved to her stomach, lightly caressing it. "You're carrying our heir."

Her mouth went dry. Her eyes glazed over with confusion. "What?"

That made his smile only grow. "A babe." His hand moved to her waist and pulled her to him. She could feel his breath on her face as he spoke. "The maester said a few months will pass, and we shall have a child." He hesitated a moment, "If that's something you want."

He really couldn't read her expression. 

She simply stared up at him as a million thoughts ran through her head. 

"I understand your hesitation. I was too at first. The war is only starting and there is a lot of unknowns. But listen to me, wife." He gripped both of her hands in his. "I know that I want this. I do. Desperately. You and I, and a child. Is that not what we've discussed for so long?"

"It's just not what I expected," she finally spoke.

"That's alright," he reasoned. "As long as you are not going to force yourself to do this against your own happiness." He studied her face. "I want to venture the unknown with you."

She nodded. "I want that as well," she whispered. "Only with you and the babe."

"You do?" He asked incredulously. "You truly mean so? You're not just staying it to please me?"

"I will admit I am scared, but not scared enough to not want this." She placed his hand back on her stomach. "I want to venture the unknown with you as well."

A joyous laugh came from his throat and he picked her up, spinning her around, then setting her feet on the ground. "We shall be a mother and father."

"Lucky child," she grinned, "to have you as a father."

"And you? You are a vision. Motherhood already suits you."

"Only because I am so well cared for."

He kissed her deeply. "Death is far from our doorstep, my love."

Her hands on his chest moved up to caress his face. "Indeed it is."

…

Only months later, she laid in agony. The news of her husband's death had sent her into an early labor.

She had told him not to go. She had said it was a bad idea. She had said…

It didn't matter anymore.

Death had busted the door down, taking any that were in the house. Wife and son were soon lost, their souls believed to have joined Jace's in the afterlife. 

................................................

A/n: why is it that every time my little fingers type for this dude, the saddest shit shows up

[zeroreasonstocare]

Trouble

A Five Part Sukuna Series

Part One: Some Dumb Project

Masterlist

Part Two (will update when posted!!)

Synopsis: You switched majors and meet this annoying guy in your new history class, now you have to work on a project with him. Not only that, he goes to the place you work at! Ugh, how annoying, hopefully he won’t cause any trouble…

〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎ ♛ 〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎〰︎

Sukuna is nothing but trouble. Everyone knows that. All your life, you’ve attracted nothing but trouble. Whether it’s a traffic jam, your coffee being too cold or spilling all over you, or somehow locking yourself out of your apartment, you just can’t help but find trouble.

Like right now.

You’re late. To your first class of your new major. It’s not like you slept in late or anything, your door jammed, meaning you had to bust yourself out of your own apartment. Talk about annoying! Luckily, the professor hasn’t entered class, so when you walk into the lecture hall, you get up to a row with good acoustics and sit next to a boy with pink hair. He smiles at you and taps your shoulder.

“Hey! I’m Yuji Itadori! Are you new? I haven’t seen you here before, and most of these people are familiar faces.”

“Yeah, I switched majors over break. Nice to meet you, Itadori.”

“Hey, who’s the person in my seat, brat?”

You think you have double vision when you see Itadori twice, but this second one has tattoos on his face.

“Um, there aren’t assigned seats.”

“You’re one of those people, aren’t you?” He huffs with his gruff voice, a frown permanently etched into his face. He’s like a polar opposite of Yuji.

“Sukuna, just sit on the other side of me, it’s not that big a deal.” Yuji rolls his eyes.

“Maybe not to you, idiot.”

“Um, who are you?” You tilt your head.

“I’m this brat’s twin brother, isn’t that obvious? Now get out of my spot.”

“Still not your spot.”

“I will carve my name into the desk. Then will you move?”

“Isn’t that vandalism?”

“Even better.”

You scoff into a small laugh and look at Yuji with a “can you believe this guy?” look. You still refuse to switch seats as the professor enters.

“Alright, take your seats, class has started.” He says in a bored tone.

Sukuna scoffs at you and sits on the other side of Yuji, glaring at you the entire time. He can already tell you’re going to annoy him. Especially with your stupid attitude, your dumb clothes that fit you so well, your stupid good looks, your annoyingly attractive body… He needs to not stare. He shakes the thought away as the professor talks about some dumb project he could care less about.

“You all are going to be assigned a group of three people, so just look at the person next to you and on the other side, that’s basically your group, just for simplicity.” The professor looks up and starts writing groups down. “Mkay, so the Itadoris anddd… got it.”

Sukuna almost audibly groans with his eye roll, now he’s stuck with you? What a pain… The end of class couldn’t come sooner. He glares at you as he leaves, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and smoking in the bathrooms. You look at Yuji in confusion.

“That’s your twin brother?”

“Yeah, I think he was dropped.”

You laugh at him and shake your head, he’s definitely funnier than his moody counterpart. You head to your next class after exchanging numbers. The rest of the school day goes on like normal. Luckily, you don’t have any other classes with Yuji’s brother, but you do share a math class with Yuji, which is fun. You leave to work, a cafe run by a tired old man, but he’s a nice guy. You get there early somehow, changing into your work clothes and heading to the front to take orders.

You didn’t think the day would be worse, but who else enters the cafe but that annoying tattooed guy? Oh, and Yuji, but he’s not the issue here. There’s a third guy too, he doesn’t look much like them.

“Hey, customers are here, stop staring and take their orders, please.” Nanami tells you.

“Right, sorry.” You mumble and take their orders, Sukuna purposely picking something difficult. Yuji smiles at you and sits at their normal spot.

“This history project makes no sense, we haven’t even been taught this thing and he’s assigning us a project! Can you believe this, Choso?” Yuji groans and sips his drink when you set it in front of him.

“It’s like a research project, and we need to sort out who's doing what.” You say and hand who Yuji called “Choso” his black coffee. You set down the difficult order Sukuna made and he examines it.

“Hmm…”

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure it was made correctly.”

“I didn’t poison it, dude, it has everything you asked for.”

“Hmmmmm…” Your eye twitches.

“You’re not getting a refund, Sukuna, she made it exactly like you asked, you’re such a pain in the ass.” Yuji rolls his eyes and looks at you. “Just ignore him. We need to plan the project anyways. Sukuna isn’t going to do anything, I already know that.”

Sukuna, who doesn’t deny it, opens a bunch of straws, rips small parts of the wrapping paper, balls them up, and throws them across the table. One hits Yuji, one lands onto the floor, one lands in Choso’s coffee, and one hits you while another lands in your hair. Choso glares at his younger brother and rolls his eyes, moving the ball out of his coffee before taking a sip.

“Every day, I wonder how I am even related to you.” Choso mumbles.

“Oh, you say that about me but not the idiot next to you?”

“At least Yuji isn’t a literal menace like you.”

“Can we please focus on the project?” Yuji sighs.

“Whatever.” Sukuna grumbles and keeps tossing trash around.

“I’ll research the start half if you research the end half.” Yuji says to you.

“Mkay, I can also make the presentation.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sukuna asks.

“Don’t act like you plan to help, idiot! The school already caught you for vandalizing the bathroom stalls! You’re gonna be busy cleaning all that up before you can even work on the project, and I know you’ll take your sweet ass time cleaning everything up!” Yuji argues with Sukuna.

“Really? First day back and you’re already in trouble?” You tilt your head.

“Don’t act so surprised, everyone knows he’s trouble.” Choso says pointedly.

“Oh, I guess you’ve never met him before today, huh? He gets in trouble quite a lot.” Yuji grins. “Anyways, we should let you get back to work, so have fun!”

Yuji leaves a tip for you and you start cleaning the table, not seeing the way Sukuna’s gaze lingers when you bend to pick up the trash from the ground. You hit your head standing back up and swear you can hear someone snicker.

You drive home, though leaving the parking lot of the cafe takes you almost an hour since your key wouldn’t work. When you get to your apartment, you enter through the front door and cook yourself a simple dinner. You count your tips and see a piece of paper you didn’t notice before.

“Don’t sit there tomorrow or I’ll key your car.”

Wonder who that could be from.

The next day, you head to class, getting there early, and Sukuna is already in “his seat”, giving you a glare as his eyes trail down your body. He really can’t stand you, he decides again. Your outfit today sits a little too perfect, being just tight enough that if someone was looking hard enough (which Sukuna was), they could see the outline of your bra.

You chew on the end of your pencil, a bad habit you’re yet to break, and Yuji shares the research doc to you. You split the work between the two of you and Sukuna just sits in the doc typing the same three phrases over and over.

“Stop that.” Yuji smacks his brother’s arm.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re typing ‘death and destruction’ as if you’re manifesting it, stop.”

“I’m not just typing that…”

“Don’t get me started on ‘the despair is endless’ and ‘this class shouldn’t exist’. What are you, twelve?”

“I’m twenty-one, like you, dumbass!”

“I’m not the dumbass writing edgy shit on the doc!”

“Oh my god, you two, just let him type his edgy shit and continue researching.” You groan.

Yuji huffs in frustration and continues his research while you check the doc to see what Sukuna is doing. There are fire emojis in the middle of your typing, the words “you work tn?” near the bottom of the page. You sigh and humor him, talking through the document.

“No, why?”

“So I don’t get to throw trash at you later?”

“Nope.”

“How sad.”

You look at him and he has a smirk. You roll your eyes and leave when class is over, tripping over your own feet. He laughs at your misfortune and grunts when Yuji smacks him in the head.

“What was that for?!”

“Don’t go flirting with her, she’s a nice girl who doesn’t need someone like you to fuck up her happiness.”

“I’m not flirting with her!”

“I saw the fucking doc, dipshit. You’re not slick.”

“I was asking if she’d be around for me to torment.”

“You and I both know what your intentions were.”

The tattooed twin grunts and walks off, lighting a cigarette and tripping some nerd who apologizes for being in his way. He wasn’t flirting. He can’t stand you, he tells himself. He can’t stand your quick remarks to his words, can’t stand your stupid doe eyes, the way they squint when you’re focused on typing after the third typo in a row, can’t stand the way you purse your lips and the slight smile on your face when he and Yuji are arguing, definitely not wondering what it’d be like to feel them against his own. Because he wasn’t flirting. Yuji doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Sukuna smokes and half-ass scrubs the stall he vandalized yesterday. His thoughts are not focused on you, your stupid face, or your dumb words. Totally not. He wasn’t flirting, he reassures himself again. He’s not interested in you. Even if he was, he wouldn’t admit that. You’re just some girl in his class. Not important at all.

He’s late to the cafe and Yuji is fixing the mistakes in the research document. Choso sips his usual black coffee and scrolls on his phone.

“You’re late.” The elder brother points out.

“Had to clean the bathrooms.”

“I see. Your barista friend isn’t here.”

“She’s not my ‘friend’, Choso.”

“She’s Yuji’s friend.”

“Doesn’t make her mine by default, she can have the brat.”

“Says Mister Flirts With Her.” Yuji grins.

“I wasn’t flirting dammit!”

“Why are you getting so defensive, huh?”

“I am not! You’re just a pain in my ass and annoying the hell out of me!”

“Stop screaming, Nanamin will kick us out!” Yuji frowns.

“I still don’t get how you’re so buddy-buddy with the old man.” Choso mumbles.

“He’s pretty cool. Kind of mean, but he makes delicious bread.”

“Literally how the hell are you even aware of that?” Sukuna scoffs.

“Unlike you, I actually talk to people, and get along with them!”

“Whatever…” He scoffs.

Sukuna seems bored. He taps the table to a catchy tune and just waits until it’s time for him to go home. He watches a few groups walk into the cafe and at Yuji working diligently on his laptop.

“At least she does her work. I’d hate to do this project alone.” Yuji says to no one in particular.

“Do you do anything else besides complain?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sukuna. Let me think out loud. And you complain more than I do.”

“Liar.”

“How the hell is that a lie?”

Choso chuckles at his younger brothers. “Sukuna, you do have a streak for complaining more than Yuji.”

“Oh, dare I bring you into this, Choso?”

“You’re right; withdrawn.”

“Let’s just go home already.”

“Yeah, fine.” Yuji frowns and shuts his laptop.

When they get home, Sukuna feels a buzz in his pocket. He checks his phone. There is a text from Gojo, the university’s pretty boy.

Party at my place next Thursday.

This should be fun.

Taglist: @jinxiewritings @midnight-138 @sukioyakio @toffeebrat @hypothetical-hypocritical

@sh0ot1ngst4r @tojideckmuncher @sterzin @theirlgarfield @mikari73

@watyousayin @cherriee-ee @kyojurokoibito @xwhatiams @notsocherries

@ohohcandy @aruraa @samaraxmorgan (Comment or ask and I’ll add you!!)

[storiesfromafan]

Catching Feelings - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: not sure how I feel about this one, but I decided to post it anyways haha.

Prompt: “What part of I want you, and only you, do you not understand?” “And what part of why would you? Don’t you not understand?”

It had started out a casual hook up. Snog in a deserted hallway. Some over the clothing petting in the dungeons. Sneaking around in the Astronomy Tower for some no pants fun. It was great for you and Mattheo. The thrills and fun without the attachments a relationship entailed.

Well it had been great. Until Mattheo started to act weird, both with his words and wanting more time with you. Even when no pants time seemed to take a while to get too. He would make small talk, while you were the one to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. And when he grasped your hands, halting what you were wanting to get too. That was it.

“Forget it" you sighed in frustration, grabbing your discarded cardigan before taking off back to the Slytherin common room.

He called out to stop you, tried to persuade you to stay. But it was no use, you were gone. And Mattheo sat there frustrated in more ways than one. For he physically wanted you, the evidence in his pants making it obvious. But he was also emotionally attached to you. Wanting to be around you, talk to you, hold you, kiss you. The guy was enthralled with you, bewitched mind and body. He wasn't quiet at soul, but part of him thought you were kindred spirits.

The following few days you avoided him. Keeping to yourself and always with a friend. And that was pissing Mattheo off. No to mention having this time to think clearly, Mattheo realised that what had been fun, looks to have turned into him liking you. And he now wasn't just mad with you, but also himself. For Mattheo Riddle doesn't catch feelings. He isn't meant to be a one girl kind of guy. Yet, he was willing to try it with you.

Getting a chance, though a sliver of one, you had just walked out of the female's lavatory. Grabbing your arm, Mattheo dragged you into a deserted hall, away from anyone or any noise. Once it sunk in to who had grabbed you, you yanked your arm from their hold.

“What the Hell Mattheo!?” You whispered yelled, glaring daggers at the male before you.

The male in questioned, did his best to look unfazed. Yet wondered if you had felt the sweat on his hands, or hear how his heart was racing. Could you see through his act? For he felt there were chips in the mask on his face.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” He asked with as flat a voice he could.

You looked at him for a moment, before sighing and crossing your arms over your chest. “Really? This is why you kidnapped me".

“I didn't kidnap you. I dragged you. You're free to leave anytime" he retorted with a soft glare.

“Fine" was all you said, moving to walk back the way you had come.

With two steps Mattheo moved to block you. Sputtering out a bunch of words that even he didn’t understand. But after he took a second to un-jumble his thoughts. Mattheo explained that he had only wanted to talk, and give him five minutes. You mulled it out before saying, alright I'll give you five minutes.

“Why have you been avoiding me (Y/N/N)? I waited in the Astronomy Tower the other night, but you didn't show up...” the last part came out a little whiny, which made Mattheo cringe.

Again you sighed. “I don't know...maybe I thought you'd want to talk" you replied dropping your bag on a bench, looking over the bust of some old witch.

“What's so wrong with talking...?” Mattheo asked quietly.

You shot him a are you serious look. “I thought this" – you gestured between you both – “was casual. In other words, no talking or attachment".

Mattheo straightened up, “well...ah, yeah?”

“Really?” You stared him down, not buying his words.

Mattheo sighed. He couldn't deny it further, could he?

“Look Mattheo, it's best we end it here. Cut our losses, yeah?” You finally said, voice void of emotion.

You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. You walked past him and patted him on the back. Sharing some last parting words with the Slytherin male. When you were done, and no response from Mattheo, you began to head back to the populated halls.

As if being struck by lightening, Mattheo shot around, eyes wide watching your retreating form. “I like you!” He blurted out.

You paused, about to round the corner. You stood there for a minute, which had Mattheo thinking you may not have heard him. Finally you slowly turned around, eyes drawn together in confusion. Slowly you moved back to him, yet kept some distance between you both.

“Come again?” You finally croaked out.

Mattheo fidgeted from foot too foot, gaze looking anywhere but at you. He felt like a child that was in trouble. “I said...I like you...”

Slowly you nodded. “That's what I thought you said", you paused for a moment to think over your next lot of words carefully. “Look, Mattheo...I'm not the girl for you. I am uncaring, mouthy and too smart for the good of anyone”.

“That's fine with me" he replied quickly, staring you in the eyes.

You sighed. “Why would you? You can do better then me".

And with that you turned and began to walk off once more. Again Mattheo called out to you, sputtering out for you to stop or wait, and other things. But this time you didn't let up. Which lead to Mattheo being hot on your heels. Thankfully no students were around, but you could hear them in the distance.

“What part of I want you, and only you, do you not understand?” Mattheo called, anger rising when his attempts to get you to talk to him failed.

Finally you stopped, turning around to glare at the male. “And what part of why would you? Don’t you not understand?” was your retort.

The sound that came out of Mattheo's mouth was a cross between a cry of frustration and anguish of pain. Gripping his hair, he noted how you were so frustrating. Why wouldn’t you want him? Was there someone else you wanted to be with? If so, who, so he could take care of them. Was he ugly? Both physically and personality wise? His mind was swimming with questions.

“Mattheo...” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “This, you and me wouldn't work. And you know that. We're too different. Let's just...let it be".

When you got no response from Mattheo, you took that as your cue to leave. And off you went. While Mattheo stood there. Crushed, but determined. Determined to win you over. He believe part of you had to feel the same, or partially at least. Maybe you were scared, he liked to tell himself. Yes, that's what he was going with. And he would get you. No matter what or the cost.

[anonymous-existences]

Chapter 2 : Laying Low

Continuation to the Prolouge and Chapter 1

This was bad, very bad. For some... Reason. The Fenton's figured out who Phantom is and they think Phantom is overshadowing Danny.

Danny was panicking and packing the rest of his belongings fast as Vlad tries to stop Maddie and Jack from busting in to get to Danny. Dan was helping him whilst trying to calm Danny down.

"I'm scared... I'm so scared." Danny just slowly stated as tears rolled down his cheeks trying to catch up on his breathe.

"Shh, shh. It's gonna be alright kid. Look. We'll get out of here right now. I got our passports. Our- everything we need basically." Dante carried his duffle bag and the spare suitcase that carried Dante's items. "Now let's go!" Dante Yelled and carried Danny like a kitten before running out the backdoor.

They could hear Maddie yelling and Vlad Clapping back hesitantly but effectively, his paren— no.... Maddie and Jack was trying to reason with Vlad saying Danny was possesed and they needed to kill the Phantom within him.

Danny just covered his ears trying to shut out the noise as Dante put on his helmet and Making Danny wear one as well, Dante puts Danny Infront of him in the bike and Drove off with their Things.

Dante was obviously breaking the law with how Fast he's going but he couldn't bring himself to slow down. Not when the GIW might chase after them any moment they find out Danny is with Dante.

"It's gonna be okay twerp.... It's gonna be fine." Dante tries to reassure Danny, Danny just.. cried and covered his face trying to muffle his ugly sobbing. "I'm scared... I'm so scared..." Danny cries out and just kept very still in his seat.

Soon later they arrived at the airport and Danny has stopped crying as Dante has reassured him, they rushed inside and was quickly escorted by the staff to the so called "private jet" Vlad has prepared for them in advance.

"Are you ready? Are you okay?" Dante kneeled Infront of Danny to match his height, oddly enough he had this very rare worried face.

Danny merely nods and held Dan's Hand, they entered the plane and Dante made sure that Danny was settled in safely.

'It still feels so sudden... It's as if I haven't been planning to do this for ... Weeks.' Danny thought to himself as he stared out the window of his seat.

'Jazz would've wanted me to... Be free .. Right... She would have wanted this.' He whispered to himself as the plane slowly rose and started to fly to their headed direction.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

As they landed to their destination, Dante woke Danny up.

"Danny. we're here." Danny slowly fluttered his eyes open. "Oh?.... Oh okay..." Danny meekly said with a yawn. Dan just carried him like a cat once again whilst getting their bags.

"You can go back to sleep." Dante reassured him as Danny fell back asleep in his arms. Danny felt safe, warm... And comforting. It made his core purr in happiness.... He likes it..

Dante called them a lift as they moved in to a decent sized apartment near Crime Alley. The place already had furniture as Vlad promised. Dante tucks Danny in bed and heads off into the living room to unpack their things.

Dante started dialing Vlad's number.

"Fruit loops."

"Yes ... Big Badger?" Vlad sighs tiredly

"We arrived safely, Danny is off to sleep. He's tired. Do I need to find a job? How did dealing with those 2 crazy fuckers go?"

"Slow down... Yes you need to find a job so no one would get suspicious, Maddie and Jack I managed to stir off of my property finally. Ellie says she'll visit soon when the GIW stops looking for phantom... Sort of." Vlad reassures Dante.

Dante sighed, Annoyed, Stressed and totally Irritated.

"I'm gonna go find some criminals to beat up." Dante started before hanging up on Vlad who was about to complain about what he was about to do but Dante can't care at all about what the old Fruitloops has to say. He had to blow off his steam somehow and heads out of the apartment leaving Danny alone.

Danny had Ghost Blobs Covering him, vibrating to keep him warm like bees and Snuggled beside him to keep him asleep and rested.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Red Hood suddenly felt odd, not in an odd bad way but in an odd easing way.

He looked around his turf continuing his patrol before he heard Grunting. Not a good type... Ugh.

It was someone getting beat up, he doesn't usually meddle with this type of stuff but something within his chest... The pits was being pulled in.

Jason ran. More like bolted to whatever was pulling him in. Because whatever it is, it silenced the Pits, it made the pits quiver in fear.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Heh, Serves you right Mother fucker."

Dante laughed as he finished beating up a guy who tried to Assault a Worker. He dusted his hands and he is so glad he brought his mask and Cap with him because he wasn't prepared for Red Hood of all people to find him.

Dan just tried to keep composes as the Worker he saved ran off safely.

"Who are you." Red Hood Asks Sternly hand in his waist ready to pull out his gun, Dan tries to keep himself away from this situation.

He really Oughtta keep himself out of trouble, his luck is just far too unlucky for this to happen.

"Name's Dante... Just beat up this fucker for trying to kidnap a woman is all..." Dante chuckled to himself, very mentally uncomfortable but physically trying to stay calm.

"You're not from here aren't ya. Don't you know where you are?" Red Hood's tone didn't lose it's Stern but it softened a bit.

Odd, Dante was sure it was said that he can be very violent to his trespassers, he guesses Red Hood is just having a good day.

"No Sir Red Hood, I apologize if I entered your Hau- I mean.. Territory by accident." Dante apologizes, not sincerely but he made sure he sounded like it.

Oh. Now that Dante is looking at Red Hood much clearly and focused, He feels weird... His core is unfinished... Sort of.. there's this weird thing inside of him, Corrupted Ectoplasm? Ew.

Dante made a Disgusted look under his face mask, lucky enough that red Hood doesn't noticed because of Dante covering half his face except his eyes. But now that Dante observes more.

This guy isn't a Halfa. Sort of a Halfa but not all. What does Frostbite say it is?... He tries to remember the Term for it. Ah yes...

Red Hood is-

"A Revenant?" Dante blurts out by accident, his eyes flashing green with red gradient for a moment making Red Hood Stand Stunned.

"Pardo-" Red Hood tries to talk but Dante just Bowed his head and interrotuped him.

"I apologize again Sir Red Hood for entering your Haunt, but I really need to go, I won't do it again. I can't promise much because there are a lot of dick heads around here but do excuse me. I have better things to do." Dante said quickly but also sarcastically as he turned and bolted.

"WAIT!" Red Hood tries to chase after him but Dante Went Invisible as he turned to a corner.

"What the-" Red Hood was confused. Where did he go?

It made Dante chuckle mentally as he floated away and headed back to their new apartment.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

'What the fuck just happened.' Jason thought to himself confused, very confused infact as the strange and oddly Hot mysterious man just disappeared out of thin air... Like a ghost.

He needed to find that man again. Possibly ask him on a date- who KNOWS. But he needed to find him again.

The pits acting incredibly terrified and tame Infront of him was enough to get Jason Curious and... Oddly Calm.

"Maybe I should ask Timbers for help. I didn't catch his name... And what is a revenant?" He asked himself and scratched the back of his nape in frustration.

Hopefully he can still meet that Guy again... His eyes though.

They looked like the Lazarus Pits and that wasn't good. It didn't sit right with Jason and it honestly never will.

KMS. AAAA MY HANDS. Anyways I'll be writing chapter 3 later <33 cuz I'm insane like that.

Hope you like this chapter.

[desperatelyneedcoffee]

Robin, Spoiler and Nightwing are all out on a mission. They're fighting the same group of people but have been split up thanks to super shitty circumstances. Batman, Red Hood, Red Robin, Black Bat and even Signal are still grouped together - they're on two different roofs but they're still close enough to help each other - but their mission isn't related to the other.

Batman and Oracle completely underestimated how dangerous the first group of villains were, leading to the 3 vigilantes getting injured. Like, really injured. Like, calling out for your parents injured because you don't have any other option.

Robin came out with a bruised cheek, a couple stab wounds and a dislocated shoulder. A dislocated shoulder he could deal with but there's only so much he can do after being stabbed. The injuries weren't even the worst part to Damian, it's the fact that he was quite literally backed into a corner by a large group of people. Despite having been taught to always be prepared and never underestimate people, he did exactly that after Oracle 'confirmed' they were medium level thugs. He was reluctant but he did call for Bruce in the end.

Stephanie came out with half the bones in her feet broken, one knee cap fractured, a bloodied face from a broken nose and a fractured rib or two. Most of which came from being forced over the edge of the roof without her utility belt. ((Don't ask why she doesn't have it on idk either.)) Steph called for Bruce as her foot slid off the rooftop. The fall could have been worse but it still scared the absolute living shit out of her.

Dick barely made it out. He was sprawled out on a rooftop far away from the others, barely able to move. The fight gave him two fractured eye sockets, a broken nose, busted lip, a ruptured eardrum (which later got infected), broken ribs - one of which was jabbed into his lung, probably internal bleeding somewhere and one large cut along his leg. His face was swollen, black and blue, just like the rest of him. When he spoke into the comms, he told Bruce to get the others first and that he'd be fine.

What a shit fucking lie that was.

Batman ordered Red Robin and Black Bat to go collect Spoiler, Red Hood to collect Nightwing and Signal and him would get Robin. By the sounds of Nightwing, it was better if Jason went there instead. It would be much quicker considering he can lift heavier objects with more ease than the others, bar bruce.

Everyone made their own way back and Oracle ensured that surgery was ready and available for the three of them when they arrived.

Damian was the first one to be able to move around more comfortably since the mission, then it was Steph and then Dick. Steph was bound to a wheelchair for a while and had a lot of physical therapy to deal with. Dick was asleep for a couple days, waking up and going back to sleep every few hours. He was unrecognisable for a good few days as well as deaf in one ear.

Everyone took turns sitting with him, holding his hand, letting him know that he wasn't alone. Some would sit in silence, others would talk to him about random shit to try and make both of them feel better.

Everyone wondered what happened that night though. Babs never makes the wrong call, or at least not when it comes down to a mission. Something had to have been hacked or changed before the mission started. She and Bruce were working on finding the truth whilst the others rested and calmed down.

All three physically healed quite well but mentally they were shaken up, even if they constantly denied it. Bruce would just have to force therapy down their throats again while denying he needs it himself.

[sapphickittykatherine]

much irony has come out of The Hunger Games marketing, adaptation, and fandom, and yet standing perhaps head and shoulders above the rest as the funniest is The Hanging Tree (Dance remix)

[bmpmp3]

dysgraphic artiƨts risɘ UP!!!!!

[goodknifeboy]

I know there are a lot of fanfics about Jason being caught by the Justice League and usually getting bailed out by the batfam, but imagine if it was Brucie Wayne bailing him out:

In the JL interrogation room:

Superman: Alright, Red Hood, who is your supplier helping you move drugs in Star City?

Red Hood, who was undercover investigating a drug ring and got caught in a JL bust and sesnses an opportunity to mess with Batman: Look, I know you guys aren't cops, but can I get at least get one phone call?

Justice league looking skeptical?

Red Hood: You can even monitor it.

Green Arrow: Fine one phone call, but it will be monitored.

Hands Hood a phone

Red Hood: Hey Dad, I got stopped by the Justice League. Could you come bail me out? Really, okay, see you soon. Okay, my Dad said that he would bail me, so could we go over to the teleporters?

Green Arrow: Okay, firstly, we aren't cops, you can't just post bail and get out. Secondly, how would this "Dad" get up here?

Red Hood: You'll see.

Minutes later, Brucie Wayne walks in with a trail of Heroes, trying to explain why he cannot be at the Watchtower.

Superman: Mr. Wayne what are you doing here and how did you get here?

Bruce laying the Brucie persona on thick: Well as one of the Justice League's biggest doners and tech suppliers I have access to the teleporters, as for why I'm here it's to bail out my son. Hi Jaylad!

Red Hood fully expecting Batman: What?

Green Arrow remembering his friend's grief over loosing Jason: Ummmm, Mr. Wayne this is the Red Hood. You know "Bag full of severed heads" Red Hood.

Brucie: Yes, I know he's had some issues with his big feelings, but he's still my sweet little boy.

Superman: And you think that he's your late son Jason Todd?

Brucie: Yes, Batman even confirmed it was him. It turns out that after he died, he was brought back by an organization that planned on using him as a weapon against Batman. But he left them and has been working to improve Crime Alley, I'm so proud of him.

Green Arrow: We caught him in Star City with Drug runners.

Brucie: I'm sure he has a good explanation, don’t you Jaylad?

Red Hood still reeling from Bruce showing up as Brucie and not Batman: I was undercover?

Brucie: See perfectly reasonable, now can I please have my baby boy back? Alfred will be so upset if he's not home for dinner.

Surprisingly, this works , the Justice League is to stunned by this revelation and later confirm this with Batman that yes, the notorious Red Hood is the son of Billionaire, philanthropist airhead Brucie Wayne. Jason, meanwhile, has suffered a huge blow to his cred in the Hero community because of the association with Brucie instead of the Batfam. The bat siblings do not let this go anytime soon.

[nomaishuttle]

got 2 the end of the glass desert got caseys last starmail screammsss

[princessbrunette]

prisoner!rafe was finally, finally being released, and you just didn’t know what to do with yourself. you barely slept the night before, deep cleaning the house, re-choosing the perfect outfit, making snacks to lay out for him. you felt like your brain wasn’t even working anymore at this point, but what you did know — was that it was about damn time he came home.

you see him at the gate to tannyhill, dressed in the outfit he got locked up in and you feel like you’re dreaming. he’s filling his clothes out more than before, the grey long sleeve shirt now straining against his arms, chest and back — his thighs even seeming to push against the material of his khakis with each step. a million things are running through your head as he approaches, like what the first thing he wants to do might be.

maybe he’ll want to walk around, observe everything at tannyhill that you’ve moved around or adjusted to fit your comfort whilst he was gone. perhaps he’s starving, and you’ll be rushed into the kitchen to start an early dinner. rafe could be tired, and want to slump right down for a nap— or maybe rant about the last day he had locked up.

he’s suddenly infront of you and you’re frozen, staring up at him with big doe eyes before you grab eachother simultaneously, pulling one another in for a bone crushing hug. rafe grips your cheek, kissing you so violently that there’s spit and gloss all over your chin and teeth clash before he pulls away — eyes darting all over your face. what he says next confirms what he really wants to do first. moreso, who.

“yeah uh, take these fuckin’ clothes off before i rip ‘em off. alright?” it’s almost a threat, but you practically vibrate in excitement.

the two of you race inside, and by the time you’ve reached your bed you’re only wearing your skirt, panties and bra. you approach the bed excitedly, stomach bursting with butterflies but apparently it’s not quick enough for rafe’s liking because he effortlessly lifts you under the arms and tosses you onto the bed like you’re nothing, your squeal muffled into the pillow. he’s chasing you up the bed on his knees, and when you try to push yourself up by the hands to readjust yourself — rafe shoves you back down.

your skirt has ridden up to your waist, and when you helplessly glance over your shoulder from your arched position — rafes pulling his cock out all with one hand.

“look uh, i might… i might not last as long as i want to, alright i— i was locked up for a long time. my balls are god damn blue. i’ll… make it up to you.” he winces, slowly jerking himself as you lock eyes. rafe is careful not to overexcite himself.

your brows furrow, reaching back and peeling your panties to the side — revealing the soaked folds that have been waiting nearly a year just to feel him once more. “d’nt care rafey, want you to cum inside.” you whine, and he swears he nearly busts then and there.

“sssshiiiit.” he sighs out in a whisper, letting go of his own shaft to spread your glossy cunt with his thumb, appreciating the fat lips and tight holes. “bet you kept that shit so tight for me huh? holding out for your man n’shit, that right?”

“yes daddy. only want you inside.” you moan, arching harder for his viewing pleasure and he hums, his fat tip gracing your entrance.

“well you’re gonna get just that alright, hold on t’somethin’.”

knowing what he’s like, you scoop a pillow between your arms, hugging it close and sinking your teeth into the plush white. it had been too long, the stretch was going to be lethal.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

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[oneforthemunny]

november rain |ex-husband!eddie munson x ex-wife!reader|

prompt: after your divorce to eddie, you try to get back out there. but sometimes, nothing beats what you already have.

contains: smut minors dni. mom!reader x dad!eddie. divorced. mentions to past angst/ fighting. mentions of teen pregnancy. oral fem receiving, pinv sex. slightly angsty. asshole date, angsty ending. kinda a bittersweet fic. based off this ask <3

You could hear him before you could see him, speakers shaking from the noise in his car, leaving your ears buzzing at the vibrations. The swelling of your heart rose above the annoyance you tried to feign, rolling your eyes and hoping he didn’t see through it. 

“You do realize I live in a subdivision? Neighbors and all?” You crossed your arms, glaring at him before he’d ever climbed out of the car, killing the engine and the music with the pull of his keys. 

“Yeah? They don’t like Judas Priest?” Eddie grinned, dimples deep, and you knew under his shades his eyes were bright and wild- the way they always were when they were teasing you. “I have Metallica too. I think I still have that Blondie tape you like in here too somewhere, if they’d prefer that.” 

Your heart skipped, lips twitching in a faltering snarl that was slowly turning into a blushing soft smile. “You better not play music that loud when my babies are with you.” You huffed, hands moving to rest on your hips, the denim waistband of your jeans hugging you just right in your Levi’s- Eddie’s favorite pair. You knew it, and you didn’t miss the way his tongue ran over his bottom lip. 

“Did you hear me?” You snapped, swallowing a grin. You knew he hadn’t, too distracted. “Eddie, I am serious, you will bust their little ear drums-” 

“-I know, sweetheart. C’mon,” Eddie shook his head, pushing his sunglasses up, pinning his curly bangs with them. “They’re my kids too. ‘M not gonna hurt them, you know that.” The sun caught a flash of gold, gleaming just for a moment off his left hand. 

Eddie was still wearing his wedding band. 

Your stomach sunk at the thought, thumb absentmindedly twisting your bare ring finger. The divorce had been final for months- six, to be exact. You’d stopped wearing yours after the first. It was weird, not wearing the small band and ring you’d worn since high school- since Eddie proposed with shaking hands on your front porch after you found out you were expecting. He’d dropped the ring twice, sweaty and nearly sick with anxiety. Your mother told you that should have been a sign, but you found it endearing then- maybe you did even now. 

“Where’s the rugrats anyway?” Eddie hummed, catching your glass door to hold it for you, letting you slip under his arm. You caught a whiff of his cologne, faint from the day, mixed with a cigarette he tried to mask from earlier. 

“Jude’s playing in the backyard.” You stepped into the small foyer. Eddie had left it to you in the divorce, saying you were the only reason they got it anyways. There was always an eerie feeling that lingered when he came inside, a haunting reminder of a forever that didn’t quite succeed. 

“He’s supposed to be watching Lucy.” You hummed, craning your neck to look out the window in the living room. “They’re hunting for bugs.” Your nose crinkled, leaving Eddie laughing. 

“Bug hunting? Oh, they don’t know their Mama is terrified of bugs, huh?” Eddie teased, peeking out of the window to see the two kids, perfect blends of both of your features packed into two tiny beings. 

“I’m not terrified. Well, of all the bugs.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “Spiders, yes, and I told Jude those were off limits or I was giving Grandpa Wayne back the bug catching kit.” 

“You’re no fun.” Eddie shook his head lightly. “Scared of a little spider?” His fingers tapped playfully in a crawling way up your arm towards your shoulder, leaving you squirming away. 

“Stop.” 

“God, do you remember- what was it? Junior year? When there was a spider on your desk in Geometry?” Eddie laughed, grabbing his side at the memory. “And you shoved all your books off the desk in the middle of class?”  

“Yes, and you and Gareth just laughed at me.” You fought back your own smile at the memory. 

“Yes!” Eddie howled in laughter. “And Mr. Browcheski got so fu-sorry- freaking mad at all of us. Did we- That was when we got detention, right?” 

“Yes,” You glared at him playfully, crossing your arms. “And I was about to have a nervous breakdown thinking about how I was going to tell my parents.” 

“That’s right.” Eddie nodded slowly. “That was your first detention?” 

You nodded. “I was a good girl until I met you, Munson. You’re a bad influence.” 

“Yeah, can’t be all bad though, right?” Eddie held your gaze, stepping close instinctively. Your breathing hitched, his hand gliding over your hip, fingertips ghosting the bare skin above your waist band. “We had some good times too.” 

Your head spun, dizzy with a clouding lapse of judgment. Eddie was pulling you in, hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, holding you so close you were flush to him. His head was already tilting, ducking towards yours, ready to capture your lips and you’d let him. Of course you’d let him, you’d be lying to say you didn’t miss his kiss- miss him. 

Lucy’s high pitched shrill had you faltering, snapping out of the haze, back into a damning reality. “What- Eddie, we-we can’t.” You took a step back, knees a little weak and wobbly from the adrenaline rush that always came with his affection. “We can’t do this.” 

“Right,” Eddie swallowed, hands shoving in his pockets, cheeks blooming with a pink heat that burned through his body.  “S-Sorry. I just- I got caught up in the moment. Talking about that. I just-” 

“-It’s fine.” You muttered, pulling the back door open, a melody of Jude and Lucy’s giggles floating in. “Guys, someone’s here to see you.” You sing-songed in a happy tune, face lighting with exaggerated excitement. You were good like that, Eddie thought, still playing nice for the kids. Maybe it wasn’t playing, Eddie really hoped it wasn’t, though the rational side of his mind (and his friends) begged to differ. 

“Daddy!” A duo of squeals and shrieks blended with bounding feet up the wooden steps into the house. 

Jude came bounding in first, nearly knocking Eddie over at the knees when his small frame collided with him. “Wo-oah, hey, buddy.” Eddie grinned, tousling the boy’s wild curls, frizzy and matted from playing outside. 

“Hi, Dad.” Jude beamed up at Eddie. He’d gotten Eddie’s lashes but your eyes. “We’re catching bugs.” 

“I heard. Catch any good ones? Any centipedes?” Eddie grinned, bending down to hug the boy. 

“No,” Jude’s face fell slightly in a frown. “But I did catch a ladybug for Lucy!” Jude bounced on his toes with excitement. 

Your heart swelled, trying to wrangle the small girl on your hip, passing her off to Eddie- well, passing was generous, she nearly launched off your hip into his arms. “A lady bug?” Eddie repeated in a babble he still used with Lucy. She was still small, in his eyes, though she was growing every single day, she was still his baby. 

“Did Bubs get you a ladybug, Lucy?” Eddie bounced her on his hips, tickling her sides so she shrieked with laughter. 

“Yeah,” Lucy giggled, leaning back to look at Jude in a limp sort of backbend. “Jude’s gots me a ladybug an-and we found a lot of worms.” She grinned, eyes wide and excited. She got her cadences from Eddie, that was for sure, more exaggerated and dramatic with each passing day. 

“Are you going to hunt bugs with us?” Jude asked, pulling on the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. “Will you? Please?” 

“Yeah, of course, I will.” Eddie smiled, shaking his head softly. “Do you have a spare shovel for me? Can you go find the little red one?” 

Jude looked at you. “I think it’s in the garage with the basketball.” You nodded towards the garage door. Jude ran off, footsteps heavy, Lucy squirming to get down and chase after him. “But- hey! Put everything back where it goes, Jude Wayne! And do not climb on anything!” You called after him, voice teetering on stern. 

“I got it!” Jude called back. 

Eddie’s chest puffed in boasting pride, grinning at the boy. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Hm, wonder who that sounds like?” You said sarcastically, giving Eddie a pointed glare. 

“That’s my boy. What can I say?” Eddie grinned, shrugging lightly. You grinned, shaking your head. “So, uh, where’re you going tonight?” Eddie tried not to sound so awkwardly needy, but it came out exactly like that. 

“Oh,” You could feel your body stiffen, a warm embarrassed heat creeping up your spine. “I, uh, I- Well, I’m going out.” You paused, fiddling with straightening something on a shelf, anything to avoid his gaze. “I…I have a date tonight.” 

Eddie’s heart sank, falling deep into the pit of his stomach. “Oh.” He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t know you were… Ya know, um, gettin’ back out there.” 

“Well, I- I mean it wasn’t exactly planned.” Your thumb went back to your ring finger, rubbing the bare skin there. You used to twist your ring when you were feeling anxious, a soothing mechanism. 

“Lydia at work set me up on a blind date with her cousin. The-The accountant guy.” You cringed at your words, spouting in a word vomit that you couldn’t seem to stop. Your heart was racing, stuttering to a halt and rearing back with every fall of Eddie’s face. 

“I-I mean, I just… She’d been asking me since-since,” Since the divorce, the words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “A-And I figured why not. I mean…” You waved your hand between the two of you, the tension uncomfortable and thick. 

“No, no, yeah,” Eddie nodded, swallowing back a burn of emotions he tried to conceal. “No, that’s- you should. Not that- I mean, you don’t need me to tell you that, but,” Eddie took a breath, finally meeting your nervous gaze. “You’ll have a good time.” 

“Yeah?” You squeaked, wringing your hands anxiously. Eddie had flashbacks to years before, when you two were a lot younger, your nervous demeanor asking for his reassurance before sneaking onto the football field at midnight. 

Eddie’s heart ached at the memory, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, he’s lucky to get to go out with you. You’re… You’re the best, you know that.” Eddie reassured you now just like he did then, just like he always did. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, turning just as Jude and Lucy came back in, triumphantly waving the red, plastic shovel. “I, um, I’m going to get ready. There’s a frozen pizza in the freezer. I’ll preheat the oven, if you can just stick it in.” 

“I got it.” Eddie waved you off, forcing a reassuring smile. “You go get ready. Have fun, sweetheart.” His smile was warm, leaving you burning in excitement. Still, when he left, you were filled with a sinking, nauseating feeling of dread, nerves. 

Heidi would tell you that you were co-dependent, that Eddie had made you that way. She never liked him, not in highschool, especially not after the divorce. She was always reminding you that you could do better, that you should do better. 

That always sparked a fight, one of the many that you and Eddie had over and over and over. His accusatory tongue lashing accusations at you, your defenses climbing higher and higher, both too stubborn to let it go. You were reminded of the fight that did it- that caused the divorce. Days- no, weeks of back and forth. 

“You know, there’s times I wish I would have skipped school that day!” Eddie roared, voice hoarse and scratchy from the screaming match you two had been having. “I was supposed to skip with Gareth, but I fucking went, and you know what? I wish I wouldn’t have! Then we would have never gotten paired up and I wouldn’t be dragged into all this shit with you! I wouldn’t be so miserable all the goddamn time!” 

His words rang in your head, stinging just as much then as they did now. You took a breath, that haunting memory was the final push you needed to step into the shower, to get ready, and to try and start something new without Eddie. 

“So, Lydia tells me you have a kid.” Matthew asked, swirling his wine around in his glass. 

The restaurant was obnoxiously expensive, much more stuffy than what you expected on the first date. You felt terribly underdressed, in a sundress you hadn’t worn in years, fitting a little tighter now since Lucy. Note to self, go dress shopping next time. 

“Yeah, I do,” You smiled politely, the tension still a little uncomfortable, unfamiliar. “Jude and Lucy.” 

“Oh,” Matthew’s brows raised, tone clipping in shock. “Two?” 

“Yeah,” You swallowed back that familiar burning in your chest, the one that always came with judgment. Raised brows and pointed glares, being pregnant in highschool, you thought you’d be used to it by now. 

“Uh, how-how old are they?” Matthew asked, fingers tapping nervously on the table. So much tension, and you hadn’t even gotten your food yet. 

“Jude is seven, and Lucy just turned four.” You felt your chest boast with pride. Talking about your kids, that could soothe you, it always did. 

“Wow,” You weren’t sure how Matthew’s brows could go any higher, but somehow they did. “That’s… I’m sorry, you just, you look really young to have kids that age.” 

“I am,” You shrugged sheepishly. “I, um, I had Jude in high school. My senior year.” You tried not to flinch, to steel yourself for the inevitable look- the one that always gave you. 

“High school?” Matthew’s tone skittered on a scoff, leaving you burning with embarrassment- with shame. Why’re you embarrassed about it? Best thing that ever happened to me, Eddie would always say, scoffing nonchalantly when you were younger and  someone gave you a snarling glace in the supermarket, two teens pushing a baby around in a shopping cart. 

“Yeah,” You looked down at your hands under the table. This was what you dreaded, the ‘getting back out there’ phase. You had forgotten how utterly painful it was, worse now than when you were a teen. 

“My ex-husband and I got married out of high school.” You continued, trying to break up the uncomfortable silence. “After- Well, before we had Jude, but after I found out I was pregnant.” 

“Oh,” Matthew didn’t look at you, looking anywhere but you really. “That’s why you divorced then? Makes sense.” 

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “No, no, that’s- that’s not why.” It wasn’t entirely true, at least, part of the reason but not the whole reason. 

“It’s not?” Matthew raises a brow, scoffing with unimpression before downing the rest of his wine. “Look, I’m not trying to offend you, but I’m not dumb. Pregnant in high school, married the baby daddy because it was the right thing to do, right? And then what? Had another when things got rough to try and save the marriage?” 

Your heart dropped, frozen in mortification, fear maybe, in your seat. “I’m right, aren’t I? I mean, it’s a tale as old as time, Sugar.” Your cheeks burned at the nickname. That wasn’t your nickname, not what Eddie called you, and even if he did- it never sounded condescending and mean like it did when it came from Matthew. 

“No shame in it, just own up to it.” Matthew scoffed, leaning back in his seat. You felt small sitting across from him, his lips pursed, rolling over your frame with such judgment it made your stomach turn. “Lying on the first date doesn’t seem like the best option.” 

“Excuse me,” You swallowed, grabbing your purse with shaky, sweaty palms. “I have to go to the restroom.” You didn’t wait for his response, the sinking feeling in your stomach only worsening with every step towards the door. 

The Hideout was only a block away, still standing strong on the outskirts of the newly renovated downtown. You were surprised it hadn’t conformed to the trendy chic wave that was hitting everywhere, but selfishly you were glad it stayed the same. The wooden booths and dollar drafts, just the same as they’d always been. 

The corner booth in the back caught your eye, occupied by a young couple- barely legal looking. Probably snuck in here with a fake, buzzing with adrenaline and the thrill that they might be caught, sharing a pitcher. That was you and Eddie, not too long ago. He’d snuck you in on your third or fourth date. You’d never been so nervous, never felt so alive at the same time. A goody-two-shoes, Eddie called you with a sweet grin, sliding you a beer across the table and slipping in next to you in that booth. 

Your heart ached at the memory, chest heavy with emotion. Why couldn’t he have just been better? Why couldn’t you just have been better? Why couldn’t both of you be better to each other, for each other? 

The heavy weight of regret settled on your chest, mixing with the draining heaviness of the night. You looked at the phone on the wall, digging in your purse for quarters. You couldn’t call Lydia, not after you’d stood up her fix up, left him in the restaurant. Robin was undoubtedly not home on a Friday night. 

Sighing, you cradled the phone to your ear, slipping the quarters in the slot, finger jamming the numbers. The line trilled once, twice, your fingers tapping on your crossed arm. By the third ring, you were ready to hang up, give up and call your sister. 

“Munson residence,” Eddie’s voice was soft, still with that lilt of playfulness that made your heart swoon. He’d been so excited when you two got the house, when you got your own landline. He’d answered the phone all posh and silly, claiming you two were “high society” now, moving up in the world. 

“Eddie,” Your breath shook, chest rattling when you heard his voice, a soothing force after the stress of the night. “It’s me.” 

“What’s wrong?” Eddie snapped on the other end, not missing a beat. “What happened? You alright?” 

“I’m… I’m at The Hideout.” You cupped your hand over the phone’s end, trying to muffle the loud music. “I just- Can you come get me?” 

“I’m on my way.” Eddie didn’t miss a beat. 

“Thank you,” You sighed in relief. “But, hey, don’t bring the kids. Please? I told them I was going out with Rob for a night out, and they’ll want to see her.” 

“I won’t, sweetheart. They’re asleep anyways.” Eddie muttered. You could hear his keys rattling in the background. “Let me call Wheeler and see if he can pop over to watch them. I think he’s home for the summer. Gimme a few and I’ll be right there.” 

“Thank you.” You whispered, nose burning with tears you couldn’t shed- you wouldn’t shed. Not again. 

“C’mon, not a problem.” Eddie waved you off gently. “Hang tight, baby. Be there soon.” 

You waited until you heard the dial line to hang up. Your heart sunk and fluttered at the same time, head reeling with a tornado of emotions that left you dizzy. Sinking onto an open stool at the end of the bar, you ordered a beer, the same one Eddie had ordered you years before. You didn’t care much for the taste now, your palette had grown and expanded since you were fifteen. But something tonight had you craving it, maybe craving the memory, the feeling that came with the first time you drank it. Chasing down a nostalgia that you didn’t want tainted. 

Eddie was there before you could finish your second beer, only a few sips in. He slid into the chair beside you, hand gliding over your shoulder in greeting. He started to lean in, lips moving to brush your cheek, but he stopped himself before he could, waving down the bartender instead. 

“So,” Eddie tapped the sticky wood top of the bar. “Bad date?” 

“The worst.” You muttered, taking another swig of your beer. “Guy was a total ass.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie’s jaw ground tight, flexing with protective anger. “You want me to kill him?” 

You snorted, lips curling in a small grin. “No, he’s not worth that.” You hummed, propping your head in your hand. “He was just an asshole. A total fucking asshole.” 

“What’d he say?” Eddie bit, hands buzzing, though he tried to play it cool. 

“Oh, the usual- teen mom, divorced, so clearly I’m the biggest loser in the world.” You muttered, lip jutting in a pout, looking down at the ring of condensation left behind by your beer. 

“He said that?” Eddie snapped, eyes widening in a crazed way you hadn’t seen in a while. “Fucking piece of shit, I’ll beat the dogwalking shit out of him-” 

“-No, he didn’t. He didn’t say it like that.” You shook your head, placing a calming hand on his arm. “It was implied. He was… He was just not nice, and I felt like it was getting worse, so I left. Came here instead.” 

Eddie nodded, the tension between the two of you a little uncomfortable. The bartender slid him his own beer, saving the two of you from the awkward silence. Eddie took his beer, tilting it toward you with a soft smile. 

“That guys a fucking idiot. Doesn’t know what he’s missed out on.” Eddie’s lips were tight in a pain-filled smile he tried to force, but his eyes gave him aways. They always gave him away. 

“Thanks.” You muttered, cheeks burning with a tingling heat. “How were the kids tonight?” 

“Good.” Eddie nodded, swallowing his drink. “Jude found a centipede. Lucy was not a fan.”

You grinned. “I don’t blame her. You didn’t let him bring it in?” 

“No. C’mon,” Eddie scoffed lightly. “No, I made him leave it outside. He wanted to keep it in his bug catcher, but I told him if it was meant to be his, it would stay. So he put it back in the grass.” 

“Good. I’ll come looking for you if I see a centipede in the house.” You glared at him playfully. “Did you give them a bath?” 

“Dinner, bath, even read them a story.” Eddie smirked at you. “I can be a good dad, sometimes, ya know. Not a total deadbeat all the time.” He teased, shoulder bumping with yours. 

Your stomach twisted. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” You muttered, looking back at your beer. 

“I was kidding.” Eddie said, setting his beer down. “Hey, I was just kidding. I know you’re just looking out for the munchkins, Mama.” 

You swooned under his cooing praise, heart swelling with adoration. “I didn’t- I would never say you’re a bad dad. You’re not a bad dad, Eddie.” You met his gaze. “You’re the best dad to them.” 

Eddie’s cheeks pinkened under your praise, chin ducking with a blush. “Thank you,” He whispered, fingers tapping the bar top. “Just a shitty husband then?” 

You rolled your eyes lightly. “No,” You clicked your tongue playfully. “Not a shitty husband. Not all the time anyways.”

Eddie grinned, dimples deep, eyes brightening. “You had your good moments.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie hummed, leaning in towards you. “Like when?” 

You’re body burned, electric tingles shooting to your core. The look in his eyes, squinting just barely, lips pursing, tongue rolling over his teeth- a look you were all too familiar with. You knew better, knew so much better than to let him sway you, to give into your urges. 

“Hm, I can think of a few times.” You purred, leaning in closer to him, lashes batting sweetly. “Maybe you could remind me?” 

Eddie’s wide grin stood the test of time. The same wild, excited grin he’d give you years ago hadn’t changed, it still left you spinning, abandoning your better judgment, following him with blinders into anything. 

“Christ, I fuckin’ missed you.” Eddie moaned, breathy and quiet, lips pressing to yours in fever. 

You shuddered under his touch, his fingers circling your clit perfectly, expertly- he was, after all, been with you for so long, he knew exactly how you wanted it. The house was quiet, the drone of the TV on for background noise, hoping the kids wouldn’t wake up. 

“Eddie,” You whispered, eyes rolling back, clawing his shoulder at a particularly perfect rub that had you seeing stars. “Fuck, that felt good.” 

“Yeah? Feels good. I can always make you feel good, sweetheart.” Eddie muttered, wet smooches trailing down your neck, down your collarbones. “Want me to make you feel better? Keep you feelin’ good? Lemme make you feel good.” 

His hands moved, pushing down your dress. Eddie looked, trying to will his mind silent at the sight of your matching, lacy set. It drove Eddie to his knees to see you in it, but his heart dropped knowing you hadn’t picked it to wear it for him. 

He shoved the lacy panties down, letting them pool at your ankles, hands sinking on your hips. You wiggled, stilling your hips to keep them from bucking when Eddie kissed your mound, teasing kisses all the way down to your slit. 

“Spread your legs f’me.” Eddie’s breath ghosted over your skin, a half grin spreading across his features when you kicked your legs open, arching forward for him. 

Eddie’s tongue ran teasingly over your left lip, your right, before licking a long stripe right through your wet folds. In the past, he would have teased you, toyed with you until you whined and begged for him to fuck you. Back when he used to have you whenever he wanted, he’d lived for that, but now, he didn’t have that luxury. He had to make the most of his time now, at your call, at your service. 

You bit your fist, trying to swallow back a moan that threatened to tear out of your throat. Your vibrator, tucked away in your sock drawer, could never replace this- replace him. His touch, the rush of endorphins that came from the pleasure he gave you, always eager to please. 

Finger raking through his curls, you tugged him further and further into you, hips grinding on his face. “Th-That’s it. That feels good.” You whispered. 

Eddie moaned, sending waves of vibrations to your core, knees buckling under the feeling. Your breath caught, head tipping back to silence the moans, ripples of pleasure crashing over you. 

“Okay, okay, stop.” You panted, pushing on the top of his head, trying to writhe out of his touch. 

Eddie’s face fell in hurt, in fear, scanning your features. He knew it was coming, the inevitable that you’d change your mind, tell him you couldn’t do this. “I-I need you.” His heart leapt at your words. “I just need you right now, please.” 

It felt like a dream, having you wrapped around him in every way. Buried inside you, Eddie tried to savor the feeling, really feel you in case this was the last time. Your legs tight around his hips, arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you as he fucked you into the mattress- into the bed that you both shared for so many years. 

Your nails clawed down his back, biting at his shoulder to keep yourself quiet, toes curling in pleasure. Eddie’s hand slid between the two of you, circling your clit as he approached his own orgasm. He knew you were close, knew everything about you. 

“Fuck, you feel so fuckin’ good. The best, the fuckin’ best, baby.” Eddie whispered, breath hot over your ear, nipping at your ear lobe. Your body shuddered, hips bucking with pleasure. 

“Fuckin’ missed you. Missed you- ah.” Eddie whined, nearly cumming when your teeth bit his shoulder, the spark of pain making his slops get sloppier and sloppier. 

Eddie’s lips moved to yours, biting your bottom lip, sucking on it while his fingers slid over your clit until you were shaking, flooding over his length. Your grip loosened, melting into the mattress as he finished, drilling into you. 

“Fuck, feel so good. Fuckin’ love the way you feel.” Eddie looked down at you, eyes glassy and dazed from your own orgasm, lips bitten from him. 

A final pump, a final grunt, and he was spilling inside you, hips still slowly rolling inside you, dropping his face into your neck. You held him tight, muffling his moans into your skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Eddie rambled, chest to chest, heaving and clinging to the other. 

A feeling settled around the two of you after you broke apart, laying side by side under the sheets, the house still, quiet, filled with a tension you couldn’t quite figure out. 

“I’m sorry you had a shitty date.” Eddie muttered, voice a little raspy. 

“‘S alright.” You sighed, stretching under the sheets. “Ended pretty good, all things considered.” 

“Yeah it did.” Eddie grinned softly. “Missed you.” 

Your heart ached, sinking in your chest. “I-I think you just missed having sex.” 

“No,” Eddie said firmly, shaking his head. “No, I-I missed you. I missed this, us.” He rolled over, turning towards you. 

“Eddie-” 

“-No, I just- I’m sorry, and I know I was a dick, and I-I did some things, but, baby, we’re good. We’re so good together.” Eddie whispered, reaching for you. “We’re meant to be together. You know we are. It’s always been us, it’s always supposed to be us.” 

“We’re not good together.” You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. “We’re not good for each other.” 

“Don’t say that.” Eddie’s eyes shined with hurt, shaking his head. “How-How can you say that-” 

“-Because, we’re good now. Right now, but… but then it’ll be just like it was, and we’ll be right back to fighting.” You pressed your palms to your eyes, chest tightening with the post orgasm clarity, the realization of your mistake. You’d never learn your lesson, no matter how many times you’d go through this. 

“Baby, we could go back to counseling. I just- We should try. I want to try, I want to be a family again. I want to be better this time. I promise I’ll be better this time, please.” Eddie reached for your hand, pulling them off your eyes. “Please, sweetheart, one more chance? I won’t… I won’t fuck it up.” 

You squeezed his hand, body aching, yearning to lean into him. To agree, to nod and let him love on you, love you. To give him another chance, to see him wake up in the bed next to you, back in the house with the kids all the time. 

But you couldn’t. 

For them. Jude and Lucy had a hard enough time with the divorce, understanding why you two were separating. How did you explain to kids that mommy and daddy were like the weather; good some days, disastrous the other? 

“I-I can’t, Eddie.” You whispered, looking at him with eyes shining. “Jude and Lucy…That’s not- This isn’t good for them.” Your breath shuttered, heart breaking in your chest. 

Eddie’s own heart was breaking, you could see it on his face. “I just need time. I don’t know.” You admitted, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “But now, I just can’t now.” 

Eddie nodded, swallowing around his own heart breaking. “Alright,” He nodded. “Whatever you decide, I’ll… I’ll always support you. I’ll always love you, too. No matter what.” 

Your lip wobbled, squeezing his hand tight in yours. “Thank you.” You whispered. “I just need some time, Eddie.” 

“I’ve got time. I’ll wait.” Eddie nodded, pressing a kiss to your knuckles gently. “Always here for you.” He pulled you close to him, arms wrapped around your frame, squeezing you tight to his chest. 

For a moment, you relaxed, let yourself feel at peace as he held you. Allowed yourself that selfishness in the still of the night. You’d stay like that for a while, until you sent him to the couch. “Things are confusing as it is for them. They don’t need to get their hopes up if they see us in the bed together.” And Eddie would do it, of course he would. He’d do it for you, for them, for the hope that he might one day get his family back to normal. Back to the way it should be. 

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

If, like me, you struggle with long zoo days because there’s nowhere to sit - especially not near where you can see the animals - I have a suggestion for you. Bring a folding camp stool! I’ve started doing this regularly and oh boy does it make a difference.

The specs I looked for were lightweight & collapsible, because I’m also already carrying camera gear and don’t want to be hauling extra or heavy bulk. I went with a GCI Outdoor PackSeat Camping Stool Portable Folding Stool (not linking out, but you can find it at REI as well as that other site) because it was the only one I could find with a weight limit of up to 250lbs. It looks like this!

It collapses down into a pouch that hooks to your belt or a backpack or whatever, and ends up being about the length of my forearm but weighs less than a full reusable metal water bottle. I basically don’t even notice it on top of my gear.

With some sort of collapsible camping stool, you can rest anywhere. I set it up in front of three exhibits with no benches this morning while I hung out and waited for good photo conditions. What I really like is that it’s very lightweight and easy to pick up and move out of the way, but also sturdy enough I don’t feel it’s going to break under me.

It’s not a perfect solution: if you’re short you might not be able to see over every secondary barrier, and my model doesn’t have a backrest (although some by that brand do) so you’re still actively sitting instead of able to totally relax. But man, I was able to spend an hour hanging out and waiting for a snow leopard to appear instead of giving up after ten minutes because I had to stand on concrete.

I didn’t get any guff from the many zoo employees who saw me using it, and a ton of other guests commented what a good idea it was. It might not be ideal for super busy zoo days, but if there’s not a ton of people, it’s a lifesaver to be able to bust out a seat where you need one.

[starkeyisthelastname]

Dealer!Rafe who makes it up to you after a busy week 👅💵

He had busy all week, coming home at late hours and constantly talking on the phone to whoever. You had only recently just moved into his place and this was the first time you got to see how much he worked. Did a drug dealer really do all this? Sometimes you couldn’t help but to feel a little deprived, and didn’t want to complain to Rafe about it as he did so much for you already.

He was on the phone one afternoon with Barry, talking about some new business venture he wanted to go on. From where he stood on the balcony, he could see you inside the room. You looked like a fucking angel in that little white slip dress, in his bed of all places. He had been so busy lately, that he barely had time to do anything. One of those things being, spend time with you. He knew you felt deprived, shit he did too and as his blue eyes raked up to your face and saw you averting your gaze with a pout, he knew he had to do something.

He got off the phone with Barry, walking back into the master bedroom and towards where you sat on the bed. “What’s going on mama? Why you poutin’ for? Too fucking pretty for that shit.” He told you, large hand tilting your chin up. He studied your face for a second, watching as you bit your lower lip in hesitation and averted your eyes down.

“J-just miss you.” You mumbled quietly, feeling his thumb come to graze your bottom lip as you let it go. You looked back up at him, his striking eyes flashing a hint of possession while he put his free hand on your ankle. “I’ve missed you too gorgeous. Let daddy make it up to you, yeah?” He asked, watching you nod against his digit.

He was sure it hadn’t been that long since he had last been inside you. The way you were squeezing his dick though while he pushed himself your warm hole, had him thinking it had been weeks. “Fuck… this what you need baby?” Rafe asked, watching your eyes roll back a little and your manicured hands come to rest on his abs.

It had only been about a week, and somehow that made you forget how big he was. He stretched you open so perfectly, your pretty pussy wrapping around his thickness as he began to move his hips. You let out a whine, your tummy fluttering the deeper he started to thrust to make you both feel good. “Daddy.. fuck me.” You moaned, already wanting more now that you had it again.

Adjusting your legs to be on his broad shoulders, he placed his hands on either side of the mattress and pulled out of your leaking hole. It was when he slammed back in one go, did you let out a gasp and feel your toes curl. His expensive chain began dangling in your face, glistening in the light as he began pounding into you. “You like that shit, don’t you? Just needed daddy’s big dick to fill this pretty pussy up.” His voice only making you more turned on.

You wanted to be embarrassed that you already felt your orgasm coming on. His dick was too good though and he hit your spot right every time. He of course was the sexiest man you had ever seen with that fresh buzz, muscled body and drink that could make you go dumb. You could hear the sounds of your ocean the more he drove his hips into yours, your breath quickening the harder he went. “Y- you’re gonna make me cum daddy..” Your voice barely speaks out before you are clenching and creaming around him with a loud beautiful moan.

He was trying to keep his ego in check and not bust this quick. But the way you looked so pretty making a mess, taking his dick so well and crying out for him, had his own eyes rolling back. “Here it comes mama, daddy’s gonna nut all up inside your pretty fuckin’ self.” He grunted, a few more thrusts to your gut before you felt the warmth of his seed painting your insides white.

It was after you got freshly fucked, that the pout had left your lips and was replaced with a smile as Rafe had asked if you wanted to go shopping. Of course he was gonna spoil you, you deserved it after being so goddamn beautiful and taking his impressive pipe because you had missed him.

[dollwrites]

ʀᴇᴠᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

*part two / continuation of mistaken identity. can be read as a stand-alone but i recommend reading part one first.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!bff!reader, sex toys mentioned but not used, mentions of condoms but not used, cum marking, playful objectification / name calling ( toy, fucktoy), has absolutely no spoilers or deep lore, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback.. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

where was it?

where was it?!

your heart was thumping rapidly against your rib cage as you hurried to the wardrobe in Rafayel’s bedroom and grabbed the latches. flinging it open, you’d hoped to see that damned fake ass sitting in a corner under a lump of his laundry. unfortunately, you dug and dug and dug, and hit only the bottom of the closet.

damn it, Rafayel, where did you hide it?!

although you hadn’t exactly expected it to still be spread eagle on his bed by the time you crept away from a very distracted painter, you were starting to panic. it wasn’t in any of the drawers beside his bed or in the closet. you took a step back with a soft breath, placing both hands on your hips. wrapped between your fingers in your dominant grasp was the cerulean lace that you were very, very well acquainted with.

the panties you’d had no choice but to wear lest you dribble your best friend’s cum from your freshly fucked cunt as you wobble-snuck out through the back door— the same panties that belonged to Rafayel’s sex toy. it was unfortunate that he’d moved her, and had you not known Rafayel well enough to know that he probably hadn’t noticed the missing panties, you would’ve been concerned that you were busted. thankfully, however, his sheets and the duvet were still wadded haphazardly atop the mattress. it looked like the same, warm mess that you’d crawled off of after he’d fucked you.

however, there was still the issue of the disappearing rear end.

“Where…” your whisper trails off, eyeline drifting to the bed again.

under it, perhaps?

quickly, you lap the room, past the door ajar, and drop to your knees. flipping the sagging sheets over the corner, your shoulders wind as you lean as close to the floor as you can, worming partially beneath the bed frame. your phone makes an appearance, clicking the flashlight button, you illuminate the narrow gap between his bed and the floor. surprisingly lacking junk, a discarded paintbrush with a maroon hue hardened on the bristles exempt, there was nothing of note. “Really?” you whisper, exasperated, before you heard a soft chuckle.

nearly bumping your head when your muscles jump involuntarily when you’re startled, you shimmy out from beneath his bed and look over your left shoulder. much to your dismay, the owner of the bed was propped against the frame of his open door, his arms crossed over his chest, the buttons on his white shirt unbuttoned just below his throat, flashing a glimpse of his collarbones.

crap.

the way that his ombré eyes followed you, twinkling mischievously, made a knot form in your stomach, but you slowly sit up, leaning back into the mattress. “I—I didn’t hear you come in.” you tried to sound casual, but Rafayel had just caught you red-handed, halfway underneath his bed and you had absolutely no idea how you were going to explain this away.

“I could tell by the way you jumped,” Rafayel counters, quirking a brow, curiously. “Whatcha doing?”

double crap.

your mind races, trying to come up with an answer that would be funny and misdirecting at the same time, but all that came out was the bogus reason you’d given him when you crept away in the first place. “I told you I was going to the bathroom.” you offered halfhearted.

Rafayel wasn’t convinced. “Uhhuh,” he replies, faux pensive as he takes a step closer, “did you forget where it was?” finally revealing what you dreaded, a smirk tickles his soft, pink tiers. “Or were you looking for something?”

you start to reject the notion adamantly, but when you sucked in the breath, you paused, and looked down at the scene he witnessed. you, digging under his bed, with a flashlight in one hand and a pair of panties that he probably bought in the other. your heart sinks to your stomach at the prospect of coming clean, but you knew you didn’t have a choice. “Rafa, listen—“ i’m so sorry, please forgive me. i didn’t mean for it to go that far. i should’ve told you. i promise i’m not a total creep. you didn’t know which of these sentiments were going to win the race to the tip of your tongue.

“I threw it out.” Rafayel interrupted, crossing the bedroom to stand in front of you in a couple of swaggering steps, before he extends one hand for you to take so he can help you up. at the moment, though, you merely stare at him, perplexed, so he adds in a soft, telling tone. “I didn’t need it anymore. After all, I got a new one this morning.” instead of offering it anymore, Rafayel flicks his wrist and the tips of his fingers dance along your cheek, warm as a toaster. your eyes widen slightly at this, your lips parting, but no sound comes out as you’re sat in stunned silence. his fingers, however, do not pause and trace the shape of your open lips, his eyes following the movement for a moment before his smile softens, his lips hardly moving as he murmurs, holding in a breathless chuckle. “You didn’t actually believe that I had no idea it was you, did you?”

“I… had hoped.” you mumbled hopelessly, inching up the side of the mattress until you can sit on the corner, looking down at the evidence in your hands as you sheepishly as your fist swallows the panties. your shoulders slumped in hopelessness, “You knew all along?” but Rafayel only lets free a chortle.

“What a shameful expression.” he notes aloud, before his fingers tuck beneath your chin and tilt it upwards, urging you to look up at him. it is only when you do that you realize he’s leaned down, his chin jutted out, his lips inches from yours. his voice is low and husky, “I’d be truly clueless to mistake a tight, warm pussy spasming and stretching around me for a lifeless, boring slab of silicone.” his eyes search yours as he speaks, looking for any hint of reluctance for him to be so close, but when he sees none, he adds, “I haven’t been able to think about good you feel. Your grip on my cock when I pushed it in,” breathing out each syllable, Rafayel places one hand behind you, moving closer. upon instinct, you scoot back. he inhales, his other hand planting itself at your side as his knee digs into the mattress to walk you back with torturous slowness, “how wet you became when I fucked you hard, how your pussy clenched and siezed when you came…” both knees now nudging your own apart, he crawls over you, until you fall back against the mountain of feather-soft pillows you’d been hidden under only hours before. you’re flat, staring up at his lean, looming figure, his face lingering close enough to feel the heat from his own, pinkened cheeks as he sighs, allowing a fraction of his weight to press against you, pinning you to the bed.

a very familiar shape— his hard cock through the stiff fabric of his trousers, prods at the inside of your thigh, eager to feel the warmth that your pussy provided, and Rafayel whispers to you an admission of guilt. “I tried to replicate that tightness, the warmth, when I jerked off in the shower, but I couldn’t make it feel as good as you. I only frustrated myself, and have been suffering ever since.”

“Suffering seems like an exaggeration…” you whisper only half joking, but you’re distracted; your eyes flicker down to where his body rubs against yours, the garments shifting and creating an annoying friction. he seems to feel the same way, because Rafayel is stripping you even as you speak, pushing your top and your bra up into a bunched up mess around your neck and jerking your shorts and panties down. you don’t resist in the slightest, even going so far as to lift your bottom so he can undress you easier. both of your hands let go of their anchors— the phone and the cerulean panties, and go to his shirt, instead, unbuttoning it with eager, quick movements.

“Don’t pretend that you don’t also feel it.” Rafayel’s gaze is deep and longing, his voice thick and accusatory. “It’s been torturous, and it’s all your fault. This is your fault.” his voice is pointed, and he grasps your wrist, guiding your palm to press against the throbbing tent in his pants. your fingers twitch, desiring nothing more than to tighten, to massage and fondle the package so tightly wrapped, so you do just that. you feel him fully in your hand, and Rafayel moans a soft, encouraging moan. “Let me fuck you again, just lay here for me like a pretty, little toy.” it wasn’t quite a demand, but also not entirely a plea— something in between.

but when his voice lilts with unbridled desire, you almost can’t help but melt to his whim. you thought about telling him that you were not a sex toy— not at all a hunk of silicone for him to fuck when he felt the urge, but you didn’t. in fact, you swooned at the thought of being that worthless junk’s replacement.

because, truth be told, you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Rafayel felt when he throbbed inside you.

“This is going to ruin our friendship…” you offered a half-hearted argument, but your fingers were already scrambling to unzip and free his cock from the cloth restraints of his pants. when your fingers wrap around skin, getting a feel for him, he moans, and shimmies what’s left of his garments down his legs, kicking them into the floor.

“It already has.”

those three words rang truer than you’d been prepared for, even huskily breathed as Rafayel leans over you, his palm smacking against the bedside table. ever since this morning, when you so much as sat close enough to feel his body warmth, you’d remembered for and longed to feel him fucking you with reckless abandon once more. every breath he took, every sigh that left his lips, reminded you of how he sounded when he was inside of you. and, if his confession was to be believed, he also couldn’t stop thinking about it.

the friendship was already fucked.

all you could do now would be to nurture this new development.

Rafayel hooked his fingers around the gilded handle of the drawer and pulled it open, before fishing around blindly and retrieving a prophylactic between his first, two fingers. had you been his friend in that moment, you might’ve teased him for having condoms readily available. after all, you’d not known Rafayel to date many women. however, as his lover, your heart leapt into your throat in anticipation. but that condom that he was about to tear open with his teeth would rob you of that delicious, raw feeling of him with nothing in between. so, your free hand fled to clap against his wrist and stop his movements. “No need for that.” Rafayel pauses, staring at you perplexed, his plushy lips parted. your eyes sparkled as he poured his ombré gaze into yours, reading everything left unspoken. the time to take care has fled with the friendship, because you craved his cock— and would refuse any alterations. your back arches, and you writhe on his bed, slinking down underneath him until your body is in the perfect position to be taken. legs bent up towards your chest, feet sticking out on each end, and you keep your grasp on his base until you can give him a light and persuading pull, guiding the flared tip to split your sticky folds. “Just fuck me…” your breath whistles in a soft hiss through your teeth when the first couple of inches slip inside, slow and steady, and your hand moves from his base to plant itself flat against his pelvis, feeling the muscles beneath your fingers tighten as he pushes inside you. “Fuck your toy…”

Rafayel grunts upon entry, because your walls spasm and ecstatically welcome him home. “I missed this pussy.” smiling, practically drunk on the scent of your arousal and his own thickening the air surrounding you, his hands push against your knees, spurring your legs further apart, as he sets his pace. long, deep strokes with firm, punctuating hip snaps so that his cock could pummel your spongy nerves. each time he bottoms out, the force coaxes a moan from your open lips, your body bucking beneath him, breasts jiggling in tandem with his pace. at first, you close your eyes, brows furrowed close as you focus on the sensation of being pounded and listen to Rafayel’s panting above you. there’s not a sweet spot that he didn’t reach— from the bulging veins on his length rubbing against the grooves in your walls, to the bulbous head of his cock battering your g-spot. it was a much more calculated fucking this time; Rafayel was going to have you in the most carnal of ways. he made that clear.

your nails dug into the warmth on his hips, but you only used your vices to pull him in deeper, demanding with grips and moans that he give you everything he had to offer. you hear him hiss— whether from the pleasure of your cunt tight around his cock or the pain of your nails biting at his flesh, you can’t be too sure, but he obliges, pounding deeper. harder. faster. “M—more!” you cry out, your body undulating beneath his, eager to take every inch. small droplets of perspiration escape from his jaw as it lingers over you, raining on to your cheeks. “More!”

“Fuck,” Rafayel moaned out loud, pushing your legs back even further until he could lay his chest on the backs of your knees, pinning you to the bed with his body weight. “I’ve never had such a greedy fucktoy before.” there’s a playfulness in his strangled tone that is truly and utterly Rafayel. your eyes open, and glare at him, as if you’re ready to snap back, but he bottoms out inside you again, choking whatever sarcastic remark you had back into a pathetic gurgle of pleasure before he leans in and sighs heavily against your lips, “Don’t you dare give me that look, I wasn’t done. I was going to say that I love how greedy you are.” from this angle, with every inch of his body slick with sweat and pressed against you, he can reach even deeper. his balls, warm and heavy, smack against your ass when he pumps against your limit over and over, almost as if he wishes he could worm his way into your cervix. “Take it deep for me, greedy girl. Come on, come on,” he croons and his head droops forwards, closer to your face. his own is a pretty scarlet-kissed hue, his typically clear eyes are dark and stormy with lust, and you knew before he moaned, “I’m so close. Gonna cum.”

you weren’t quite there yet, you needed a little more, but you could do very little than to grip the sheets underneath you when Rafayel rode out the force of his orgasm. rough, eager thrusts that had your head spinning, and your body twitching and jumping when he suddenly ripped his cock from inside you, leaving that familiar, sickening hollowed out feeling. he did so just in time to cast streamers of warm, white release over the lips of your used pussy, moaning your name as he sat up on his knees, one hand jerking himself off to ensure he got every last drop of his cum on your cunt. your thighs were trembling so Rafayel kept his free hand on one of them, holding you steady so he can finish his masterpiece on you.

“You were almost there, weren’t you?” he asks, breathlessly, when his satiated cock lays against his thighs. he releases it, and instead, runs his fingers up between your nerherlips, pressing the pads on your clit to rub it in fierce circles. the motion smears his release deeper into your folds, fully marking you as his plaything, but you’re much too focused on how good it feels when he strums you like this. “I want to make my pretty, greedy little fuck toy cum, too.” your button throbs against his fingers, your back arching, so he focuses the pressure a bit more precisely, scrubbing his fingertips back and forth over your clit. your eyes, eyelids droopy and all, peer up at the sight of him kneeling between your quaking thighs, his hand moving back and forth, his stare glued to your soiled pussy, and you come undone right then and there, swimming through the sea of bedding as your orgasm possesses you.

Rafayel didn’t seem as though he was totally finished, even when the aftershocks wracked your body, because his fingers still teased your poor clit; and when you inched back, he followed. “T—too much!” you squeal, flipping over on to your belly. you’re entangled in his sheets, damp and smelling of sex, with your ass jumping and overstimulated, squirming until you’ve managed to scramble away from his devilish, svelte fingers. he chuckles at the sight, and allows you to escape, before he crawls over to you and rubs your back to ease you out of this stimulated state. “I never thought you’d cum so hard, I’ll have to be careful with you, hm? Don’t want my new toy to break.” he chuckles, his slick fingertips tracing your spine. he leans down, kissing your shoulder with parted lips. “My new, favorite toy.”

[inkskinned]

nobody ever gets the mugshot of gluttony right. these days you think it has nothing to do with bodyweight. what a good trick: that gluttony could take a shape. no, there was never any fault in finishing a meal or in taking second helpings. it was always in taking from others that there was an issue - the oil baron's fingers steepled over dead bodies and stolen lands. gluttony - twin of greed, although most think greed and envy are the siblings - gluttony is pleased with the experience of gaining, is thrilled just-by-having. greed is the one that stays hungry, that has to move forever like a shark. gluttony likes it - "a glutton for punishment" is one who is seeking the harm, who loves the rush.

gluttony is a mother using her daughter's body for a diet testing ground, sharpening the bone angles. gluttony is saying why, well not! to the seventh and eighth mansion or yacht. it is not just wanting the six white horses, it is making sure that the horses came from your stables. it is not just bathing in milk - it is bathing in milk while others are starving.

oh, it's true that some sins still blaze in their bright floral prints. wrath in a white woman yelling at a person of color for even daring to be in her neighborhood. the red, incipient rage of a neck tightened at even the thought we would take the guns away. wrath has laurels, and she is good at her job, and works hard.

but sloth wasn't ever the sleepy morning of depression, the hours spent begging a clouded body to please move goddamn it; the protestant work ethic claiming even rest is somehow demonic. it was never chronic fatigue. sloth was subtle, a grey mist. she is watching you get bullied and she is deciding it is none of her business. she crosses the picket line because - what! it's just chicken, isn't it? she is closing her eyes and turning her head when the next anti-gay legislation passes. someone else will handle it. not the tense freeze of anxiety or a lack of preparation - she knows you're hurting and would rather you stay quiet about it. she tells other people i just don't see what the big deal is.

sloth is a father that doesn't do the dishes. sloth is your boyfriend's innocent shrug you're just better at household shit. sloth isn't the missed opportunity - it is the purposeful desire to just get-someone-else-to-do-it.

greed and envy are doing body shots in the back of a private jet. they are the way they always have been, but are lovers in the age of the internet. greed just finished union busting, is rolling a bitcoin over his knuckles, is about to start another MLM. envy is in a broadbrimmed hat, showing off her instagram life, grinning about how if you want it, work for it.

okay, it's true. you have a soft spot for lust, gathering dust in a corner. so tame in comparison to the others. but how funny lust is always painted as being a woman in tight clothes. you've met actually lustful women - the ones that purposefully climb into your partner's lap, the ones that say lesbians are gross but ask bisexual women into bed with their husbands. a lustful woman is not donned in lace and garters and red: that's how men think lust looks, painting their own sins into frame. this way, the sin displaces as fog and hovers above her: a woman in a dress is lust; what the man experiences is just the natural consequence.

here is the thing: lust is doing just fine, save your pity. lust is running more circles than any of them. lust is shutting down safe sexwork sites while also making teenagers in knee-high socks sex sensations. lust is CEO of an advertising network where women never pass 25 years old. all the bras lust makes are pretty to look at but, when worn, legitimately hurt. lust has a podcast, his fur coat looped around his shoulders, sells the idea that only certain people have value, that sex raises some and destroys others. lust is tilting his head and asking what did you expect when you dress like that? lust shuns you, sneers that everything you want is disgusting and taboo - right until he can figure out how to capitalize off of it. lust has the midas ability: everything he touches becomes an object.

people usually say wrath is the scary one. you agree with FMA here, though: the real dangerous one is pride, and the shit-eating grin. the white cloaks and the nationalism and the inability to apologize. it is every partner who threw a book at your head because you don't respect him. it is every mother who said my son doesn't deserve to have his life ruined over allegations. it is the teacher that fails you because you talked back.

you worry you have this one. you feel guilty when you need help but don't ask for it. prideful. ashamed when you complete something and feel good about it. too proud for your own good. but pride is not the reward of hard work or accomplishment: pride is a twitter feed. it is the thing that has to mask i didn't do anything with look at me.

pride is your father's raised hand, his raised voice. how he was never there when you needed him, but he is still "head of house." he ruins dinner and blames it on you: you're an embarrassment to this family. this is the glass you walk around, the cuts in your feet. how he says this isn't how i raised you and you have to bite back the retort: that's because you didn't actually fucking raise me.