#I WANT TO KILL THOSE STUPID FUCKS WHO GET TO LIVE IN LUXURY FOR KICKING A FUCKING BALL AROUND

[lin-of-the-linkverse]

.vent.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Woof Woof

Pairing | Tyler Lockwood x reader

Summary | you were the last person alive that Tyler ever saw himself confiding in. But when the pair of you were the only sober ones at an outdoor party, he has no other choice. Though, he finds himself to be surprised to find out how serious you can really be in the moment.

Warnings | angst, mentions of death, tiny smidge of violence, swearing, implied smut

Requested ☑️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“Fetch.”

A football rolled at Tyler’s feet, him being unimpressed by the insulting sentiment. The brown and white seamed material became the affections of his prying glare, and if he were a witch, it was undoubtable that he’d have burned the item right on the spot, reducing it to nothing more than ashes encrusted in the encrusted and dead green leaves.

It was summer, which meant, before the new year at school began, there would be woodsy bonfires, and a bunch of teens drinking despite the legal age limit. Matt was tending to the kegs, of which he had bargained with the owner of the grill to sell to him, illegally of course. It seemed that deal had worked out fine, considering that many had drinks in their hands. But today, he didn’t need the mockery meddling with his mind,one day of peace was all he wanted, though seemingly, he was never permitted such a luxury.

With his intent full eyes, he found a you staring at him, a mischievous taint to your irises, you was messing with him; nothing dissimilar to the normal. It was the natural of order of things, and he had rather grown used to your ever so laughable shadow prowling behind him, making up all those stupid jokes, having the heart to return the comments in one way or the other.

The weight of returning to school was already upon his shoulders, adjoined with the priority to keep himself controlled and not kill anyone. That meant, he particularly was not in the mood for your mind games, even if they were not supposed to have that

That part, was what you inclined your humour towards, brashly and bluntly making copious amounts of jokes directed towards his animalistic nature, reminding him that he could never live the life of a normal boy again.

“Maybe I should throw it back far enough so that you’ll be searching for it all night.” The Lockwood sneered lightly towards you, softly kicking the ball away from himself, heading to turn away from where you were trudging over, not wanting to pull an expression that would set off your terrible puns.

“We could get out of here, away from all the noise. I get how much it must be hurting your head, with all the new canine tricks you’ve learnt.” Gulping, Tyler watched as you bent down to pick up the sporting item, twirling it in your hands, as you awaited an answer out of him.

The werewolf nodded, walking ahead of you, as he abandoned the scene that he had once thrived in, now feeling like he no longer belonged around normal people, who were oblivious to the truth, and free of his curse. Not to mention, the truth that you were nothing more than a human, that despite knowing the realism that ran on through the town, killing many people, whether they were passers by, or long term citizens.

And as per usual, they were regarded as animal attacks; and because he killed someone, he had to live in the paws of a wolf. “Good boy.” You snickered at his competence to lean obediently into your words, going to ruffle his brown locks, though his fast and vigilant hand caught yours before you could proceed with the action.

Your other hand released the kick ball, as you focused on how his grip tightened, pulling you closer as his angered expression moved closer to your face. There was no point in trying to pull away, he was far too strong, as all the other lurking supernatural creatures were, and you were not sure whether you should be relieved or not that he was not a vampire.

These woods had a history for disappearances, and deadly attacks, but this time, you felt safe moving away from the grand population of your school, because Tyler was with you. Tyler was strong, and protected the people he cared about, despite what others may think. He was gullible to the premises of relationships, he saw someone caring as him as nothing more sexual intent.

And that was a chore you carried, and another reason that you happened to tease him so. Not only was he an easy target with all these new changes making his bones crack, but he, deep down was a sweet and lost boy, that you were falling for, but you’d never admit that. Not even to Bonnie, who said she was able to see the future or some witchy psychic shit like that.

But perhaps, he was the one that you were supposed to be scared of. A wolf was deceiving, they prowled among the sheep, picking out the weaker ones of the flock, dragging their limbs away to satisfy the contents of their supper.

“You’re hurting me Lockwood, let go.” You winced, feeling how the bone shifted beneath the rough, human skin, and the inability that you had to heal made you fear the pain furthermore. As your eyes flickered up to his, you saw a wrenching gold splinter his irises, their black outlines painting lines around his waterline, making your body tremble. “Tyler, it’s me.”

Still, he seemed mute to what he was doing. You knew he wasn’t meaning to bring pain upon you, but that fact didn’t make it hurt any less. As you huffed your breath out in whimpers through your nose, your eyes filled with tears. And then you did something you’d deny ever dreaming of, you kissed him, suffocating your noises of displeasure upon his lips.

Soon, you felt his hold on your wrist loosen, dropping it suddenly, trying to pull away, scared that he would hurt you again. But with your unharmed arm, you reached up with your hand, tugging him back, as you extended the kiss for a few more seconds, finally disengaging, to your relief, seeing his usual brown hues.

“I hurt you.” He whimpered, feeling guilty. Moving your wrist around, you rotating it, grimacing at the feeling for a moment, but relaxing him a little as he heard no broken bones. “Y/n...”

“I’m fine, it’s just a little sore. Now shut up and kiss me Fido, or I’ll find some other guy that isn’t as pathetic as a castrated dog, and will-“ before you could finish your sentence, Tyler suffocated your mouth with his own, sinking his tongue through the parting of your lips, as he walked you backwards, pinning you up against the trunk of a tree, peeling your jacket from your arms, and discarding it upon the ground.

“You know I’m up against a tree right?” You snickered, earning an annoyed glare from the werewolf, who sighed, knowing that he had to ask the importance of such a thing.

“So?”

“Bark bark.” He shut you up with his mouth, unamused by your constant puns, instead wanting to fathom the dancing of your tongue rather than the words that actually fell from it.

Your hands raked down the back of his head, your nails pinching into his skin, as you mumbled his own name into his mouth, losing speech as he began to suck at your tongue. “Is this what wolves do, fuck in the woods?” Tyler rolled his eyes at you, raising his arms to slip his shirt off, the sight silencing you, as you ran your palms over his exposed chest.

“Shut the fuck up.” He growled, mushing his lips back onto your own, biting your lip, and pulling at it, leaving you certain that you’d have a bruise left upon it later on. Your hands began to tug at his belt, multitasking with the suffocation of his mouth, as you slightly opened your eyes so that you could find the buckle.

“I don’t think I’m going to do that, all things considered.” You smiled, dipping your hand into his pants, plucking at the material of your boxers, licking your lips, as you earned a reprised moan out of the dog boy.

[fw00shy]

Prophesy

For @drarrymicrofic prompt, better than fighting. This is a 1.4k "microfic" lmao. You can read on AO3 as well as here.

You know when you look at someone and just know they're no good? Pansy says it's a sure sign that they pissed you off in a past life. I tell her that's about the funniest shite I've ever heard. I don't need divinity to explain myself; I've always been good at reading people. That's just how I am.

Say, Pansy. I knew we'd hit it off the moment I saw her head-to-toe in Prada, her hair as glossy as volcanic glass. That's not fate: that's good taste. And Crabbe, well — that one is a bit odd, I'll give you that. Lord knows why I have a soft spot for him when he's far too much trouble for his worth. Nearly got me killed once or twice, even. Not literally, of course — just at the bars, when he drinks me under the table. Pansy says he's "mine" the same way Theo is "hers"; I've never cared for Theo. He seems the type of guy who holds back while you make a rash of bad decisions. Mind you, Pansy isn't much better either, but at least she's always right there, too, making the same damn mistakes.

Pansy asked me what Theo did to piss me off so much. I made up some lie about how he didn't warn me about a rotted foundation on a house I was trying to sell, but really, I don't know why I think that about Theo. I'm a genius people-reader, alright? And I don't question intuition.

So I'm not worried when Blaise calls me in to meet a high-profile client. Rich geezers, they're all the same. And I've seen this one plenty in the newsstands before, so I've already sussed him out. He always looks like he doesn't want to be there. A bit sullen — dead inside — but harmless enough.

"Seems a trifle odd, doesn't it?" I tell Pansy that morning. "He could've called me direct. My number's on half the park benches around his neighbourhood."

"Maybe he thinks you'll say no," Pansy says. She has that faraway look in her eyes she gets every morning before the caffeine kicks in.

"Why would I say no?" I laugh. "I'd be an idiot to give up a million-pound commission."

She's not paying attention to me. Her eyes bug out and her lips part. It's like she's in a bloody trance. I swear she does it just to piss me off.

I'm still thinking about her ugly mug when I'm going up to Blaise's office. He's got the entire penthouse of the building for him to sign papers, and the elevator ride up the twenty-three floors leaves plenty of time for spacing out. So I'm caught off guard when, coming out of the elevator, Harry Potter smacks straight into me and all I want to do is kill him.

Oh lord, how I want to kill him. My rage builds so strong that I'm taken out of my body. Where I go, I don't know. But when I come to, Potter is gone and I'm sitting across from Blaise.

Blaise has his pitying face on, the one he practices in the mirror. His hands are clasped over the expansive walnut desk (live edge, of course), his suit as green as Potter's eyes.

Potter's eyes. Merlin, I barely remember meeting the man, but it's all I can think of now. That luxurious, deep emerald. Green as everything I ever wanted.

"No," I say. "I won't take him on."

"Dee," Blaise says, gentle. His brows raise.

I'm on the spin bike at the gym trying to blow off some steam when Pansy calls and says, "Blaise is right, you know," her voice tinny above the whirl of bikes around me. "You'll be stupid to walk away from a million pounds over a premonition."

"He's a lying tramp, I swear. I'll put in all this work, set up the listing, stage the place, and then he'll change his mind and walk right out. I know. He's a ticking time bomb."

"So...." she giggles, "what'd you think he did?"

I'm confused for a second, but then I realise she's probably talking about her reincarnation theory again.

"Don't you dare start on this past life shite," I warn. "I'm not in the damn mood."

"Maybe he razed your lands. Ohhh, can you imagine, Harry Potter — a viking? All that fur… mm, and those horned helmets. Sure makes me horny —"

"Jesus, woman. I'm at the gym."

"Okay, okay," she says. "Since you're at the gym, what about this: Harry Potter as naughty, lying George Wickham. And you: the poor Lydia Bennet, tricked into a life of poverty and ridicule for the rest of your days. Embittered, you —"

"That's Jane Austen, that's not even real life," I say before hanging up.

I meet Potter at his Islington townhouse the following Tuesday. He's a capital C celebrity so he's got no regular day job, which makes him horrifying easy to slot into my schedule.

"You're late," I say as soon as he opens the front door. He runs a hand through his tangled hair — soft, I know — and bleats out an apology as I brush past him into the grim, old place. The hallway is long and dark. There's a kitchen in the far west corner overlooking the garden. And upstairs there are three bedrooms, of which the medium-sized one is his because it faces east, and he enjoys waking sun-rumpled and satisfied.

The floorplan, I pulled from public records. The rest, I — well, I don't know. I just know. I know it with such vivaciousness that I can see us there, on his — no, our — bed, his arm thrown across my chest, and I —

"Draco?" he asks, tentative. Like he's found something he's lost but isn't sure what to do with it, yet.

My hands clam up, my heart racing back to the present. He's only a foot from me, his doe eyes searching. I know what it feels like to pull him in by the waist, to watch those lids flutter shut as we kiss. And I know he knows this too, so I lean in and punch his face.

"He called me Draco," I say to Pansy later. "Draco. Only my mother calls me Draco, and she's been dead a full decade."

"You're crazy, Dee," Pansy says, patting my hand with hers on the bar counter. "What did you do after? Get on your knees to kiss his arse so he'd keep you on?"

"Bloody hell, no. I bolted the fuck out of there thinking I lost the biggest deal of my life. But then the next day, Blaise calls and says Potter stopped by the office. Says could I get him a list of stagers, all cool and shite like nothing had happened!"

"Hm… maybe you two are more Troilus and Cressida than Brutus and Caesar. Ohh, or Achilles and Patroclus. God, yes. That fits so well —"

"Good God, woman! Unless Patroclus was trying to sell Achilles' ionic column abode, I don't want to hear another peep of past lives from you."

Pansy pushes her martini to me and waits for me to drain it before signalling for another round. "I'm only saying," she says, tapping her square-tip nails on the stem of the glass, "Kissing. Fucking, even. Wouldn't that be better than fighting?"

Naturally, I choke on my drink.

I meet with Potter the next day and manage to get through the walkthrough without any further hallucinations or fisticuffs. I call Greg up to stage the place and we go through the house again the following week. Potter's in the kitchen when Greg leaves and offers me a cup of tea while I wait for my car. I'm out of excuses and exhausted from the day, so I accept.

"Draco," he says when he hands the cup to me. Two sugars, a splash of milk. I try not to think about how he knows.

"Why do you call me that?" I ask instead, blustering.

"Why do you call me Potter?" he retorts. He's smiling, but I can tell he's not really happy. It's the same smile the paparazzi catches him with.

"I don't know," I say because I don't. My tongue knows his name better than I do.

I can't keep my eyes off of his as he comes up to me. "Draco," he says my name like he had a claim to it, long ago. I let him loosen the cup from my hand and push me up onto the counter. The angle's better here; perfect if I want to slide my hand up to his cheek and through his hair. He smells like broomstick and phoenix ash. I love him, I know. But it's not supposed to be this easy.

[buckysgoldenheart]

Protect You

August Walker x Reader

Summary: You discover August is working with Lane and it crushes your heart, but he’s not about to let you go any time soon. He’ll do what he must to prove that you are more important to him than what he wanted before he had you.

Warnings/Notes: Fluff, some smut, cursing, maybe slight angst if you squint (like super hard), Sort of breeding kink (kinda hard to say (it’s like one sentence)).

The details of this story, with Lane and August and their plan/how their relationship worked, are not 100% accurate. There are slight changes, but I just did it for the sake of plot. And dear lord, there are questionable writing choices, but after writing and rewriting this idk how many times, I can’t tell what’s good and what isn’t. So, sorry in advance :’]

Words: 4k…Way too many (my bad).

You ran as fast as you could through streets and back alleys, your steps disturbing the settled water puddles on the cobblestone. Escaping where August had tied you up proved to be much simpler than you were sure he imagined, and he unintentionally gave you enough of a hint to know exactly where he was going.

God, you felt so stupid. He deceived you, fooled you, bound your wrists around a bedpost and gagged you, leaving you behind like trash while he went after your friends; your team.

You shoved through the side door of a parking garage and sped down the stairs. You paused before the last door that opened to the basement floor, inhaled deeply then peeked through the small window. Your vision went red at the sight of your team, their hands raised and weapons scattered at their feet.

“Take them--” August began, his voice devoid of all emotion as you ran in.

“Stop!” You shouted, only slowing your pace once your body was a small barrier between your friends and the crowd of armed men with August at their side. One of many masked men in vests immediately turned his gun your way, ready to pierce a bullet through your heart without a thought, but you didn’t care, your heart was already broken anyway.

“No!” August snapped, his face twisting at the sight of you. He was instantly pissed, you could see it in his body, in the way he now stood. No one else would be able to tell, but you weren’t just anyone else. You knew what every stance, every lip quirk, every flash of emotion in his eyes meant.

He looked away from you for a moment, then shook his head with a curse on his lips. “Not her.”

Masks or not, you knew the men seconds away from killing you had surprised looks plastered on their faces. “Sir?”

“Bring her,” August looked at you. “Inform Lane you have these three,” He said, and you darted your eyes to the panicked faces of Ilsa, Benji, and Luther. “And find Hunt.”

Another man grabbed you around the waist at his order. You kicked at legs and clawed at the arms around you as Benji shouted your name, his voice falling farther and farther away with every step you were dragged from them.

August walked ahead of you, not daring a look back.

“August…” You growled, ready to tear into him, but a needle was shoved into the side of your neck and your vision was quickly blurring the form of his body.

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

Your head jerked up and your eyes burst open. You tried to rub the haze from them but couldn’t.

Tied up again…wonderful. This was not something you enjoyed getting used to, at least not in this way.

As your vision cleared, you saw him sitting across from you, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows on his knees, and hands clasped as he stared at the floor. You had no idea how long you’d been out or how long he’d been watching over you, but by the look of him, he hadn’t slept much in the time since you last saw his face.

“August!” You wiggled in your chair, trying anything to loosen your binds.

August’s head shot up. He looked relieved despite the furious way you hissed his name, but his annoyingly handsome face quickly succumbed to irritation. “I told you to stay put,” He said, a certain grit to his voice. “Why couldn’t you just listen?”

“You tied me up and left me in a room so you could kill my family, you asshole. What did you expect, huh? An obedient little girl? I figured by now you’d have learned I’m far from that.”

“Y/N—”

“How could you do this to them, to…me?” Your voice broke, and god, if your hands were free you would’ve slapped yourself silly. Letting him see a crack in your rage was not a power you needed to give him.

“It’s not what you think. At least, not anymore.” August stood from his chair and crossed his arms. “I didn’t betray you. It’s just complicated and, believe me, you are the last person I wanted to get caught in the crossfire,” He said. “I wish I didn’t anymore, but I have a vital role in Lane’s plan. I don’t just get to back out because I met you. I can’t say ‘sorry, I don’t want to work with you anymore because I have a thing for the girl on the other team.’”

“That’s pathetic,” You spit out. “You’re pathetic, and your loyalty to him is disgusting.”

He hummed, seemingly unaffected by your outrage. “Loyalty is not something I have the luxury to hand out like little candies, sweetheart. It goes to whoever I benefit most from.” He paused. “I get something from Lane believing in my loyalty, but it’s not real, baby.” He leaned down and cupped your jaw. “Every last scrap of devotion I have in me truly goes to you.”

You hated the thought of you and him. You grew more nauseous with each memory you replayed in your head. They were lies. Every move you made while he infiltrated your team he’d observed with a sharp eye. Every kiss you gave him he dissected to discover exactly what to do to make you melt in his arms. The way you spoke, what it took to make you smile, what he needed to say to get you into bed; all of it he must’ve stored in the back of his mind to use against you later. It was all fake; every loving gesture he made, a complete ruse. It had to be.

“What do you mean it’s not real?”

“Lane doesn’t know how I really feel about you,” August said simply. “He thinks I’ve been manipulating you for information.”

A scoff left your throat that you couldn’t help to hold back. As far as you were concerned, he was.

“And he needs to keep believing that, because if I suddenly decide not to finish this,” He continued. “Lane will find a way to make me regret it. And I fear if he gives it too much thought, he will realize the truth; that the only way to break me is to hurt you. So, I tried to separate you from it. I tied you up and I told you to stay there!” His words grew harsher with each one that passed his lips, and by the end of his rant his frustration was more than palpable.

“And what, August, starve to death?”

“I was going to come back for you!”

“Why should I believe you?” Tugging at your ropes again, you groaned. Clearly, he tied this knot better than the last. You looked at him again. “My friends could be dead because you handed them off to Lane, so spew all the pretty words you want but nothing will change that. I may never see them again because of you. You might as well have shot them yourself!”

August was in front of you in an instant, his large hands gripping the arms of the chair you were bound to as he leaned down to look you in the eyes. You glared back at him.

“I don’t give a fuck about them! I give a fuck about you! I don’t care who dies as long as you don’t!” He yelled, scolding you like a child. Then he straightened up. He was so tall, hovering above you. “When this is over…when Lane gets his revenge on Hunt, then I’m done. I will have held up my end of the deal, and that is all he cares about. He has no interest in how I choose to spend the rest of my life, a life with you, as long as he gets what he wants. If the bombs go off and Ethan goes down, you and I can--”

‘A life with you.’ Those words made the steady pounding of your heart stumble, but you shook it off. “I won’t help you find Ethan. I won’t help you pin a massive bombing, the loss of so many lives, on him.”

“No, you won’t,” He agreed. “Because you won’t be doing anything. You are going to stay here, out of harms way, while I make sure everything else goes to plan. I killed one of Lane’s men, the one I told to bring you, so we could get away, and that is all the complication I can afford right now.”

Get away to where, you wondered and looked around. You hadn’t taken to time to process where you were, but as you scanned the room, it was not what you expected. It was something of a small apartment. One common area; A small kitchen that was really just a stove and a fridge, and a couch that pulled out into a very uncomfortable looking bed; A single window carved into the wall to your right allowed just enough light seeping through to tell the time of day. “Where are we?”

“My place…temporarily, anyway.” He mumbled. “But, Y/N, I have to go back. I have to play the part until Lane wins this.”

He’d been playing a part, alright, but you weren’t so sure who he was trying to manipulate anymore. You or Lane. Lane or you. The training in you told you it was you, it was always you. His goal, the reason he planted himself in your team, involved taking you down and you had no reason to believe otherwise. But if there was a chance he wasn’t lying, if he really wanted you to be his, you weren’t sure you’d have the willpower to turn him away no matter what horrible things he may have done. He had that unforgiving power over you, unfortunately.

“Don’t do this, August.” You said. “Lane is a villain, he—”

“I know what he is.” He shut you up.

“If you know what he is, then why would you ally yourself with him?”

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Tell me the truth,” You pressed. “You want me to believe you? Then be honest with me. You owe me that much.”

He paced once, an agitated look marring his beautiful features. At war with himself. You’d seen that look before when you laid in bed together. Now you knew why. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through, and one day I will explain it to you, but I was angry, and working with Lane presented me an opportunity to change things in my own way. To create a better world.”

“Then why give it up? Why bother dropping that fucked up dream of yours? What, have you suddenly seen the error of your ways, August?”

August’s eyes softened as he took a breath. He studied your face in a way that made the last ounce of your tenacity shred to bits. “I’m giving it up because if I don’t, you won’t want me anymore, and I can’t have that.”

“If you still plan to help Lane then it doesn’t make a difference…and I don’t want you.” You lied. Two big, fat liars. Perfect for one another.

“You did a couple days ago.”

Yes…a couple days ago you were kissing him in the early morning before joining the team, musing over the idea of that life together. The idea of being with him, being happy, you craved like nothing else before. He made promises he said he intended to keep. ‘No matter what happens,’ He’d said. ‘One day, you and I will have everything we want.’

He continued. “Y/N, you are all that I care for. I’d give up anything you asked me to. But I’ll also do whatever I have to in order to get us a chance to be together. If that means working with Lane a little longer, then that is what I’ll do.”

“So, to avoid raising suspicion you just had to give my friends over to him, is that right?”

He grabbed the chair he was sitting in earlier and placed it in front of you before taking a seat. “Look, baby, I don’t care about your friends or if Lane kills them, but I know you do, so after I put you in the car, I created a tiny diversion, an advantage over Lane’s men.”

He brushed a few stray hairs behind your ear. You savored that touch, brief as it was.

“Getting you away from there was my main priority, and I didn’t stick around to see the outcome, so I make no promises as to their fate. But…I wanted to do this for you.”

Your eyelids fluttered as you pushed yourself to focus more on his words than the feel of his fingers on your cheek. “So, Lane doesn’t—I mean…they could be fine?” The thought that August spared your friends, or at the very least, gave them the opportunity to escape, made your chest swell. That was the man you had fallen for.

“As long as they took advantage of my generosity, then they could be alive, yes, and might remain so if they don’t run headfirst into the war zone.”

“You know they will.”

“That is not my problem.”

“And Ethan…”

August shook his head. “I won’t give you hope when it comes to Hunt,” He said. “To get what I want with you something must be sacrificed.”

Something? Someone; Anyone, you realized. August clearly didn’t care who. “Then help us take down Lane before he kills all those people. Ethan could get him, and we could escape before Lane even realizes that you aren’t on his side any longer.”

“What?” He rose an eyebrow. If it was anyone’s idea rather than your own, you knew he would have dismissed it without a thought. Assisting Lane was the path of least resistance.

“If all you want is to be with me, for Lane to not cause us any trouble, then why does it matter who you ally with? If something must be sacrificed, why not him?”

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

Four Months Later -- Scotland

“Goddamn, baby,” August growled around your nipple in his mouth. He lightly bit down, and you yelped, the sting of it only adding to your desire.

Roughly thrusting into you once more, he pulled out and crawled off your body to stand at the base of the mattress. You whimpered at the loss of contact. Without him on top of you, your internal temperature dropped to unsafe levels.

With his arms under your thighs, he yanked you to the edge of the bed. He kneeled and placed his warm mouth on your cunt, licking and sucking until you were writhing around, clutching the sheets for dear life. God, you loved what he did to you. You loved the feel of him. You loved the way his beard scratched your inner thighs until angry red marks remained long after he left you sated.

He had grown out his facial hair; kept it neat and manageable to avoid the homeless, mountain-man look, but it was no longer close shaven like it was when you were first together. Warm water didn’t exactly make it to shabby, man-made shacks on the abandoned, cliffside beaches of Scotland, and if August didn’t have warm water, he wasn’t shaving. Without a proper hot water system, the hard and frigid ocean was your only source. You only ever bathed together; your combined body heat the one thing that saved you both from freezing to death.

You came with his name tearing from your throat. You could feel his smirk as he lapped at you two more times before kissing his way back up your body to your swollen lips. He placed his mouth on your own, forcing you to taste yourself, then slid himself in you again, thrusting deep until he filled you with his cum.

You knew you were being stupid; that choosing to have sex without protection while hiding from a man that could kill you at any moment was one of the worst choices you could make. But with each day that passed, you cared a little less. The thought of carrying August’s baby turned you both on like nothing else.

He collapsed next to you then tucked you into his side and sighed.

You looked up at him and he smiled back at you. “I fucking love you,” He said.

“I fucking love you, too,” You chuckled as August ran a hand up and down your arm.

He hugged you to him one last time, kissed the top of your head, then untangled his limbs from yours and hopped up from the bed.

You stared at his ass with a grin on your face as he strutted to the kitchen.

“What do you want for breakfast, babe? Oatmeal or…oatmeal?”

“Both,” You called back, sitting up and stretching.

You followed him to the kitchen a moment later, snickering at the small apron he’d tied around his naked waist as he started up the portable camping stove. They weren’t meant to be used indoors, and the breeze from the open windows for airflow chilled your skin.

“Don’t laugh at me, Darlin’. We can’t have sex again if my dick gets burned off.”

Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you placed a feather light kiss between his shoulder blades and said, “Well, I can always find someone else to fuck.”

August tensed on spot and spun around in your arms with a scowl. “That’s not allowed,” He growled.

“The having sex with someone else, or the mentioning of having sex with someone else?”

“Both!” He snapped but all you gave in return was an innocent grin. “Though, secluded, misty beaches are hardly tourist spots. I don’t know who you think you could find to fuck you around here.”

He suddenly made a face as if a bitter flavor coated his tongue.

Your eyebrows rose. “What’s wrong?”

“Having ‘fuck’ and ‘you’ in a sentence without the words ‘I’m going to’ in front of them just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“You’re a dork.” You slapped his chest and pulled away from him, then nudged your head toward the water starting to boil in the pot. “Now pay attention or you’ll burn the water.” You winked.

Just as August was turning back around, his secure phone on the table flashed red and began to buzz. Both sets of eyes darted to it then you looked at one another. Your breaths hung in the air. August quickly took the pot off the burner and tossed it in the sink.

“Get dressed. Get your stuff,” He said sternly, and you jumped into action as he untied the apron and hurried behind you. You both threw clothes on your bodies, then you went to grab the emergency bags from under the bed while August punched some numbers into the small gun safe. Who the fuck knew you were here? You prayed it wasn’t who you thought it was. You knew Lane hadn’t succeeded in his original plan, but that didn’t mean he had been caught. He was resourceful. Regardless, the alarm was tripped so you needed to get the fuck out of dodge. You’d only have minutes.

“Passports.”

“Got them,” You said, running into the bathroom to grab a couple things.

“The cash.”

“Yes.”

“What about—"

Your eyebrows scrunched together at his pause and you dipped your head around the corner. All of the blood drained from your face.

“Drop the gun,” Ilsa’s deep, feminine voice demanded as she held her own gun to the side of August’s head. His lips thinned but he did as she asked. A loud thump sounded through the room that matched the beat in your chest. “And do not move,” She snarled.

With a smirk, August casually put up his hands. “Don’t worry.”

“Where. Is. She?”

You rushed into the room. “Ilsa!”

She looked at you, her confusion evident, then pushed the gun harder into your boyfriend’s temple as if she thought the image of you in front of her was an illusion meant to catch her off-guard. She didn’t trust August, and you couldn’t blame her.

“Ilsa, please. Just put the gun down.”

Her eyes narrowed as they grazed you up and down. You knew she was wondering how it was that you had not a scratch on you, how you had all of your limbs still attached after months of being held captive by the man she considered an enemy.

“Benji, she’s here,” She spoke into her earpiece.

August stared at you, unconcerned despite how close he could be to death. Your fingers twitched. You wanted to run up and yank him away from Ilsa. You wanted to lock him in the bathroom, out of harms way so you could talk your friend down.

Benji came crashing through the front door not a minute later and all tension in his body visibly released at the sight of you. “Oh, thank God.”

“Guys—” Your trembling voice began.

“You’re alright.” Benji blew out a breath. “I gotta tell you, we weren’t sure we would find you there for a second. This asshole is clever,” He said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder in August’s direction. “We have a chopper a couple miles south, so let’s go. Ilsa can deal with--”

“Guys! Stop.”

Ilsa’s lips parted. “Y/N…”

August chuckled at their obliviousness and you glared at him. “We should’ve moved last week,” He said.

You rolled your eyes. “They clearly aren��t Lane, August.”

“I don’t like them any better.” He crossed his arms in defiance, ignoring the gun at the ready to blow his brains out.

“Y/N!” Both Ilsa and Benji shouted at once, drawing your attention to their bugged-out eyes.

“Look,” You made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “There’s a long story and I will explain but put the gun away. You don’t need it.”

Dubiously, Ilsa lowered her weapon, and with every inch it traveled further away from your boyfriend, the easier it became to breathe.

You reached your hand out and August tried you walk your way, but Ilsa put her arm up, blocking his path. He halted though he could easily snap that arm like a twig.

“Someone needs to speak…now,” She said.

“Where are Ethan and Luther?” You asked.

“Reykjavik,” She replied. “We had two potential leads of your whereabouts.”

It had been easier to track you than you hoped. You’d just left Iceland a few weeks prior.

August looked at you smugly, but his eyes held their usual hint of love that no expression could erase. You knew what he was thinking. ‘I love you, babe, but you should’ve listened to me. If we kept moving, we could be having sex right now.’ He was right. You’d been moving every couple of weeks to throw anyone who might be tracking you off your trail. If you stayed in place, Lane had a better chance of finding you, but you were tired and you liked Scotland. August, soft as was with you, hesitantly agreed to one more week before packing your bags again.

You didn’t notice Benji’s eyes examining the two of you like a hawk honing in on his next prey until it was too late. “Holy shit,” He said, almost stumbling back. “He actually loves you.”

Your head snapped to the left. “Benji—”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! He took you because he loves you! All this time, we thought this asshole was torturing you, maybe even killed you, but he took you because he wasn’t lying about being in love with you?”

You only nodded. He summed it up so eloquently there was little left for you to say.

“Oh, Ethan is going to lose it. This might actually be the thing that does him in.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Benji continued his rambling, now looking to August.

“So, was that the only part of your undercover bullshit that was real, or were you secretly planning to save the rest of us as well?”

“No, I didn’t care if you got killed. Still don’t, actually.” August retorted with a sarcastic smile. “But she does.”

“So, you weren’t with Lane or…?” “Ilsa asked.

“I was, but not since I left with Y/N.” August nudged his head in your direction.

Your friends turned to you. “You should’ve told us,” Benji said.

“I know. I’m sorry, but once we tipped you off about Lane, we had to hide. If he found out it was us before you guys could get to him, then he would’ve killed us both. We didn’t want to take that chance.”

“You tipped us off?” Ilsa’s eyebrow quirked and you could tell her mind was shuffling her thoughts.

“Yes.” August had given you all information he had on Lane and you hoped, after anonymously sending all of it to your team, they’d find a way to take him down. You considered seeing them once more and explaining everything in person, but August wanted to leave immediately and demanded there be no paper trail with your name on it.

Benji sighed. “Well, it worked.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lane is dead,” Ilsa said. “Last month.”

“What?”

Lane...

…dead?

Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

He was gone.

No one was coming after you.

You could go home, wherever you and August would decide that be. You could live the life you promised one another without a threat at any wrong turn.

August rose an eyebrow at you, and when you let out a breathy laugh of relief, he shoved his way past Ilsa.

“Come here, baby,” He whispered only for you, then pulled you to him and kissed you hard.

Benji roughly rubbed his fingers along his forehead, creating wrinkles that were sure to last. “This is so not how I thought this day was going to go.”

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

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[youalexturnermeon]

Warm Beer and Cold Women (Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Request: Hi! I absolutely love your work and I was wondering if I could get a Cobra Kai Johnny imagine where the reader is a bartender and starts crushing on him since he’s a regular and he flirts with her all the time and she pretends to hate it but she actually loves it? by Anon

A/N: Again, Johnny Lawrence x Reader and again it’s gonna be multiple parts (ONLY IF YOU WANT ME TO) because I just can’t keep it short

Warnings: badass reader, drinking, swearing

Wordcount: 1589

“Look, (Y/N), your boyfriend’s back.”

You heard that sentence almost every day during your late shift. Everyday, for about a month now. Jenny, your college at the half empty bar never held herself back. Just like right at the moment when she said that with a grin as you two stood behind the counter and polished glasses to look busy.

You rolled your eyes, “He’s not my boyfriend!” You insisted on it every night as well.

“Your loss, he’s kinda hot”. And Jenny’s answer was also the same every time. This conversation always felt like a déjà-vu, except that it literally happened to you every damn night you had to work. You let out a deep sigh trying to focus on the empty glass in one of your hands and the dirty cloth in the other. Yet you couldn’t help yourself to take a peek at the man who just arrived and took his regular seat at the end of the bar counter. He came here every day and he never made a secret out of doing it just because of his favourite barkeeper – you. He was indeed hot; you thought every time. Although he probably was in his late 40s or maybe even early 50s and looked like he’d seen some shit in his life, he was damn attractive, he had a full head of blonde hair, the bluest eyes you have ever witnessed on a person and he was more athletic than most men your age. You caught yourself hungrily eyeing his toned body, muscles almost popping through the tight black shirt he was wearing.

“Hey gorgeous,” he called over to you when he noticed your glance. And the biggest and brightest smile appeared on his lips. “Hi, Johnny.” you greeted him back, trying to sound the most disinterested and lazily walked over to him.

“Who do I have to screw to get a beer around here?”

You rolled your eyes again, supressing a stupid grin. You almost allowed your brain to picture an image of you two in the men’s bathroom. You pulled yourself together and shook this indecent thought off.

“Most certainly not me.”

“Well, that’s too bad.”

“But if you want me to,” you gestured with your thumb to the door, ‘staff’ written on it, behind you, “I can go fetch Kenny, he won’t say no to that. It’ll get you at least 2 free drinks, I think.”

Kenny was a big old biker, with long grey hair and a long grey beard, dressed in leather from head to toe, who owned the shabby bar you worked in. He also looked quite scary if one didn’t know him. Johnny’s smile twitched into a disgusted grimace. And you laughed from planting the thought of Johnny screwing Kenny inside his head. He didn’t like him very much.

“If you weren’t the hottest chick I have seen in my whole life, I would’ve called you a stupid bitch of a barkeeper and left you without any tip. But your pretty face and your great ass saves you all the time, huh?”

“Yes, Johnny,” you replied sarcastically “this has brought me very far in live, after all I’m a respectable barkeeper in not the shabbiest bar of Reseda but quite close to it, renting a luxury 1-bedroom apartment next to the most famous meth-head on the block for much more than it’s worth. Are you having the usual?” Johnny nodded, and you went off to get him his beer and whisky. Sometimes it was hard for you to be so mean to him, he was the only man on earth who showered you with complements all the time, not giving up flirting with you no matter what you said. But after all, he was still a local drunk hitting on a barkeeper. There was a lot of those, you had a few of them every night and Jenny even more. The only thing different about Johnny was that he was very good-looking and the most persistent of them all.

Jenny winked at you as you drew a beer from the tap system and poured the cheap brown liquid into a shot glass.

“How’s the love life going?”

“Fuck off, Jenny!”, you grunted and made your way back to the regular. You placed his order in front of him and stood still, arms crossed. To be fair, you didn’t have anything else to do, it was Tuesday night and only a few people sat in the dark corners of the bar getting drunk just by themselves. You might as well just let yourself entertain by the man who appreciated you.

“So, tell me,” Johnny started after he took the first sip of his beer, “How is live treating you, (Y/N), anything badass happened to you recently? You good?”

He always asked you how you were although you never really answered. You admired his endurance.

“Actually, quite the opposite?”

Johnny’s eyes widened a little and he stood his beer glass back on the counter. Surprised about a different answer today and curious for it being elaborated.

“What is it?”

You leaned over the counter and lured him closer to you with your finger, so close that his face was right in front of yours and your breath tickled him. He smelled quite nice, you reckoned, you did not expect that.

“The thing is,” you started whispering into his ear, him excitedly leaning even closer to you, happy over the slightest contact “there’s this creep who keeps coming into the bar. Almost every day, I think he’s a high-functioning alcoholic. And he just can’t leave me alone for once, always hitting on me, always talking to me. He might as well be stalking me and he’s like 20 years older than I am. Should I be afraid of him?”

Even though all you said was a lie since you didn’t think of Johnny as a creepy stalker anymore, rather a lonely guy, your words weren’t intended to be so hurtful. As soon as they left your lips you bit your tongue. Was that too much this time? But you wanted to get rid of him, did you?

“I heard he’s a quite good-looking bastard, tough.” Johnny retorted immediately without even flinching as if none of what you said struck him in the slightest. And that’s what you liked about him, he still wanted to woo you.

“And maybe if you’d give him a chance, you’d realize what a good fucking guy he is.”

You let out a hateful laugh. That would break your one and only work-rule.

“Nah, I don’t fuck with regulars.”

“Who said something about fucking?”

You bit your lip, no one did, it was your brain picturing you and Johnny again.

“You look damn hot doing that,” he said with a smirk and you promptly released your lip from your teeth.

“I’ll cook dinner, we watch a movie on my couch – “

“Thank you very much but I can have stale pasta at home by myself.“ you interrupted him, the corners of your mouth twitching. To be honest, you would like to have that, but you already were too far into acting like you hated everything he said and did and above all just him as a person.

“C’mon, (Y/N), when do you finally let met buy you a drink”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Johnny rolled his beautiful blue eyes, “You say that all the time”

“Because you ask me that all the damn time.”

“’Cause I like you.” “Seriously Johnny, fuck off, you’re boring me.”

“Why do you always have to be such a bitch to me?” he exclaimed and maybe you were imagining that but for the first time since for ever you could make frustration out in his tone. That was exactly what you wanted, right?

“Woah,” you held your hands up “Watch your filthy mouth. You’ll have to give me a big fucking tip tonight, Johnny or I really go fetch Kenny so he can kick your sorry ass out for good.”

“No, I’ll just screw him instead, then I’ll be fine” You snorted, that man was unbelievable. Johnny, clearly satisfied with himself and his joke smiled with triumph.

“See, I made you laugh”

“Yeah, whatever” you said waving. And in that moment the huge mountain of a man, Kenny, came out of his office and stared blankly into Johnny.

“You’re gonna do what!?”, his voice roared through the bar, and Johnny suddenly became all small in his seat. You burst out laughing and finally used that situation to remove yourself from that scene. After all, you had work to do, you couldn’t just spend all your hours with Johnny. Even if you liked to.

“Uh oh,” Jenny said mockingly when you leaned against the counter next to her with a big sigh, “Relationship troubles?”

You nodded with a grin and made yourself a shot of vodka ready. You threw your head back and poured it down your throat all at once, you groaned but it felt good.

“Wow, would it have killed you if you did that with that poor guy over there?” Jenny signed over to Johnny, now sitting all alone looking down his fourth beer.

You shrugged; you didn’t want to indulge him that much.

“C’mon, you clearly in love with him and you know that.” “I don’t!” “You do, you like him.” “I fucking don’t. Stop making shit up in your hollow head!”

But that was a lie. For you the sun shone out his ass, that’s how much you liked him.

**************************************************************************************

Would you guys like me to write a second or maybe a third part??? Pls let me know?

also, let me know if you want to be tagged in my one shots and stuff

PART 2

[writernotwaiting]

Loki Meta Nobody Asked For, part 3--All MCU Lokis are AU fan fiction Lokis

There is so much in part 3 that I really wanted to see and I very much want to celebrate, but once again, I am conflicted.

Ok. Good things: Loki and his magic. Loki and fighting. Loki and improvisation. Loki as bisexual. Loki talking about his mother. Loki showing a moral compass.

All of these are Most Excellent Things: • Loki here is finally not a de-powered pushover. His illusions are effective. He teleports over a short distance. He resists Sylvie’s mind control. He stops a multi-ton support tower from falling and pushes it back up into place!!!! • He fights effectively--finally! Granted, his dagger misses its mark, but he was drunk, so I’ll give him a pass on that. Aside from that, he finally shows us some highly effective hand-to-hand combat skills. Thankyouverymuch for acknowledging that Loki survived a millennia of life in a warrior culture. He was raised by a warrior king. His brother is a Hero(tm). There’s no way he didn’t learn some skillz. His ineffective fighting in episode 2 can easily be attributed to the fact that he was pulling his punches when he was fighting the human shields Silvie possessed. • Loki’s character explicitly acknowledged their queerness!!!! This makes my little queer heart glow bright, and I think needs no more comment. Just . . . yesssss! • Loki loves his mom. Loki is conflicted about that relationship because They Lied To Him.  And did I mention that Loki speaks wistfully about his mother and a bit about the fact he was adopted and no one told him until he already pretty much found out (in the most awkward way ever). Even Sylvie thought that was pretty poor parenting. Good stuff. • Loki really doesn’t want to kill innocent bystanders and only attacks folks who attack him first. He is also kind of appalled to hear that the TVA workers are all variants who’ve had their minds wiped. Again, this is all excellent, and fits well with the Loki we met in Thor I who just really wanted to make sure his war-mongering brother didn’t sit on the throne until he grew up a bit, and then Everything Got Way Out of Control. • We see Smart!Loki in action, as opposed to hear Mobius flatter Loki to get him to cooperate. While one of Loki’s attempts at deception fails miserably, the other works (with Sylvie’s help). This is all excellent and made me Very Happy Indeed!

[more below the break]

I also very much liked many parts of his interactions with Sylvie, and the fact that we got a tiny bit of her backstory (and I love her insistence on her own identity--this is very much I think a Loki thing, “I am not you. I am my own thing, thank you very much”). This relationship has a great deal of potential for complexity and depth. I am totally here for enemies to frenemies to allies if that’s where the series is going.

I like the reveal that the TVA agents are all variants themselves who have been “wiped” and indoctrinated. We are finally getting more obvious hints at the insidiousness of the TVA.

So why am I still conflicted about the series? Well, here is what I did not like: • Loki’s improvisation with the old woman--he had too little information to pull off an effective scam like that and he would have known that. He had a photograph. A black and white photograph--no voice, no personality, no coloration, no body language; he didn’t even know if the picture really was one of a husband and not some other type of relation. There was no way it would ever work. He should have known that. Loki would have known that. • His voice and body language when he pretended to be a guard was stupid and unconvincing, not mimicry. That was a joke. • The getting drunk thing. I found this not only disappointing but insulting and also possibly lazy on the part of the writers. It felt completely out of character. In fact, Sylvie felt much more “Loki-ish” in this scene than Loki did. I just cannot in any universe see Loki doing anything like this under these conditions. They are undercover in a high-pressure situation in which they are about to be wiped out of existence if they fuck things up, and Loki decides to get drunk? No. This is a virtually suicidal loss of control. They have no idea how long they would be on that train or what they would have to deal with later. They have no idea what sort of security is in place on the train. Why did they even stop in a bar, of all places? Why not find a sleeper car and stay out of the way? For that matter, why not just find seats? Why would a guard be sitting in a booth at a bar with a prisoner? They wouldn’t. Loki’s sense of self-preservation is stronger than that. He’s smarter than that. It was stupid and out of character and also unnecessary--there are so many other ways they could have gotten them shoved off that train that did not involve Loki making a spectacle of himself. It was, in fact, a very Thor thing to do, not Loki-like at all. • I still feel as though Tom is over-emoting in all of the scenes that are less than life-or-death. It does not feel like the Loki I met in Thor I and The Avengers. That Loki had a length of re-bar up his spine and only genuinely smiled when he looked at Thor (when Thor was smiling).

I feel like Tom is playing two Lokis in the show--the one that fights his way out of tight spots and occasionally deals with his difficult family issues, and the other is a parody of mischief!Loki--whose face is extremely emotive and who wants to bare his soul to whomever looks vaguely as though they’ll listen to him.

So, here’s my mid-series conclusion. All MCU Lokis are fan fiction Loki’s of the comics. Among those MCu fan fics are three distinct AUs.

1. The Loki we meet in Thor I, The Avengers, and Thor II. This Loki works hard to bury his emotions. His body language is generally stiff and prickly. He is the product of growing up in a culture that is driven by a toxic masculinity and devalues those traits that are coded “feminine” such as all of those things Loki excels at. Because of this, he has gotten the message his entire life that he is with less that the Golden Child that is Thor. He loves his brother with all his soul but resents him because his father placed them in competition with one another. All of this was reinforced by growing as the “tag-along” little brother who was tolerated but not embraced by Thor’s closest friends. This Loki becomes self-destructive and suicidal, experiencing a psychotic break as a result of revelations about his adoption and internalized racism. He spends who-knows-how-long falling through the void enduring perhaps months of sensory deprivation only to be tortured and manipulated by Thanos. He emerges from that experience Truly Fucked Up, stopped of much of his power because he’s had the living shit kicked out of him. But his core self is still there somewhere--a core self that loves his brother, that craves affection, that really hates what Asgard has done to him but still has a moral compass in there somewhere that says wiping out the entire universe is a bad thing and I guess protecting helps humans is something he ought to do since his brother loves them.

2. The Loki we meet in Ragnarok and IW. This isn’t really the same guy as Loki #1. It’s a fan fiction AU in which Loki has no trauma to deal with. He is a manipulator. But he is a manipulator because he is a survivor. He does what he has to do in order to be not dead, and if he can also have some luxury while he does it, well, that’s a bonus. Theoretically, he is a powerful mage--since he was able to overcome Odin and place him in a nursing home--but we don’t see any of that on screen. He is revered Mostly Harmless by the narrative. There is no re-bar up his ass. His body language is much more loose and emotive. His characterization has been flattened out in order to serve as a narrative foil for Thor, and will be bridged in IW to serve Thor’s character development (yet another feminization of his character). Many people really enjoyed this version of Loki. But let’s be clear, he isn’t the same Loki we met in the other three movies.

3. The TVA Loki. This Loki is a new fan fiction. A third AU. This Loki is slightly closer to Loki #1 in that his characterization is a bit more complex than Loki #2. He is smarter. He is more versatile and powerful. He has a backstory that isn’t being mocked. His queerness is not being used to villain-code him. But it would be wrong to say he’s the same Loki that we saw in the first three movies. This Loki’s trauma is all family-related, which great, at least they acknowledge that.

However, he clearly is not the PTSD!Loki that we see in TDW. They have decided (at least so far) to completely ignore what happens between Thor I and The Avengers. I’m not quite sure why it’s ok to deal with trauma when it’s Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark, but not ok when it’s Loki, but this is the decision the director made, and if I want to enjoy the show, I have to be ok with that. So that’s what I’m going to do right now. The Loki show is fan fiction. It’s an AU. And it does a pretty good job at doing that.

[sasa-gay-yo]

Just Us (Chapter Fifteen: Dedicate Your Heart)

← Chapter Fourteen

I thought I was going to die. Sitting there hearing his pompous ass ramble on about how better his life than ours in the Capital was going to make me go crazy if he didn’t stop. He seemed to enjoy it too. The way his lips curled into a smirk when he heard Jonas groan next to me as he went on and on about the luxuries of the capital and what the Military Police get for their monthly bonus. I was just trying to keep my best behavior up because Ben had threatened Jonas and me before this meet-up. It was even worse than I thought it was going to be too because Catrin wasn’t there to talk over him. I’d rather hear her babble on about her baby and hair salon than whatever shit is coming out of his mouth now. Duran was point-blank lying about all of this and you knew it. MPs just sit around and do nothing in the capital, and now he was accepted to join a special team that was so top secret, he could only tell us every detail? I didn’t buy it. Also, how was he considered an elite soldier? These were all the thoughts running through your mind while he talked. 

“That sounds like an amazing opportunity for you Duran. Maybe we can visit you as a family in the capital after your training.” I also laughed at Ben’s proposal, knowing good and well I was never going to willingly venture onto Duran’s turf where he can bullshit to us even more. If anything, we should show up at a random time so he’s taken by surprise and can’t cover up his lies with a few changes of cash. 

“But enough about me,” he feigned, “What’s been going on with you all here back home?” Ben looked at Jonas and me, then to his wife, and realized that he was the only one willing to talk, so he started off about his job and the cafe. I knew I’d be next, so I was trying to build some narrative in my head that Duran couldn’t pick apart. In the middle of the part where I’m trying to figure out how to not tell him about closing the shop for a period of time, Jonas kicked me under the table. As annoyed as I was, when I saw him move his head towards the back door I was the first one out of my chair. 

“Fresh air,” I mumbled, before walking out, not hearing Duran’s comment when Jonas got up to join me. 

“Those two finally together?” I slammed the door, forgetting that Jonas was right behind, and he walked out holding his head. I mumbled sorry before starting up the ladder to the roof. The spot that Jonas and I always went to do nothing. Once on the roof, it gave a nice view across Trost and I could see the top of the walls where the guns and Garrison sat in wait. A few days ago, the whole of Trost was awoken by cannon fire, and it took all but two hours for the café to be bustling with the rumors that the first titan had reached the outside of Trost. To say it was scary was an understatement, but it was overly annoying that now the people were rejoicing how close the Scouts were to save Trost if anything happened. I don't remember those praises when the mission to reclaim the wall had happened. How easily they could switch up because they needed personal protection astounded me. After that incident, the Scouts had allocated a few people to stand watch every day at the wall to kill any abnormal or call for help if the titans that destroyed Shiganshia were back again. It was morbid, but I was waiting for the day that the Colossal Titan, as people were calling it, reached a hand over Trost’s walls. Staring at them now, I could just picture it. 

“Penny for your thought, Ev?” Jonas took out a pack of cigarettes, a habit he acquired in the past few months, and got something out of his pocket to light it. The roof and outside of my apartment was the only place he could do it without getting yelled at by Ben or his roommates. I had done my best to warm him the first few weeks, but he seemed not to care. Still, I had no idea why he started now when he had years previous to do it.

“Thinking about when the Colossal Titan reaches Trost.” He took a drag and just nodded, counting on comments of morbidity to come from my mouth. It was a common theme now. 

“Anything else less… intense? I’m trying to have a relaxing time up here before I have to go down and listen to Duran’s mouth.” I smiled lightly, dangling my legs off the edge of the building. I had to think of something else to say because that’s truly all I was thinking about. These days, I don’t try and let my mind run.

“I was thinking about paying a few petty gang members to jump Duran on his way back to Mitras. You want to donate a few notes?” He sighed, this time shaking his head, but I could see the smile on his face. It was a tempting offer for the day we’ve had to endure. 

“Unfortunately, my crime funds have run low. If Catrin was here, she’d donate though.”

“She would.” The wind whipped through once, and I put my arms around myself, regretting not storming out with at least a jacket. It was almost winter. One month till the end of the year. Six months. 

“How long did Ben say Duran was staying? Am I going to have to entertain him tomorrow in the café?” Jonas snuffed out his cigarette on the brick before leaning back a bit to feel the wind enter his ashed lungs. 

“The week I think. At least he’s not staying in your old bedroom. Now I can’t stay at home when I want to for the next week. I have a double shift in two days and it was so much easier to come back here and sleep.” I groaned. God, I was going to have to entertain him and his new happy-go-lucky attitude. That was the worst part. While he was still annoying, braggy, and covertly malicious, the only thing that changed is that he seemed less interested in fighting outright. Actually, it was even more annoying because there wasn’t anything to call him out for upfront. He hid his ass well and Ben seemed to be eating up this fake persona.

“At least Ben isn’t forcing you to make food for this fucking family picnic inside the walls. It’s your fault for telling him about the meadow. I have no idea why now Ben feels like we need to be a family again, I’m almost thirty.” Jonas huffed one in laughter.

“I could think of a few reasons why, but I’d like to keep the peace we’ve made tonight.” I nodded, knowing what some of those reasons were.

“I’m glad you’ve made that decision.” He threw the cigarette off the building and I watched it fall and hit the ground. The last spark flew out of it when it hit the mud, and quickly burnt out. I just stared at it for what seemed like forever. 

“If you went back to your old self, you know, became happy again, I’m sure Dad wouldn’t force you on family picnics.” Ah, there it was. The daily comment about my state of emotion. It was different than last time. I wasn’t crying anymore and I didn’t show up to the café with bloodshot eyes from no sleep. No, I was calm. I was living on spite. There would be no tears for someone who would never drop them for me. There was anger. Definitely anger. Sometimes it came out too. The latest victim was Elias who had spilled over a whole pail of water and I yelled at him loud enough for Jonas, who was outside throwing away garbage, to hear. I bought him any sweet he wanted from the corner shop to apologize. He wasn’t the only one I’d let my anger out on. 

Hange visits me now. I don’t know why she does it, and every time she sits in his seat. At first, it was annoying to be reminded of him, but I grew to like her conversation. Once, however, she talked about him, and I yelled at her to stop. She seemed used to it for some reason, not even flinching with my harsh words. Even after, she continued as nothing happened and let me feel guilty. The last time she came, about the same time the first titan reached Trost, I treated her to an extra tart because of it. 

“This is me now, Jonas. Pretty much.” I pushed back the skin on my nails knowing he would protest that. 

“No, it’s not. I’ve never seen you act like this. This isn’t you.” I just hummed, agreeing so he would stop pressing it. I’d try my hardest every day to not think about it. One-track mind. 

“You two! Come back down! It’s time for dessert!” The door slammed behind Ben, signaling he’d gone back inside after yelling at us. Jonas stood up before I could say something back, motioning that the conversation was done. This is how it usually went. He was too overwhelmed with the fact that I had no emotion anymore and then just left the conversation. 

“Well come on then.” 

For the rest of the week, my detest towards Duran was building. He came every day to the café, dressed up in his MP uniform, and talked to everyone like he owned the place. Some of the older women also flaunted over him, remembering the days he was here and making some form of fake past where he actually stayed in the café. I couldn’t even remember a clear time when he was in the café while I was working, and I worked there every day. They must have remembered something very, very different than I did. I just stood there and watched with distaste and told all my grievances to Jonas.  On the day of the picnic, I was about to completely snap. 

The family picnic had included Elias and June and Jonas’s sister. Elias and June had come to the café that morning, asking if they could stay with me since their family was starting another cult meeting and I agreed, knowing it would be a welcoming distraction to Duran. We were now waiting outside Jonas’s house. Waiting for Duran to put his stupid MP gear on. He thought the citizens of Trost would marvel at his status, not having any MPs here, but I told him that they’d rather spit on him. That set him off once, but he easily controlled it. I guess this new squad needed him to control that nasty ass personality to be in it. Good.

“And the person who bought the book said that it was like brand new! Mr. Philpa even commended me on my work! I really think I’m starting to get the hang of it.” I mustered to give June a smile, trying to keep her happy atmosphere up. I would need it today if I was going to be forced to listen to Duran for hours now. Since I insulted him this morning, I was going to have a target on my back the rest of the day. That was very clear when he complimented how well my makeup covered up the huge black circles on my face. Passive aggressive ass. 

“Alright, everyone! Time to head out!” Ben was over the moon that his family had gathered to do something. He was the family man, always. It was probably instilled in him by Mrs. Flynn, at least that’s what Catrin had said, and it was getting to be annoying. I could come to their house to eat, but to forcibly make me make food for Duran who was just going to complain about the flavor? I couldn’t handle that. I swore up and down the kitchen when I was making this last night. As we walked to the Trost entrance, Duran just kept talking, and even at the front of the pack with Jonas and Elias, I could still hear him rambling. It was giving me a headache, which was a telltale sign I was going to burst any minute. This is always what happens when I yell at someone. The anger builds up into physical pain, and I can’t get rid of it any other way. In the dead of the night, I’ll wake up from a dream and find no better remedy than yelling Fuck really loud. It’s embarrassing when I forget Jonas is usually on my couch.

“You good?” Jonas leaned in to whisper in my ear and I just looked at him out of the side of my eyes. He got the memo and continued talking to Elias about his school work. It was too loud in this part of Trost, and Duran’s stupid voice was even louder. This coupled with the fact that people would stop to talk to Ben or even me was getting to be way too much. This is why I stayed in the café most of the time. 

“Eva, haven’t seen you come this way for a while,” the Garrison captain called out from where he and the morning watch were playing cards on a barrel. At that moment, I vividly remembered punching him in the face, and I was tempted to do it again as he stopped the whole party to talk to me. The way he said it was definitely hinting at the fact that I was no longer in his secretly assessed relationship. 

“I’ve just come when you’re not around, Captain. Probably drunk in a pub somewhere.” Duran was the first to hop into the conversation, ready to begin a military circle jerk. 

“Evylnn, that’s not how you talk to a military member! Good morning, Captain.” Duran held his hand out to the Captain who gave one weary look at it and shook it. He remembered Duran correctly and he knew how much trouble he’d gotten into as a kid. He was also probably surprised that he had an MP uniform on when he would throw rocks at the Garrison.

“I don’t know what it’s like in Mitras, but that’s how we talk to them here in Trost, Duran. Then again, what would a military mouse like you know?” He turned and glared, making me reminisce about the real Duran. The signature glare was still there. You just had to wait for it.

“We’re just leaving, Captain. Sorry to bother you!” Ben grasped my shoulder, hard, making me pay for what I’d said to both the Captain and Duran. He pulled me too, right to the front where Jonas and the kids were standing. While he pushed me, he whispered a threat in my ear. 

“If this picnic is ruined by you, you’re paying.” I didn’t react, even though I wanted to roll my eyes at him. It wouldn’t be my fault if I said something to make everyone uncomfortable. It would be Duran’s fault because he provoked me. I just tsk-ed as he let me go and started walking back to join Analee. 

“You don’t know how bad I want to ruin this picnic now, Jonas.” He sighed, but I could definitely tell it was to hide a laugh in front of Elias and June. When we got to the open gate, the Garrison soldiers saw my glare and just let us through without any protest. Usually, this large of a group would be questioned thoroughly, but since I was in it, they knew not to ask me anything. Duran seemed surprised by this and stopped to yell at them for not doing their job, holding us up again. I just stood there, halfway through the tunnel as he blabbed on and on able the Garrison's responsibility like he was their boss. An MP wasn't going to boss Garrison members around, but here he was in his arrogance, trying to do that.

“You don’t know how to do your jobs! If there’s a group this large the-” 

“Scouts are coming!” Someone yelled from above the wall, and when I looked out the entrance, I could see the horses nearing the walls. They were leaving late today, but how could I forget it was the first of the month. 

“Please, Miss. Flynn, we're going to ask you to move and stay here till the Scouts progress through. It won’t be that long there isn’t a lot of them.” I was touched by one of the Garrison soldiers, and I quickly shrugged their hand off of me, not wanting to move. I could see Erwin now in front of everyone, and subconsciously I was looking for the black hair. Jonas was the one to come over and drag me to the side of the tunnel so I wouldn’t get trampled on impact. 

“How could I forget?” I whispered, and I knew he had heard it. Technically, there were supposed to leave by the time I woke up today, making sure I never was tempted to look out my window when they left. Whenever they came back, I would sit in the back room too. I was making such an effort to never see him, but now I was forced to stand here as the Garrison blocked the two sides of the tunnel. Duran and the rest were held back and only Jonas, Elias, June, and I stood in the tunnel. I couldn't even hide. I was there in plain sight and I knew I would be face to face with him. I hardened my face quickly as they approached. He wasn’t going to get to see any emotion from me. Just like he did to me. He stood on his horse right next to Erwin and right in front of me. I didn’t even look at him like I said I was going to do. I stared right at Erwin who was stopped by the Garrison squad leader to do a head and supply count. 

“Commander Erwin!” Elias called out, making everyone who didn’t care about our presence now look right at us. I felt the eyes. I heard some of the whispers. Some of them didn’t die between then and now, and they remembered my face. It was telling too that I couldn’t stare at Levi, but I didn’t feel his eyes on me. He didn’t care about me. I had to remind myself about that. He didn’t care. That’s why he left me. He used me. I just had to tell myself this over and over again to try and forget. I was doing so good recently too. I’d only think about him once a day now, but this instance was going to ruin it. If I even glanced and met his eye, it would all be gone. 

“Hello, Elias. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. You’ve grown,” he looked over to me, noticing that the two of us were just glaring at him instead of looking at each other, “Eva. It has been too long.” I fought back the urge to scoff, but I knew I had to respond. I had to let him know I wasn’t hurt. 

“It has, hasn’t it Commander. If you come to the café with Squad Leader Hange, I’ll treat you.” I smiled. The best smile I had mustered in months. He needed to know I was done. I was past him. I didn’t need him. I didn’t think of him every night. I didn’t regret not sleeping in my bed once with him. He needed to know that I didn’t. 

“Of course I’ll take you up on that offer, Eva. Well, we’ll be off.” He nodded down to the Garrison soldier and they moved the blocks out of the way so the horses and carts could continue. When his horse started walking, I thought it safe to look at him. His eyes were filled with that one emotion. The one that was there when he had nightmares. When he confessed his feelings to me. When he told me about his life in the Underground. The emotion, still unnamed to him, I had labeled pain. He was in pain. I hoped my eyes didn’t display the emotion that I was feeling either. With one look up, and one sheer shot of pain through my heart, I looked back down on the ground. He knew. He knew exactly what I’d been through. What I was thinking. And it was sadistic of me to think that for one second that that look of pain was because he missed me. No, it must have pained him to see how hopeless I was. It must have further proved that I couldn’t live without him. Pain. I was feeling pain. I was feeling it this whole time. These whole six months. 

“You may carry on, Mr. Flynn.” 

“I didn’t know that you knew the Commander of the Scouts, Eva. Fitting.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. He was talking about Kristian. I handed the picnic basket of food to Jonas and took one look at Duran and smiled wickedly. 

“I’m sorry you’re jealous that I’m closer to high ups than you’ll ever be, Duran. Maybe if you got on your knees for them like you probably did to get on this special squad of yours, then you’d be in my position. Sorry brother, but I’m not hungry anymore. I’ll be cleaning the café.” Ben didn’t stop me, but I knew he was mad. I’d ruined his figurative perfect family picnic and now he was going to have to deal with a pissed-off Duran and talk about me the whole time. I did feel a bit guilty, but I just couldn’t stand being there. Not now. I took the long way home, making sure not to cross the main road, and walked up to my apartment from the back. I shut all my windows too. Loud. Hoping that maybe if he was situated outside my window in formation, he would hear it. 

I left those upstairs windows closed for what felt like forever. Jonas would always complain how stuffy it felt with no light besides oil lamps in the living room, but I always yelled at him if he went to touch them. I need to stop myself from being tempted. Every first of the month, I would hear it. I heard the horses and the carts match forward. I listened to Erwin’s speech each time. Every speech had a similar form and ended with the famous line shinzo wo sasageyo. There would be some lowered shouts and then they would all ride off to the other gate into the land of the titans. Give your hearts. How to give your heart when it’s in pieces? That’s what I thought every time and if the windows weren’t closed, I would have looked out to see Levi. Was he looking up at the windows like he used to? Giving me a firm nod before they left, only to do the same when I saw them come back. I wanted to know so bad, so that’s why I kept them shut. If I looked and he didn’t do it, it would ruin the illusion in my mind that somehow he still had feelings for me.

Eren, Armin, and Mikasa came back too. One last time before they were off to training camp. I was touched that they would remember my single act of kindness, and I treated them to their last sweet meal for three years. 

“If we can write letters, Miss. Eva, I’ll write one to you.” Armin told me in confidence, and I nodded, telling him that I would like that. Even if I’d known them for so little, it was hard to see them off to training camp. They were cadets now and Eren was still going on about killing all the titans. I guess it was a bit refreshing to see such passion in his eyes, but it still scared me a little. I told him to calm himself down before they stepped off back to their last night in the Garrison storeroom. They waved, even Mikasa, and I made them take a little food-to-go. Once they were done with training, they would be stationed in Trost as cadets before going to be Scouts. They would visit me then, they promised. I would be able to see them all grown up. I also told them that I would probably be able to see them when they graduate regardless, but it gave something for the others to look after. Armin and Mikasa seemed much less enthusiastic to go out in the field and kill titans.

“Their names are Eren, Mikasa, and Armin. At least, Eren said he wanted to join the Scouts.” I passed the cup of coffee over to Hange who seemed to be scribbling furiously in her notebook. I had to even light a candle since she had stayed so late, stuck by some inspiration. After their last exhibition, she’d gotten to study a titan’s gut up close and she said she needed an extra dose of coffee to be able to draw everything. 

“If they want to be in the Scouts that bad they will. Only the top 10 people get to be an MP and then the rest usually go to the Garrison. Scouts are a special breed. We usually only get twenty in good years.” I took a sip of my coffee, not caring about how long I’d stay up tonight. I’d probably be here talking to Hange either way. She seems to have made it her mission to not let me feel lonely. Every time she comes she has little tasks for me or something that she needs to consult people for. I never get sleep on the days that Hange comes, but I feel a bit warmer slipping into bed. 

“I have a brother who went to the MPs, that means he was in the top ten of his class?” I gave her a look of disbelief. There was no way Duran was actually good at what he did. Top ten my ass. He would be bragging about it if he was.

“The only way they would allow that if most of the top 10 pick Scout or Garrison. The MPs need to hit a certain quota every year, so that could be why. What do you think of this? Is it proportional to the titan's body?” She showed me her notebook and pointed to something that looked like a small intestine. I shrugged.

“Hange, I don’t know what titans look like.” She sighed, nodding. 

“You’re right, I forget that you aren’t a Scout. You know, you’re the only person who isn’t a Scout that I know.” I didn’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not. 

“Don’t you have a family, Hange?” She pulled back the notebook and erased the part she pointed out at me, redrawing it. 

“Well, yeah, but they don’t count. It’s just my parents and they don’t really care about titans either. I think they’re just fascinating.” I gave her a light smile before turning to look out the window at the setting sun. The snow was starting to melt now, but relatively early. I wondered what Eren and the others were doing. If it wasn’t dinner, then probably more training. Their first day was only a few days ago and Hange had told me again about the man who trains them. Hard as a rock and yells really loud. She didn’t have him personally, but he spent his last year in the Scouts when she had just joined.

“I wish I knew more about titans and the military. A lot of people I know are in the military, so it would make sense, you know?” She put her pencil down and crossed her hands. 

“If you want to know more about titans I can tell you about all my experiments. If you want to know more about the military, you can ask me. I’ve been there a while.” She pushed her glasses up again and I turned to look at her. Hange really was an almanac in front of me. 

“Do titans really look like they draw them in the newspaper? They look like big humans?” A finger went up as she started her lecture. 

“Titans have faces like humans sometimes, and other times their features are often... oversaturated. We have no idea why this variation happens occurs. Some look like big versions of you and me, and others look like they have giant eyes, a small forehead, and huge lips. Like three feet long lips. They’re naked too, but without human genitalia. It’s just bare down there. Most of the time, they just look like pink humans. Then there are abnormals.” 

“I’ve heard those words before,” I pointed out and she nodded quickly. I wasn’t going to tell her who I heard it from, but I’ve heard it. 

“Abnormals are those who don’t act like regular titans. They might have more intelligence or partially weird bodily traits. Some can jump, others can crawl. You probably heard it when people talked about Shiganshina. The two titans that broke through the walls were abnormal. One was taller than the walls and the other was really muscular and had armored plates on its body. And it was yellowy-orange, which is not a titan color. But you want to know why those titans are even more abnormal than abnormals?” Her eyes lit up in the candlelight, and it was almost scary how she was getting when talking about this. I wondered how the Scouts got so lucky to find someone like Hange to discover these things for them. 

“Why?” 

“They disappeared. Poof!” She yelled using her hands, “Into thin air! No matter which titan they are, the body is always there to cut into. Once we got there, both the Colossal and the Armored Titan were gone in thin air. There was no way that would happen with any normal titan. I just want to know why! This is like one of the biggest titan secrets ever!” They disappeared into thin air?

“That doesn’t make sense.” 

“I know!” She seemed delighted with this information, “You can see why people left this out of the newspapers. The citizens would go crazy if they knew a titan that was like 80 meters tall just walked off!” She went off in her usual manic laughter after that, just overly joyed that a titan like this could have an ability like that and she was one of the only people who could figure out the mystery. 

“Hange, are you supposed to tell me all of this?” She stopped laughing and blinked once or twice before breaking out into a smile again. 

“No.” This made me laugh too. That was Hange’s ability. I don’t laugh unless it’s about her. Really laugh. She says jokes or acts in a way that lightens the mood in the empty café. I thank her for that regularly.

“Hange, it’s getting late, you should probably head out. You have an expedition tomorrow… Unless you want to stay here. I have space upstairs.” This was the first time Hange had come over when an expedition was the next day. She apparently snuck out to come here and it would probably be hard to sneak back in. I knew by the way her eyes lit up too that she was going to agree. 

This is how I found that, besides the length of the pants, Hange and I were the same size. She sat on the couch, a blanket around her shoulders, staring down at the notebook with the same intensity as earlier. This would be the first time Hange had stayed over. Hange was also very comfortable with this idea. I offered her space in my bed and she took it right away. However, this began to be a mistake on my part because she couldn’t stop talking next to me. 

“This bed is really comfortable, what is it made out of?” 

“Feathers.” 

“If you had to choose between eating a whole onion or eating a cockroach, what would you pick?” 

“Can I choose neither, what kind of question is that?” 

“Okay, eaten or stepped on by a titan.” 

“... stepped on.”

“I agree!” At first, it was a welcomed distraction. When I was alone in my bed, these were the times I thought of him. Especially since I would wake up to the sounds of the horses at my front door. I wouldn’t cry anymore. It had been too long. Pretty soon, it would be over a year of loneliness and discontent. I hadn’t seen his face since the picnic disaster, and all I had of him were the letters. The letters that I now kept shoved under my mattress so that I could read them. Over and over. The letters that hid his lies. I fed into the lies too. When I read the letters, I didn’t feel alone. I would revert back to the times when I met him. The times when he wrote me these letters. When I was in love. Who am I kidding, I’m still in love. I never forgot. That’s why the letters are sitting under my mattress, right below my arm. It hurt. It always did. Loving someone who didn’t love you back. I never experienced it till now. This was how Jonas felt. 

“Eva?” Hange asked, seeing that I was staring up at the ceiling, getting lost in my thoughts. I’d have to remember that she was there. I couldn’t wake up screaming into the night like I had before. She wouldn’t ignore it like Jonas did. 

“Yes, Hange?” She shifted so that she was facing me. 

“He still asks about you.” My heart clenched and I closed my eyes. No. Not now. It was fueling me. The thought all the way back in my mind. He was lying. He did love me. 

“Does he?” It was hard to spit out and it sounded like a whisper when it didn’t mean to be. 

“I’m not allowed to tell you everything, but he does. He misses you.” 

“Why are you telling me this, Hange?” I could feel her smile next to me, and I turned my head to see it. It was a smile that was hiding secrets from me. 

“Because I want to make you two happy again. You two aren’t happy like you were before.” I sighed, turning away from her as I felt tears well in my eyes. There goes my three-month-long record of no crying. 

“He doesn’t love me, Hange. You of all people know that.” She tsk-ed, just like him. 

“You’ll know soon. Both of you will. I know it.” I sniffled once, and she already had her hand on my back. Great. She heard me. Was she going to tell Levi about this? 

“It’ll be okay, Eva. Trust me.” 

The next morning, she woke me up. She was already dressed and hopping around the apartment and I just took my first few steps out. The front windows were open too, for the first time in months. The light was radiating down onto the kitchen counter and living room table she was currently sitting at, gathering her things.

“Good morning, sunshine! Isn’t it such a nice day to go see some titans?” I huffed once, rubbing my eyes to get them more awake. This was the earliest I’d been up at in a while. Only Hange would say something like that this early in the morning. 

“Don’t you need your gear?” I walked to the kitchen, looking out at her in the living room. 

“Moblit will bring it. He knows I’m here. He’s a member of my squad.” I nodded, turning on a kettle to make hot water for coffee. I’d offer it to her as retribution for comforting me last night. Maybe I’d ask her to not tell him what happened either. I didn’t want him to know I was still weak after all this time. She just looked down at her notebook, writing more and more things in it, a book to her left. I never knew how she could read so much. 

“Coffee?” I offered to after I poured some, but she shook her head, saying it would make her even more jittery during the expedition. I could already see that when the time entered for the horses to be filling up in Trost’s main drag that she was shaking, not with fear, but excitement. What a weird girl, I thought, shaking my head at her. We talked a bit here and there about the expedition's plans, but at this point, we were both waiting for the Scouts to come and pick her up. I was planning too. Planning whether I would close up those windows as she exited.

When they finally came, she did something unexpected. She grabbed my wrist, letting me put on some proper shoes, and then pulled me down my front stairs to hundreds of eyes preparing for take-off. It was a bit embarrassing that I was just in a single nightgown in front of all of them, and Hange seemed to forget I was only wearing sandals as she pulled me.

“Moblit!” She yelled and pulled me into the middle of the Scouts. Now, I was feeling really watched. Those who survived had now seen my face for the third time. When Hange yelled, a long-faced blonde turned around, ODM gear in his hand. He looked shaken too like he was about to get yelled at. 

“Moblit, this is my friend, Eva! I was having a sleepover at her house last night. My gear, thank you!” The blonde man, Moblit, dropped her gear and bowed to me. I bowed a little bit back, putting my hands on my arms. The morning was still not yet a summer one, so wearing nothing over my slip was making me start to freeze. Everyone here had on a coat and the signature green cape while I was bare. 

“Hello, Moblit,” I managed out and he turned to Hange to talk about something. I just stood there, not knowing if I was able to just leave, or if Hange had wanted to talk more. With every passing moment, I was getting more and more anxious about seeing one face in the field. That’s why I was staring right at Hange, eyes not moving anywhere no matter how tempted I was. 

“Oh my goodness!” Hange announced loudly, making others turn to look again, “You’re freezing! How could I drag you out here like this!?” She turned around to look through the bags on the cart behind her. She was probably looking for something to give me so I wasn’t freezing and shivering. This probably meant that she was going to make me stand and talk to her before Erwin dismissed the families. That’s what usually happened. Some wives, husbands, and families who relocated to Trost would come in the morning to say goodbye for, possibly, the last time, and Erwin would politely dismiss them before giving his big shinzo wo speech. 

“Moblit, do we have any extra capes, I can’t find on-” The green dropped over my shoulders rather sloppily, but I could feel the warmth left behind by the previous wearer. I didn’t want to turn behind me to see who it was though. I knew who it was. So did Moblit. So did Hange. So did the others who were still looking at me. They knew who had given me the cape, and they were surprised at the generosity. I was scared. Scared of the generosity. What did it mean? How did it align with what Hange said last night? 

Mint, lemon, and cedar. 

“Please, don’t expose yourself in front of my cadets.” The horse trotted off to the front, but his foot lightly brushed my back. Just that one touch. That one single second. It sent a chill down my spine. It had been so long since I’d touched him. The last time was our last goodbye. Just like the families here in Trost. I’d held him on my doorstep, right before the expedition, not knowing that it would be our last goodbye.

Hange stood up, giving me the same smile she did last time. It said those two words. Trust me. What was Hange doing? Had she changed his demeanor? Why could I still feel that chill down my spine? Why was I holding his cape so close to me when I should’ve been throwing it on the ground? 

I took the cape off my shoulders, taking one look at it before giving it back to Hange. I wouldn’t let him do this. I wouldn’t let him care about me. The chill, however, was unbearable after I handed it back. It wasn’t just the chill of the morning wind anymore. It was the chill of his eyes still on me as I handed it back to Hange. 

“I-I need to get the… the café, yeah, I need to get it ready.” She nodded, the smile still on her face, and I turned around to go back up to my apartment. 

“That’s cute! Haha, look at this, Moblit. Levi marks his cape with a little L so he knows it’s his!” I stopped walking. I was at the edge of the Scouts, all of them behind me, yet if I looked to my side I would get a view of him. He was always on the right of Erwin. So, that’s what I did. After Hange said that, I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and locked eyes. There it was again. Pain. His eyes were full of pain. Vivid pain that made me feel it too. My heart twisted inside, and I was so close to getting caught if I didn’t stalk up the stairs to my apartment and close the door. I crouched down, my back against the door, the tears coming again. Pain. That’s all I felt. Pain. Why had he done that? Why was I suffering this whole time? Why had he put an L on his cape? What was it supposed to show me? Why were we suffering? Why couldn’t he just tell me plainly? Why couldn’t I understand what he was doing? Why? Why? Why? 

I cried through Erwin’s speech, his words a lot louder this time. They were echoing in my head. About sacrifice. About saving the world. Everything that would make an apprehensive cadet ready to go outside the walls and die. And then he ended it. That one phrase. 

“Cadets! Scouts! The people of Trost! Shinzo wo sasageyo!” The cries lifted in the air. They made my head hurt. I wondered if Levi heard my cries from inside my apartment. I held my head in my hands. 

“I can’t. I can’t dedicate my heart. Not again. Not again.”

Jonas found me like that when I didn’t show up for his morning delivery. The café remained closed that day. And the next. I closed the windows back up too. Jonas didn’t question what happened either. He just stacked up the delivery boxes in the stock room and then left, promising he’d come back later when he was off. When he came back, I was still in the same spot he put me on the couch. He echoed his words from the first time. 

“What did he do?” and I just shook my head. 

xx just a cute little double update for yall

Chapter Sixteen →

Chapter Masterlist

[vizhi0nw]

Ghost

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman/OC

Warnings: Violence, Language. This chapter in particular contains extremely graphic content - rape, as well as disturbing gore. There is consensual smut, as well. 

Words:  5.5k

Summary: Kenny Ackerman had never met someone with a reputation just as bad as his own.

AO3

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Part 2 of 4

Citadel

Eight months passed before another stranger burst through the door to Leyla’s shop.

The bottle of booze she’d shared with Kenny still sat, half empty, on the shelf. She hadn’t touched it once - it remained stationary, a reminder of her meeting with Kenny that she still, eight months later, couldn’t get out of her head. 

She couldn’t get him - that cocky smile emphasized by pearly white teeth, the smell of tobacco and sweat and blood, out of her head. Part of her had hoped he’d return, maybe offer to purchase something from the shop even though it wasn’t a shop anymore, it was just Leyla’s getaway. 

When the strangers entered, Leyla looked up, eyebrows raised, as she expected to see him - but instead she saw an unfamiliar face. Two unfamiliar faces, rough looking men with somber demeanors. They weren’t MP’s - they would have worn their uniforms, all poised and professional. No, MP’s weren’t this quiet.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Leyla finished wiping down the countertop, tossing the rag aside and bracing both arms on the slick-clean surface. “This isn’t a shop. I know it says it on the sign but...we’ve been closed for a while.”

The two men looked at each other, exchanging glances. Leyla pushed herself up, fingers creeping beneath the countertop where she’d tucked a gun away, right between two bottles of liquor. Her hand closed over the handle right as the two men moved. 

Two bottles crashed to the floor as Leyla yanked her hand back, raising the gun and firing off a shot that caught the first man in the stomach. The impact of the buckshot knocked him back, and before Leyla could fire again, his companion had vaulted over the countertop. Ensuring that she had a firm grip on the weapon, she braced herself as she was slammed, hard, against the liquor shelf. More bottles toppled from their resting place, crashing against the floor. Wet, sticky wine cascaded down Leyla’s face, obscuring her vision, but her fingers managed to grasp the neck of a bottle. 

She screamed and smashed the half-empty bottle of booze that she and Kenny had shared together against the side of her attackers face. He groaned and covered his eyes, face marred from glass - Leyla fired off another shot from her gun at random and felt something splatter against her skin. 

Blood, not wine. 

Furiously wiping her eyes, Leyla blinked. There was a body slumped in front of her. Her other assailant was approaching, knife in hand, seemingly oblivious to the hole Leyla had blasted through his gut. She barely had time to brace herself before she was caught and flung across the countertop, tumbling and landing on the other side, hard. She heard something crack, but wasn’t sure what it was - a wrist, perhaps? 

Leyla’s gun was gone, missing. She lay, disoriented, on the ground. 

“Stupid bitch,” the man spat, palm clutching his stomach to prevent his guts from leaking out all over Leyla’s nice, clean floor. He snarled and kicked her in the abdomen with a steel-toed boot. Leyla grunted, teeth clenching together. “Gonna...fucking kill you. Gotta kill you.” 

“Like hell you are.”

Precision. 

With what little strength she had, Leyla launched herself forward and caught him by the legs. He fell, arms flailing. Leyla immediately went for the wound, gushing blood - she slammed her fist over and over into the bloody pit until her hands were stained crimson. Then, she reached down and twisted. His guttural screams filled the shop, until they didn’t. 

By the time she was done, he was dead, or very nearly dead. His fingers were twitching, eyes open but glossy. 

“Fuck,” Leyla grasped the lapels of his coat. “Who the fuck are you?”

She received only a groan. She reared back and slapped him, hard, and she seemed to refocus.

“Answer me! You’re about to die anyway - tell me so I can fucking kill whoever sent you on this mission!” 

“L-Lord Byren. He s-sent us.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

No response. There was no more life in his eyes. 

Leyla released him and let his head fall unceremoniously against the wooden tiles.

The shop was silent, save for the drip, drip, drip of spilt wine and liquor. It was all over Leyla’s face, shirt, and arms. The red liquid mingled with the blood and she couldn’t tell which was which or how much of each there really was. It made her nauseous. 

She slipped off the corpse, finally realizing just how badly she hurt. Her ribs ached, throbbed, and she assumed they were broken. She had a split lip and she could feel a bruise coming in on her cheek. Her left wrist was most definitely sprained. 

Still, she lived. 

                                                ______________

Kenny’s usual nightly walks through the alleyways of Mitras were normally the only time he truly had to be alone. 

It reminded him of his “wild days,” as he’d fondly referred to it, sneaking around and slitting throats by order of the King. Now, he was the leader of his own squad, and while he relished in the fact that he got to leap into action-head on and wield guns instead of knives, part of him missed it. The solitude. The mystery. The patience it took to stalk his prey and move in for the kill. Each time he walked along the riverside, he was reminded of the many times he’d frequented the water to toss corpses. He’d lost count of how many MP’s he’d stripped and dumped. It had to be in the dozens - hundreds, maybe? That’s what the legends were saying.

Kenny never listened to the legends. He, for some wild reason, found strangers recounts of his “wild days” to be boring. It was much better to do, not hear. 

The cigarette between his lips was starting to taste bitter. He discarded it, grinding it beneath his foot. When he looked up, he caught a flash of grey before he felt a surprisingly firm hand lay flat against his chest and back him against the alley wall. 

His knife was in his hand before the figure could even speak. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Kenny paused. He was close, oh so close, to spilling the girls guts across the ground. He recognized her voice immediately, pausing only when she lifted her head to look him in the eye. 

A bruise marred the deep brown skin of her cheek. Her eyes were bloodshot, as if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Her full lips were stretched into a line, nose crinkled as she glared daggers at Kenny. 

“I need your help,” her voice was strained. “Kenny.”

He raised his eyebrows. She eased off him, stepping back a few feet. She wore an oversized jacket, hood flipped up over her head. She looked just as grimy and suspicious as Kenny did, and he almost laughed at the comedy of it all. 

He’d tried to kill her eight months ago. Yet here she was, asking him for help. 

“You know, I never caught your name before.”

“Leyla.”

“Leyla,” he tested the name on his lips. It was a pretty name for a pretty girl, he concluded. “What exactly do you need me for, Leyla?”

“I need information.”

“Information on what?”

Leyla glanced around. It was the dead of night, and Mitras seemed even deader. There were no MP’s slinking around at this time, nor were there any civilians out. This was Kenny’s hour, and nobody else’s.

Except for now.

“Two men attacked me yesterday. I managed to kill one and interrogate the other before he succumbed to his own wounds,” Leyla gestured to her bruised face with one jabbing finger. “Before he died...he said that a man named Lord Byren sent them. Does that name sound familiar to you?” 

Lord Byren. 

Kenny winced. He almost considered lying - he knew Lord Byren, of course. Or, he knew of him. The tales were far from delightful. The idea that he was going to potentially get involved with Leyla’s drama with Byren made him hesitate even telling her the information in the first place. 

Part of him, however, couldn’t lie. The stories about Byren painted him as relentless. He’d send more men and Leyla would die. 

Kenny coughed. He needed another smoke. 

“I know of him. Evil bastard, he is. He ain’t someone you wanna mess with.”

“I never stole from his estate-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kenny hummed, lighting another cigarette and letting it hang from his mouth. “I told you last time, the people up here talk about you. The phantom. He probably sent those men because he assumed you’d come for his shit next.”

“I don’t know how he found me.”

“I sure as fuck didn’t tell him. Byren isn’t someone who’s company I frequent,” Kenny waved a hand. “You’re shit out of luck. That’s all I can tell you.”

Leyla reached up and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She let out a deep sigh, eyes closing for a minute, before they opened, shining with renewed determination. 

“I need you to take me to him.” 

“Oh, for fucks sake, Leyla-”

“I have a plan and I need you for it. Please. You’re my way in,” Leyla gulped. “I need to get these people off my back before I can keep doing what I’m doing-”

“Have you considered that what you’re doing is stupid?” Kenny snapped. He tilted his head back and blew a long stream of smoke into the night sky. “I know you care about those people in the Underground, but take it from an old timer - they ain’t worth it.”

“Maybe to you.”

“You really wanna get yourself killed for those people?”

“Why the fuck not?” 

Kenny stubbed his cigarette a little too hard against the alley wall, ashes and embers falling to the floor. She was a stubborn brat. A stubborn brat who needed to wake up and realize that she was going down a path that would eventually get her killed. 

It had taken Kuchel’s death for him to finally, officially, shed the mantle of Kenny the Ripper and let his notoriety fade away. He knew that Leyla didn’t have the same luxury of family. 

“You’d toss it all away. Your life,” Kenny murmured. “For a bunch of bottom-feeders. Fucking pathetic.”

“I want this asshole off my back and I want you to help. You can either pussy out now or I’ll do it myself-”

“You ain’t doing it yourself. I’ll help you,” Kenny pushed himself off the alley wall, glancing down at Leyla. “On the condition that, once you’re in, I be nowhere near the scene when all hell breaks loose.”

“Deal.”

                                                    ____________

Kenny was staring. 

Leyla had caught him, multiple times. He’d tear his eyes away and pretend to be fiddling with his anti-personnel gear, his guns and his hooks. Then, his eyes would wander. His gaze would float across the expanse of her thigh, up past the corset squeezing her waist, to the mounts of her breast, the curve of her neck. He’d lick his lips, and when Leyla would gesture, he’d sharply turn his head and pretend not to be looking.

Rinse, and then repeat. 

Leyla hadn’t donned her work uniform in several years. She’d only worked at the brothel after her grandfather had died - he would have been ashamed to see her dressed like a harlot and taking cock for cash. She’d needed the money and had been desperate. She’d been lucky to have avoided the more...primal clientele, and when she’d left, she’d managed to save up a decent amount of cash to get by. It was then that she’d realized her true purpose. 

She’d kept the outfit for sentimental reasons, having never thought that she’d be putting it on again. She was painting her face, now making sure her cheeks were flushed pink and her lips were a deep ruby red. She’d styled the coils atop her head into a neat bun, with Kenny having observed, mildly fascinated, for part of the time. 

“Women and their hair,” he’d snorted and gone back to cleaning his gun. 

“Men and their guns. Always so volatile.” 

Kenny had ducked his head to hide his smile, then. 

Now, they were ready, with Leyla having donned an overcoat to hide her outfit, while Kenny’s own coat was hiding the armory of anti-personnel gear he’d strapped to his body. Then, they linked arms and began walking towards Byren’s palace, with Kenny taking the lead. 

The sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon, and Mitras was winding down for the night. It was the first time Leyla had ever dared reveal her face to the above-ground public, though she knew she wouldn’t be recognized by any of the civilians, or even the MP’s. 

She truly was a phantom. 

“Keep your mouth shut and let me talk,” Kenny pinched her arm as they approached the Byren estate. It was a mansion, similar to that of other nobility, right near the east side, near the wall. The house was a beautiful, architectural wonder with an impressive courtyard and columns made of bright, white stone. The gates were tall and made of iron. 

There were guards - two of them. When they saw who was approaching, they stepped forward. 

“Kenny.”

Kenny tipped his hat. He slipped his arm from around Leyla’s and gripped her shoulder, hard. “I have a gift for Vibro. I heard he’s collecting whores.”

Leyla bit her lower lip. This part had been Kenny’s idea - he’d revealed to her that Byren had a particular taste for women who couldn’t fight back, something that disgusted Leyla to her very core. 

“He is,” the guard said. He approached Leyla rather languidly, reaching out to unceremoniously grip her chin with one gloved hand. Resisting the screaming urge to bite his fingers, she allowed him to tilt her face upward, a thumb tapping her lips and indicating for her to open her mouth. “She has all her teeth. Good.”

“I thought he’d want them toothless. Less bitin’.”

“Will do.”

The guard shrugged. “He likes to take risks. She’s good - we’ll take her in.”

Kenny’s smile was wide and almost grotesque. “Tell him this is a ‘thank you’ for getting me out of a tight spot with the MP’s. I owe him.”

Kenny spun on his heels and walked away, not even bothering to shoot Leyla a final look. She could only watch him go for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest before the guard began dragging her past the gates and towards the house. 

The courtyard and the columns were becoming less and less beautiful by the second. The architecture seemed demonic instead of angelic. She felt as if she were being dragged into hell. 

                                                    _____________

Lord Vibro Byren was a disgusting creature. Middle aged, relatively solidly built. He had these blue eyes that seemed to swim with smug malice, and the shock of red hair atop his head was thin, but no less vibrant. He was the opposite of Kenny - dignified, polished, but Leyla knew it was all fake. It was all a ruse. There was a monster lurking beneath his nobility. 

Unlike Kenny, he tried to hide it. Perhaps it was because he had an image to keep up. 

The mansion's great room was open, with shockingly high ceilings and hanging chandeliers. The floorboards were a polished, deep brown wood and the walls were plastered with family portraits and painted landscapes. Leyla had been discarded before Byren, who was seated on a large, velvety couch. There was a woman splayed across his lap and a book in his hand, though he’d snapped it shut the minute Leyla had been tossed like a ragdoll into the room. 

Now, he was staring, eyes narrowed to slits.

“She’s a gift, from Kenny,” the guard said. “This is his ‘thank you’ for what you did last month.”

Byren hummed. The woman laying across him lifted her head from his chest and looked at Leyla’s with big, glassy doe eyes. She seemed under the influence of some sort of narcotic - opium, most likely - though Leyla saw no pipe. She moved at Byren’s command, scrambling off towards the kitchen when he lightly tapped her on the shoulder. 

Leyla could see a few other girls seated in the corner, huddled around. They were all dressed like her. Something about them seemed familiar, but Leyla didn’t have time to analyze their faces before Byren’s harsh voice snapped her back into reality. 

“Leave.”

The guard nodded and disappeared through the double doors from which he’d come. Leyla was alone with the beast, sitting before him on her hands and knees.

He sat up fully, adjusting his crinkled dress shirt. 

“Name?” 

“Rose.” 

“Hm,” Byren looked her up and down, his eyes, of course, lingering on her breasts. “You look decently fed. A bit too thin for my taste but...a whore is a whore. I’ll make use for you.”

“T-thank you.” 

“Kenny brought you, huh?”

Leyla’s face felt hot. In a soft voice, she said, “yes.”

“Did he fuck you before he brought you here?” 

Leyla shook her head. Byren seemed pleased, rubbing his hands together. He stood up, suddenly, and headed towards the kitchen. When he returned, he held a bottle of wine in his tight grip. Very slowly, be beckoned for Leyla to come closer. She obeyed, shuffling forward until she was standing in front of his seated form, the toe of her foot end-to-end with his own. 

He brought the uncorked bottle of wine to his lips, taking a massive swig. Then, he offered the bottle to Leyla.

“Drink.”

“I...I’m not-”

“Drink.”

It wasn’t anything other than a direct order. Leyla’s snatched the bottle from his hand and down a massive gulp, gritting her teeth at the bitter taste. He took the bottle back and let it sit on the table by the arm of the couch. Leyla still stood, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of her skirt before she was yanked into Byron’s lap. 

Big hands fondled her cheek. His lips were rough against Leyla’s own, and she had to kiss him back - she hated it. She hated how, for good measure, she shoved her tongue into his mouth and scraped her fingers across his scalp. 

He needed to believe her. He needed to believe her for just a few more minutes. 

There was a knife strapped to her upper thigh, and he had yet to find it. 

Leyla placed suckling kisses against his lower lip, tugging at the skin with her teeth. His hands were planted firmly on her waist, keeping her in his lap. Leyla’s own hands were free, one creeping very slowly beneath his dress shirt to palm the firm muscles of his chest, the other slipping beneath her skirt to grab the -

He seized her wrist, suddenly. 

No.

When Leyla ripped her lips from his own, he was smiling. 

“I knew a Rose, back in the day. She looked surprisingly like you.”

Leyla was discarded from Byren’s lap and onto the floor. His cheeks were flushed red, the buttons of his dress shirt popped open to reveal a heaving, tan chest. Those sick blue eyes were wide, and as Leyla scrambled to unsheath the knife from her hip, she heard the click of a gun. 

It was the doe-eyed woman. She held the weapon steady, though Leyla could see the faintest tremble in her hand. 

“She had a knack for poking her nose where she shouldn’t,” Byren began buttoning his shirt. “As did her husband. They were smart as a whip, both of them.”

Leyla sat back on her haunches and watched as Byren stood, sauntering back into the kitchen and returning with a gun of his own. This one was older, with a wooden handle carved with what appeared to be the estate’s official insignia. He held it up, angling it so Leyla could get a full view of the weapon. “I shot them with this gun, right here in this very room.”

Leyla’s throat went dry. Her tongue felt huge in her mouth, and she could only glare at Byren as he continued to talk as casually as if he were addressing the weather. There was a ringing in her ear and Byren’s next words sounded muffled, as if she were hearing him through a tunnel. 

“The woman choked on her own blood while her husband tried to save her. I shot him in the head. It was far quicker than what he deserved. I killed them both because they didn’t like what I was doing here. They didn’t like how I ran my estate and how I spent my own money. A shame, really. I considered them friends. They had a child, too. Cute little thing. Her name was Leyla, if I recall. I never forget a face, even if that face is all grown up.”

“You killed my parents.”

Byren tilted his chin upwards. He extended an empty hand and barked, “Marissa!”

The trio of girls huddled in the corner of the room all perked up. One of them - a plump girl with round cheeks and bright, blonde hair, walked over on shaky legs. All color was rapidly disappearing from her face as she came to stand beside Byren, shoulders bunched up, head ducked. 

“They didn’t like what I did to my toys.”

Leyla gasped as Byren cracked Marissa in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The girl collapsed, letting out a keening wail. The double doors to the great room burst open, and half a dozen guards rushed in, guns drawn. 

Despair settled over Leyla like a raincloud. Byren was very slowly kneeling, having pulled his belt free from its loops. Marissa was lying on her back, trembling, as Byren very slowly peeled her skirt away from her legs. His fisted his cock and began to stroke, while the barrel of his gun prodded at the exposed lips of her cunt. 

“They didn’t like what I did,” Byren seemed to be speaking to himself, now, furiously getting himself off, eyes glued to Marissa. “They didn’t...they didn’t think it was right.”

He slipped the barrel of his gun past her hole. Marissa gave a wail. Leyla’s nails were scraping against the floorboard, and she was going to move - she had to move, gun be damned. She could move fast enough only if she -

BOOM.

Blood splattered against Leyla’s cheek and she screamed.

She heard one of the guards stumble away and vomit. 

Leyla turned her head away before she could fully take in the gore. She heard Byren grunt as his orgasm ripped through his body, and Leyla could only imagine him painting Marissa’s corpse with evidence of his release. 

She was dry heaving, the panic truly setting in. She heard Byron zip up his pants, the floorboard creaking as he stood. When Leyla finally dared to look up at him, she saw that his once pristine, white shirt was doused in crimson, and his hand, along with his gun, was drenched. 

“I’m going to keep you,” Byren said wearily. “I couldn’t keep your mother. But I can keep you-”

“Like hell you are!” 

Byren’s hand, the hand that was clutching his gun, practically exploded in a mist of flesh and fingers. More loud pops rang out, and several of the guards dropped dead. Leyla caught a glimpse of a figure zooming above the rafters of the high ceiling and out of sight. 

Leyla ran, fully expecting to feel a bullet pierce through her back. The guards were busy with Kenny, firing up at the ceiling, only to drop like insects when Kenny returned the favor. 

She didn’t. When she looked back, the woman, the doe-eyed woman, was still standing still, gun trained on the spot where Leyla had been lying moments ago. Byren was curled up on the floor, clutching his ruined hand. 

Leyla only had a moment to enjoy the fresh air of the outdoors before she was swept up by Kenny. She screamed and wrapped her arms around his neck, hearing him chuckle as he latched his hook onto a nearby building and soared over the gates of the Byren estate. Leyla kept her head buried into his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as the wind tickled her bloodstained cheeks, tearing away her tears before they could fall.  

Any other time, she mused, she might have enjoyed flying. 

                                                  _____________

“You’re shaking, kid,” Kenny said softly. His own bottle of beer was half empty. Leyla hadn’t even touched hers. 

The amount of rules Kenny had broken for this girl was astronomical. Internally, he was screaming at himself, cursing, for even getting involved to begin with. He’d intended to walk away when he’d dropped her off at the Byren estate. Walk away, maybe creep in for just a moment to see how it was going, and then leave and, hopefully, never speak to the girl again. He hadn’t wished ill will on her - he would have been quite content, had she been able to kill Byren like she’d planned. But he hadn’t wanted to reveal himself like that, though he was unsure as to whether or not Byren, or the guards, had even seen him or really heard him to begin with. 

Still, it had been stupid. He’d come back, and for what? Some girl? Some girl he’d been tasked to kill a year ago? Now, she was here, sitting at his kitchen table, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of pants that, back in the day, had belonged to Levi. 

“He killed my parents,” Leyla said, her words barely audible. “I met him. I...I knew him. It was him. It was fucking him-”

“You still don’t know why he sent those men after you?” 

Leyla shook her head. “I don’t know why. He’s sick, Kenny. He’s sick in the head.”

Her fingers were shaking so hard that her nails were clicking against the table. Kenny reached out and placed his hand over her own, stopping them. They sat like that for a moment, until eventually, Leyla seemed to come back into herself. She reached out and finally down some of her beer. 

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Fuck, Leyla-”

“I won’t be able to do my job properly until he’s dead,” Leyla replied. “He knows who I am, now. He knows that I’m alive. He’ll keep sending people after me.”

“Not unless you leave. Get the hell outta’ the Underground. Go to Trost, or hell Shiganshina,” Kenny urged. He knew it was useless. She was a stubborn bitch. “This ain’t worth it, I swear.”

“I don’t fucking know anything else, Kenny!” Leyla erupted, her voice rising to a shrill cry. “I sneak and steal. Sometimes, I kill people. That’s all I fucking know how to do!”

“You can learn.” 

“I can learn when he’s dead.”

“This ain’t even about those people anymore. It’s about your parents. You’re on a goddamn revenge trip.”

Leyla’s slap stung. Kenny was anticipating it, but he’d forgotten that the girl could put some power behind her hits. When he turned back to look at her, there were tears in her eyes and her hands were trembling yet again. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“See, that’s when I know you’re stuck. Ain’t nothing better you have to say,” Kenny ran a hand down his face. “Start livin’ in the real world, kid. There’s only one way this shit ends, and it’s with you six feet under.”

“I’m killing him. You can’t convince me otherwise. I’ll do it alone, too. You don’t have to get involved.”

“Good, cus’ I ain’t,” Kenny chuckled. “This one is on you.”

“That’s fine,” Leyla levelled a steely eyed gaze at Kenny, sinking back into her chair. She crossed her arms and stared at her bottle of alcohol. Letting out a tch noise, she pushed it across the table. “Finish this for me.”

“Can’t. I’m done for the night,” Kenny’s eyes flickered to the window. It was dark out. “You headin’ back home?”

Leyla followed his gaze to the night sky. She seemed to ponder over something for a moment, tongue flicking out to wet her lips. After a while, she made a low humming noise and said, “I feel like...I feel like I should do something thank you. I want to do something to thank you.” 

“You can thank me by not going on a suicide mission,” Leyla shot him a sharp look, and Kenny raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Fine, fine. I’ll drop the damn topic.”

“I saw you staring at me, when I was getting ready.” 

“I didn’t know you used to be a whore.”

“Only for a little bit, after my grandfather died.”

“The profession doesn’t suit you,” Kenny mused. Part of him wished he’d been more direct with his staring. Leyla was attractive. She was half his age, probably, but she still filled out a corset rather well, and her tits were nice. “You don’t take too kindly to men telling you what to do, it seems.”

“Who says they were the ones telling me what to do?” 

“When I fuck a whore, I like her to be responsive. When I tell her to cum, she cums. When I tell her to suck me off, she sucks me off,” Kenny sneered. “I like being in charge.” 

“So do I.”

“Then thank me this way,” Kenny murmured. “Let me take the lead.”

The noise Leyla made was intoxicating. Kenny’s dick twitched in his pants as Leyla languidly tiptoed over to him, her soft palm cradling his face. Then, she casually slipped her shirt over her head. Next, her pants, and then, her undergarments. She stood naked as the day she was born before him, shameless. 

She jerked her head towards Kenny’s dingy little bedroom, and he’d never stood so fast in his life. All thought flew from his mind and the only thing he could focus on was Leyla’s cute, round ass, her perky tits, the smooth plane of her stomach and the sparse, dark curls between her thighs. 

 When her lips met his, he was in heaven. Or something close to it. 

“Kenny,” his name rolled off her lips like sweet, sweet honey. His clothes were everywhere, on the floor, across his headboard - he didn’t care. He was tossing everything off as quickly as he could, craving raw, skin-on-skin contact with the woman currently lying beneath him. How long had it been since he’d taken someone? Years, possibly. Most definitely since before Uri’s death. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Kenny pressed his forehead against Leyla’s shoulder. She’d taken his long cock in her small, yet rough hands and was stroking fervently. He turned his head and caught her in a quick kiss. “Gonna make me bust - let me in.”

Leyla kissed him again, chuckling against his mouth. He’d prepared her well with a few pumps of his finger into her tight cunt, and now, she was ready for him - all tight and wet and hot, just like he’d remembered. No, better than he’d remembered. Leyla wasn’t like the others he’d had before. She was different. 

He couldn’t put a finger on why, she just...was. Perhaps it was the familiarity. 

“So good. So fucking good,” Kenny gasped. He curled over her, pounding her into the mattress, one hand reaching up to grab the headboard. Her legs curled around his hips and her mouth was open, her moans punctuating the wet smack of skin against skin. There was fire twisting within Kenny’s gut, a raging inferno that made him feel as if it could burn an entire forest, an entire town, to the ground. It was all rage, all pent up energy - he needed it out. He needed it inside of her, nowhere else. 

“K-Kenny,” Leyla gave a strangled gasp, reaching up to drag her nails down his back as she came up. Kenny yanked himself out and painted her thighs with his release, reaching down to squeeze the last few drops against her skin, for good measure. He collapsed by her side, and Leyla leaned over to press a kiss against his shoulder. 

“Just stay the night,” he breathed. “I’m not going to be able to walk you home after that shit.” 

“Didn’t know you’d offered.”

“I’m a...goddamn gentleman. And an old man, at that,” Kenny’s eyes fluttered shut, and he heard Leyla chuckle. “Don’t start takin’ advantage of my generosity, though.”

“I won’t,” Leyla’s lips found his forehead. “I...thank you. For everything you did today.” 

Kenny was already asleep. He dreamed of Kuchel, that night, like he always did. Her corpse, cold and hollow, lying in the bed. He dreamed of Uri as well, though he hadn’t gotten to witness his friends death, and he was glad for it. The dreams never got any more pleasant, any happier. Shorter, maybe, but never better. 

He wondered what Leyla dreamed about. He would have asked her the next morning, but when he awoke, she was gone. 

[enderbird]

Anniversary Special

Summary:  The 65th Anniversary Special for the Warner Siblings happens. Yakko learns some things that, in the end, don't matter.

Words: 1808

Warnings: talk of the canonical neglect of the warners : i am staring at the water tower :, mention of attempted murder? that is. kinda it. 

Notes: I watched the 65th Anniversary Special of the original Animaniacs yesterday. I had some feelings and shoved them on through Yakko tgyhu  They’re probably OOC as I have never written the Warners before. I threw in the beginning of the story from Wakko’s Wish in here because I thought it’d be cute. and I also have no idea when they actually started working on the movie. we out here.

AO3

This wasn’t beta-ed... or like. yeah. It’s probably got a few mistakes in it because I did start this at 1am today. but yeah.

He shouldn't have been surprised as he was, not that it was clear he was surprised about anything. Yakko was drawn an actor and, even though he can't die, he likes to say he'll die one too. It's just... everyone knew they were in the water tower. Everybody. Other toons, the staff, the big man upstairs too.. probably. Everyone except the public seemed to know they were locked up in a water tower for sixty years of their toony lives. 

 He can't express his anger, of course, it's their 65th Anniversary Special! He should be celebrating sixty-five years of wonderful time with everyone, not wishing he hadn't spent most of them locked away with his siblings. 

 Yet here he is. About to explode he's so upset. 

 Yakko always thought maybe the other toons were working on trying to free them and such other things. They were fellow toons! Trapping children in a space with nothing but their half-formed hammerspaces and imaginations in a fucking water tower isn't how toons should be treated. He'd hoped someone, maybe Bugs, the very face of the company, had tried to get them free or something, you know? But no.

 In the end, it seemed  everyone  at Warner Bros was happy to have been rid of them for sixty glorious, glorious years. Not a full sixty, though, they still got to be free one day every few years so the tower could be checked for termites and whatever. He never bothered to listen to what they were let out for because it honestly never mattered. For one day, even if it be only every few years, he got to be somewhere else. 

 That was something they all had always looked forward to. Running around in search of new things. Everything was always changing and it was so hard to keep track of it all when you only get to see snippets of it every few years. But it was okay! Even if they always got caught at the end of the day after the company was done doing god knows what, they still at least got to see something new. Something exciting.

 Yakko grabbed his siblings' hands in an attempt to pull himself away from his thoughts as if they wouldn't just return later in the night when they got back home. Back to the tower.. back in his ball pit. For now, though? He might as well enjoy what was left of the show, as much as his revelation hurt him. He really did hold onto the hope the other toons would try and free them. 

 Honestly, when they were first locked away, he'd thought it was a joke. He sat there for almost two months just waiting for the punchline to kick off. He'd only actually thought that because everyone just seemed so excited and happy when they were put in the tower.. he wanted to hold onto that, not that he was able to for long.

  When he'd looked back up at the screen he saw Daffy, talking about their original nonsensical cartoon. The one about the flypaper or whatever it was. Complaining about how it went on for eight hours. This was kinda rude to show at an event that was supposed to celebrate them, right? It felt rude at least. Whatever. 

 He just squeezed his siblings' hands and ignored the show, seeing as nothing good had come from actually watching it so far.

 --------------------

 Hours later, he couldn't sleep. The night had gotten better after they got back home. After Buddy tried to kill them out of jealousy for his old, ruined reputation, and after he'd found that no one cares about them stuck in the tower. You'd think Yakko would be a little more shaken up about the dying thing, but no. 

 It seems he was the only one not able to sleep so far, as he could hear Dot moving around in her sleep above him, and Wakko making noises in their sleep on the top bunk. He'd probably wake them up so they could all sleep together if that didn't just make him feel a little iffier. He was the oldest, right? The oldest doesn't need to ask his younger siblings if they could all sleep together because he couldn't just sleep alone. That's stupid.

 He just gave up and got up. Wakko would probably be up soon, as the middle child always got up for something at some point in the night. Dot would follow after Wakko accidentally wakes her up, etc etc. Yakko probably knew his siblings better than anything, more than any song he's had to memorize the lyrics for or the very backs of his paws. 

 He placed any balls that had fallen out when he got up back in his ball pit bed, rubbing his eyes and wandering off in the dark towards their little kitchen. He might as well wait there... it's where everyone ended up at some point in the night. 

 --------------------

 A few hours later, give or take, Yakko heard the unmistakable sound of Wakko climbing down the bunk bed ladder and making their way around the water tower. They sometimes sleep-ate or talked.. or walked.. so if that ended up being the case tonight then he'd wake up Wakko, but only then. 

 He'd pulled a light out of hammerspace to read with, but ended up messing around with and breaking it. How he broke the light didn't exactly matter as he saw, heard more than anything, his sibling finally stumble into the kitchen. 

 What really sucked about the dark was, even if they were supposed to be animals and such, they had terrible night vision. It didn't help with gags, and they weren't any specific animal, so they didn't have the luxury of most other toons when it came to the dark. That was what really got him about being stuck in the dark for so long. 

 He squinted at the other toon from his spot at the kitchen table, only to find he was being squinted at back. 

 "What're you doin' up?" Was the only thing he found Wakko saying, who now standing in the doorway and waiting for an answer.

 Now obviously he can't just answer with "Oh I was thinking about all our time stuck in here with no clear way of being able to ever leave" because that's upsetting. This was one of the last people he could ever find himself trying to upset, not that'd he'd want to go and just do that anyway. It's against his very purpose as a toon, isn't it? 

 "Just couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come in here and run into you sooner or later, you know? Did you wake up Dottie?"

 Both brothers knew never to call their sister Dottie, it was Dot or Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the Third, and she made sure it stayed that way.. but it didn't seem she'd wake up yet tonight. Maybe later. It should, at least, be safe to joke about until then. 

 Wakko seemed to accept that answer as they continued their journey to the fridge, blinding a very tired Yakko when they opened it. They pulled out a giant cake from god knows where before going over to sitting across from their brother.

 "I didn't hear her getting up this time. Just her normal movin' around. Did you wanna talk to her or somethin'?" Is what Yakko finally got in response, but only after Wakko had taken a huge bite out of the cake.. as well at their plate. 

He just shook his head, laying it down on his arms. "Thought maybe we could spend the day after our 65th Anniversary Special doing something together. Only if you guys want to, of course."

 It took longer to get a response, as Wakko had just swallowed the cake and plate whole, which wasn't anything new. "Maybe you could tell Dot the story from that script we got a few days ago. She'd like getting to practice.." 

 "I'd like to get to tell you both the story, even if it's mostly about Dot. You're not there for it in the movie, are you?"

 Wakko just shook their head, laying it on their arms as their brother had done a bit before.

 "Well, that just can't do. How about.. we all sleep in my ball pit tonight. You could go grab Dot after you're finished snacking, and I'll see about finding those scripts to look back over, yeah?" 

 Wakko nodding along, seeming pretty happy with the idea before running off to get their sister. 

 While Wakko did that and about got their fingers bitten off for it, Yakko just continued to sit there, looking happier than he had earlier. Not that anyone could see his face. Wakko probably knew he didn't have to look over his lines but agreed so he could be alone a little longer, or maybe they were just that tired. He didn't care which.

 Yakko probably needed Wakko and Dot more than they needed him. He was okay with that, but it's not something he'd tell them. All that mattered right now was getting to his siblings before Dot or Wakko got impatient and came looking for him, which he was completely fine with doing. 

 He stepped into the little spot they'd sectioned off from the rest of the water tower and called a room before clearing his throat, which he mostly did just to let them know he'd finally gotten back. 

 "Dot, if you didn't murder Wakko over your 'cutie sleep', I'm gonna go ahead and say sorry for waking you up. If Wakko did perish by your hand I'm taking it back." 

 That was mostly a joke. They'd never kill over sleep, not usually at least. Dot did just get annoyed if woken up for almost any reason. 

 He slid into the ball pit he, for some reason unknown to him, called a bed. The last time they were out he found some kind of time-traveling dohickey Brain had made for one of his failed schemes and decided to go and mess around for a bit. See what the future was like. Just found some ball pit laying in the middle of some convention hall.

 He can't remember what it was called now (Mashcon? Stashcon? Dashcon??) and it didn't matter. What mattered now is he could feel both of his siblings with him that he needed to start on a story for. 

 "Alright, you two. Here we go," he cleared his throat again, with no real need to... again. "Once upon a time, a brave knight married a beautiful princess-" 

 Yeah. This would turn out okay, even if he wasn't too happy with the other toons right now. He'd always be just fine with these two. That's all that was important.

[wri0thesley]

Semi-angsty scenario (however much hurt you feel willing to put in) of Prosciutto surviving the train fight, albeit quite injured, at home with his s/o when the new passione finds him and wants him (for like information or to recruit him again? idk)

recovering - prosciutto x reader (1.7k)

SFW. reader is gender neutral.

warnings for: hospitals, injury, self-hate, death idealation. 

Things do not change overnight; not really. 

Oh, for Prosciutto, they changed in the course of an hour, or maybe less. For your boyfriend, it had been a case of waking up that morning with two legs and two arms and two eyes, a heart that beat sound and fast, a charming smile and a teasing voice and the knowledge of his own finesse - and having almost none of those things by the time midnight struck. 

Prosciutto’s physicality changes overnight. The doctors do what they can for him (you, on pulled tight tenterhooks by his bedside, listening to the beep of monitors with your heart in your mouth in case of a flatline), but the battle and the train have taken much from him. His brain does not change at all. 

He spends two months in the hospital, wrapped in bandages and needles and monitors. You both count the tiles on the ceiling, over and over. You bring him grapes and magazines, but not flowers (and absolutely not cigarettes, though his hand fastens about your wrist and he begs - the doctors say his lungs may never function the same way again). The nurses speak to you;

“Oh, he must have been so handsome,” they say, pity lacing their tone, as they pat your shoulder. As they ask you about children, and the engagement ring on your finger, and you know that they’re thinking that you should get away now, before you’re railroaded into taking care of him (as if you wouldn’t, as if taking care of him is a punishment--). 

“He is,” you say, stubborn - but they give you those same smiles. “He is handsome.” 

He hates how they fluff his pillows, how they speak to him, how they simper. “Like I’m an invalid,” he says, frustrated. You do not remind him that he is an invalid right now; there’s no point in that. Prosciutto is still grappling with being in bed. 

He grapples with the prosthetic leg and arm. He grapples with the glass eye when he’s allowed to remove the adhesive pad (he gives up on that one, eventually; you source an expensive designer eyepatch instead, all embroidered with roses and thorns and glittering semi-precious stones). He grapples with himself, the first time he sees his body full-length in a mirror. 

“Look at me,” he says, lip twisting in disgust. “I should have died instead.”

“Don’t say that,” you say, softly, standing behind him. Your eyes travel the same path as his; the prosthetic leg, all plastics and metal (the shiny skin of where his leg finishes just visible beneath the hospital gown he hates wearing). The jointed arm that he’s still struggling to use. The scars all across his face, the place his hair had to be cut because of how blood was matting it together, the pinprick needle points of all the cannulas and wires he’s had sticking out of him for months. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You say that now,” Prosciutto replies. “But in a few months . . . in a few months, after you’ve had to take care of me, you’ll wish I’d died too.”

-

He tries to refuse help at first. He drops glasses and whiskey bottles and his cutlery and swears and kicks his one good foot into doorways, toppling over because his balance is still not quite right. He shrugs off your attempts to help dress him. He rolls away from you in bed and fiercely shakes off your kisses on scarred shoulderblades. 

“You should leave me,” he says, bitter and angry. “Find someone whole. I’m a fucking liability.”

“I won’t,” you tell him, patiently. “I would stay with you if you were a brain in a jar.”

“Better than this,” he grunts, but in the night his body curls around yours and you kiss away tears from his scarred face that neither of you mention in the early morning light. 

It does not change overnight. Six months after his discharge from the hospital, things have calmed slightly - Prosciutto still drops his silverware sometimes, but instead of swearing and blaming himself, he forces himself to laugh. The house has adapted, too; Prosciutto had tried to avoid them at first (“The period features!” He’d said to you. “I don’t want a fucking stairlift, these stairs haven’t been altered since 1840--), but he’d acquiesced in the end. 

Extra rails, things he can hold onto, antique wingback chairs with new handles he can help himself in and out of more easily. Gadgets to make his grip better, your bedroom relocated into what used to be his study - Prosciutto has always been the kind of man to resist change, but for you he pushes himself. 

And he still cries, of course. You hear him call out for Pesci. You hear him call out for Risotto. He wakes up panting and sweating and cursing Bruno Buccellati’s name (though both of you know what happened to him. Prosciutto has made his peace - he respects Buccellati’s devotion. He’s glad of Diavolo’s deposement. You feel rather less sanctimonious about it, and sometimes the voice in your head is glad that Bruno Buccellati came to a sticky end.). He tells you to leave him and that he’s not worth it and his working hand curls around your waist, pulling you into him, whispering he wishes he’d died instead. 

You live a slightly quieter life. Prosciutto likes luxury, but likes a bargain and hates spending money even more - you two have a nice little savings pot that keeps you in (if not the manner you were accustomed to before) modest fashion. Grateful Dead potters about the house - some of his tentacles are wizened and broken, but he reaches things for Prosciutto that your boyfriend cannot and lays his head on your knee, more desperate for affection now than he ever was before Prosciutto’s injuries. Prosciutto tenses when you lay your hand on Grateful Dead’s head, but shivers when your fingers trace soft patterns, his own head rolling back to enjoy the ghost of your hand on his stand. 

And you are happy. 

You are as happy as you can be. You and Prosciutto muddle along, but he is alive and you are by his side. You kiss him and his good arm goes around your waist, goading you into sitting on his knee. He whispers that he loves you, adores you, that you keep him going - and you whisper the same into his, sighing against his skin, happy that he is with you. 

Until the knock on the door, eight months after his accident. 

-

Giorno Giovanna, in real life, is tiny. He’s a boy - that much is clear. You’d heard he was fifteen (though perhaps he is sixteen now), but you hadn’t been expecting him to look . . . so young. Prosciutto is on edge in front of him, scowl on his handsome face so his overbite and slight buck teeth are more prominent, his knuckles white on the cane by his chair. 

“I don’t understand why you’ve come now,” you say to him, your voice pitching. You can see Prosciutto’s careful veneer falling apart in front of the new Don of Passione. “It’s been months.”

“We were waiting for Signore Prosciutto to recover from his injuries,” Giorno says, all benevolence. Your own heart beats treacherously fast in your chest. You do not trust this golden-haired angel, nor the dark-haired man he’s brought with him with one hand on the table and one hand in the gun in his pants. 

“I won’t be regrowing any of my limbs,” Prosciutto snaps, and you start as you see the gunman’s fingers flex on the handle. You put a hand on your boyfriend’s leg, high enough that it’s leg and not prosthetic, hoping to calm him. 

“We won’t be asking that of you,” Giorno continues, as if - in Diavolo’s reign - Prosciutto’s outburst wouldn’t be enough for him to find a bullet lodged in his brain. 

“I’m not exactly suited for field work in my condition,” Prosciutto says, and you want to shush him and talk for him. You hate this - hate that you can hear the barbed wire in Prosciutto’s voice, that it feels like you’re teetering on a tightrope. If Prosciutto says the wrong thing . . . you two have come so far! You’ve worked so hard! For Prosciutto’s life to come to an end, here, because of a wrong inflection or a rude word when he’s staring the man who killed his team-family-friends in the face and is expected to show deference to him . . .

You can’t bear it. 

“No,” Giorno says. Your throat is dry. You stare at the table in front of you (your old mahogany table was sent to an antiques shop; this one is perfectly sized for Prosciutto’s wheelchair on his worst days) and try and pretend that you aren’t on the edge of a breakdown and that your nerves aren’t fraying with every syllable that comes from Giorno’s mouth. “But . . . we have access to Diavolo’s files, signore, and we know you’d be well-suited for other things.”

“Prosciutto,” you say, aware your voice is small and whiny. You put a hundred things into the whisper of his name. The fear and anxiety and regret - the hope that you’d put the mafia behind you. You’re not stupid. A man like Prosciutto doesn’t get to leave his whole life behind. But you’d thought . . . after everything, you’d thought you were safe.

“Your family,” Giorno continues. “Your good name. Your knowledge of how the syndicate works. We could find a good use for you, signore, if you’ll agree to come work with us.”

(Giorno uses the word ‘agree’. You and Prosciutto both know that is not the case. There is no disagreement when it comes to these things. It is an agreement or an assassin in two weeks from now and a knife at his throat and you, with Prosciutto cradled in your arms as he bleeds out. Men like him do not get miracles twice.)

(He carefully says ‘with’, too. You both know it is ‘for’. ‘Under’. Prosciutto will be a pawn. Again.)

“Yes.” Prosciutto says. He shoots you a brief look that has a hundred apologies written all over it. “I understand, Don.”

They do not give Prosciutto much time to decide - both of them know, with you at his side, he isn’t going to say no. 

And when Prosciutto kisses Giorno’s ring and swears fealty again, he looks at you and you wonder how you were ever so foolish to believe you’d really escape. 

[whereisten]

Creature Feature - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Preview | Taeil blurb

Summary: You work at your family’s 9-5 nighttime theater for the supernatural. Your fling with vampire!Taeyong is just that: a fling.

Pairing: Vampire!Taeyong x female reader

Word Count: 4.9k words

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Smut

Warnings: cursing, attempted suicide mention, death mention, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, penetration, cock warming

Part 3

[8:30 PM]

It was Saturday night. Your parents rewarded you with the weekend off and you caught up on some sleep and did some online shopping. You sat in your apartment in one of the many high rises in Downtown Mystic. You laid on the couch and scrolled through a webtoon on your tablet, kicking your legs like a lovesick schoolgirl. The latest chapter of the webcomic had you gushing. 

Your phone sounded off a text. You didn’t even have to check who it was.

Your parents were back for two weeks now and Yuta’s gifts did not cease. He was sneaky, you had to hand it to him. He somehow always knew when your parents weren’t around to drop things off at your office. It was a good thing he never figured out where you lived.

Day 1 (when your parents came back): The Tiffany necklace

Day 2: a $250 gift card to the Hand and Stone Massage and Facial Spa

Day 3: a Versace safety pin evening dress (he knew your measurements a little too well as it fit you like a glove)

Day 4: Godiva chocolate covered strawberries delivered to you every night before you left for work

…..It made your head spin to even go to Day 14. 

You didn’t use any of Yuta’s gift’s (except for the strawberries because those couldn’t go to waste and you planned to start up a payment plan with him when you kindly rejected him...AGAIN). 

Every time you tried to approach Yuta, though, you were always pulled in another direction by an employee at work. You were everyone’s go-to woman. Their emotional support only daughter. You couldn’t catch a break.

To hell with it, when you got back to work on Monday night, you would ignore everyone for 10 minutes and they would just have to accept it. You would find Yuta when he “stopped by to meet a friend” like he has for the past two weeks. 

Taeyong wasn’t around much either. You met up only a couple of times to French kiss like it was a contact sport but conveniently neither of you had time to be disappointed when you had to part. You both had lives to live. Separately. 

So, there you were, on Saturday night, feeling antsy with nothing to do now that you had to wait for the next chapter of True Beauty to update next week. You weren’t used to being free on a Saturday. It was a weird feeling. To no avail, you called up a couple of friends to see if they were down to go clubbing. You were always the designated driver so you thought they would jump at the chance to avoid paying for a Lyft. 

Alcohol only had a temporary effect on your body: hence, the dream designated driver. 99% human. You wished there was a name for the type of creature you were. Your parents were adamant that you were a human but you knew you stood out from the rest of that population. Your parents were never particularly fond of talking about your family history either so that did wonders for your anxiety.

Age 16

“But mom, how is that I can sense things? The other day at CVS I got change back from the cashier and I knew he wasn’t human. How does that make sense?” I asked.

“You were kissed by an angel, sweetheart. You were blessed with all sorts of quirky gifts. But you are a human: the purest of all of the creatures. Well, below angels. But we’re pretty close.” She replied, winking. I inherited humility from her, apparently.

Now that you were getting older...you were starting to have doubts about this whole “kissed by an angel” business. Why didn’t your mom have any of your abilities? It just didn’t add up. 

You could only hold on to the things you knew: you could understand any creature, you could identify any creature in disguise, your cuts from falls healed very quickly, you could manipulate your dreams, your alcohol tolerance was most impressive, and you had a powerful urge to be with a vampire. 

You missed the feel of Taeyong’s elegant fingers tracing against your thighs and moving dangerously close to your heat. His teasing was torturous but you enjoyed every second of it. You found yourself mimicking his movements to yourself and imagining he was there with you. 

You got off on fantasizing Taeyong on top of you on the couch but the euphoria didn’t last long.

You sighed. You felt really stupid for not sharing your phone number with him. 

 🎥

You thought about going to Target for the hell of it since you never had a chance to go. Your unusual schedule would usually lead you to groggily shop for groceries at 8 in the morning once in a while. You were elated to go at nighttime and kill a couple of hours browsing.

You chose to go makeup free and in an old university tee and yoga pants. It felt good not give a fuck about how you looked for a night. 

You headed over to Target and made a beeline for the Starbucks to get a frappuccino. You haven’t had one of them in months and you were close to the point of tears when you tasted the whipped cream again .

You moaned in happiness. “Yes.”

“I’ve heard that before,” a voice came from behind you. 

You jumped at hearing Taeyong’s voice. “AH!’

Taeyong chuckled when you turned around. “Stop! I could’ve dropped my frap.”

He was in a loose-fitting white tee and black jeans. They looked affordable but you knew that was not the case. He took the straw and drank some of your drink. “I would’ve bought you another one.”

You rolled your eyes. “Very charming. What are you doing here?” 

“It’s nice to see you, too, y/n,” he said, pecking your cheek and caressing it. 

You sighed. “Do you live around here?” This Target was down the street from your place. 

He shook his head. “I’ve been on the lookout for a video game for Doyoung. I’ve been to two Targets already.” Doyoung was one of Taeyong’s vampire pals. 

You frowned. “You should’ve called ahead and asked if they had it in stock.”

Taeyong’s eyes grew. “I did not realize that was an option.”

You laughed. “It’s cool. If you want, we can go to all of the Targets across town until we find Doyoung’s game.”

He smiled. “I’d like that.”

The third time was the charm as Taeyong found Doyoung’s game: Princess Peach & Pals 2. You high fived each other when you checked it out.

Taeyong asked, “I didn’t see you at Sinema yesterday. Are you okay?” 

You took his hand and squeezed it. “Got the weekend off.”

Taeyong looked happier than you did when your parents told you. “I’m glad. You really needed it.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s kind of weird not having any plans or someone knocking at my door asking for help with the claw machine.”

He chuckled because he helped you fix the claw machine a couple of times. “So you’re free, then?”

“Yup. Why? What were you thinking?”

He stepped back and wrapped his arms around you from behind. “Spend the night with me.”

You restrained yourself from yelling yes a hundred times. “Okay.”

Taeyong led you to the parking lot. He approached his motorcycle, a 2018 Suzuki. You stopped. How could you forget that he rode a motorcycle.

“y/n?” Taeyong asked as he pulled out two helmets. 

“You know what, how about I just take a Lyft over to your place? Gives you time to hide your snacks and your blood bags.” You avoided his stare.

He frowned. “Why?”

“I’m...I don’t do motorcycles.” You hugged yourself. 

You were scared, Taeyong realized. He never wanted you to be afraid. He tried his best to see to it that you would feel safe without him. He never wanted to cross a line that you drew. He thought the only way he could scare you was if he bit you. 

He thought wrong. 

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” he said as he hugged you again. 

You mumbled against his chest. “I don’t know…”

“You can trust me. I don’t live that far from here. It’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

You knew your fear was over-the-top but you couldn’t help it. So many maniacs were on the road. You could barely keep it together in your Corolla. But you were curious. You wanted to push the fear aside and be a little reckless. Taeyong wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Regardless of what your parents told you, vampires were strong and they protected their own. Taeyong regarded you as an equal. He’s said it multiple times. You were his friend and he would take care of you.

So what the hell?

“Okay,” you said, steadying your voice. 

He helped you secure your helmet. He did the same for himself. He got onto the bike. He nodded for you to get on. You wrapped your arms tightly around his abdomen. It was rock solid and you could feel his heartbeat accelerate. 

“Hey. Don’t let me distract you,” you teased.

He chuckled. “Even when you’re not around, love.”

You smacked his arm. “You’re so annoying.”

He laughed. “You ready?”

“Let’s go,” you said as you squeezed him tighter.

Taeyong enjoyed this more than you will ever know. He started up the bike and you moved at a decent speed out of the parking lot. Your heart rate was deceiving you and you knew Taeyong could feel it, too. 

You just let yourself feel what you felt and hoped that excitement would take over. And it did. 

When you got onto the main road, you cheered and laughed. You let yourself be free. For all of your life, you liked to think you had some freedom. At the root of it all, you were stuck in a lot of ways: family obligations, your career, and who you could marry, to name a few. But in this moment with Taeyong, you’ve never felt freer. 

🎥

Taeyong purchased one of the properties at a luxurious oceanfront hotel, Hotel La Mar. He lived on the top floor. 

“Make yourself at home,” he said. “I’m going to wash up.”

You marveled at the spacious apartment. The furniture was leather and the floor was a plush carpet. You could envision yourself curling on the floor. That’s how cozy the space felt.

The living room had a plasma screen TV with shelves and shelves of movies: everything you could think of.

Huh, a movie theater employee human hybrid (?) with a cinephile vampire lord. An interesting concept, you thought. You kept exploring and noticed that there weren’t many photographs around the space. There was one of Taeyong posing in front of the Eiffel Tower at night. Bold of him to break the rules overseas, you giggled to yourself. Another frame contained a visibly older photo. It was a picture of Taeyong and who you assumed were his family: his parents and his sister. You wondered when this was taken.

“1985,” Taeyong answered into your ear, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise.

You yelped.

He took the photo frame into his hands so you both could admire it. “This is my family. My mom, my dad, and my older sister Chaewon.”

1985? Taeyong looked exactly the same as he did in that picture. That must have been around the time he became a vampire, you thought.

“I turned a year after that,” he said. You noted the hesitance in his voice.

“Oh,” you said.

“When I was a human, I fell in love with a vampire.”

“Oh, so we’re going there...”

Taeyong took you out to the balcony so you could watch the night sky over the ocean.

“We don’t have to talk about it-“ He started.

“Are you kidding me?” You’ve been dying for more intel on this man.

He smiled amusingly at you. You were so curious and open with him. You were precious to him.

“I met Cleo when I was 22...She was older than me. I didn’t realize at the time just how much older. I worked at my father’s dojo over the summer after I graduated from college. I was going to get my master’s in architecture. I had everything going for me. I dated a few girls in college but I didn’t find someone I wanted to settle down with. I was...a bit of a hopeless romantic.”

Still are, you thought to yourself.

“I was closing the dojo one night when a couple of thugs broke in to rob the place. They were in the process of beating me to a pulp when Cleo and her friends came in and...took care of them.”

You understood that to mean they were sucked dry.

“She told me she’d been watching me for a while and didn’t know how to introduce herself. So that night was as good a time as any. I was shocked to see vampires for the first time. Once upon a time, the world you see every day at Sinema was a fairy tale for me.”

You figured as much. Not all vampires were born as vampires.

“But I couldn’t get Cleo out of my mind so soon I fell into that world. Never looking back.”

And that’s when you heard the regret in his voice.

“Cleo paraded me all over the supernatural parts of the country. She would take me to clubs. Introduce me to her friends. I moved in with her not even a month after we met. The first time she drank my blood...I didn’t expect the emotions to be so strong.”

The alarm bells rang off in your head.

“I was all hers after that, y/n. She bewitched me. I was at her beck and call. Nothing else mattered but how I could please her.”

You could see the pain in his eyes and how he avoided looking at you.

“That’s why...” You started.

Taeyong continued, “I can’t do that to you. It’s not worth the risk. My escorts? Those human women visited witches to give them the resistance from falling under a vampire’s spell. An attraction can grow, sure, but the intense devotion a human feels to a vampire is taboo now. Vampires don’t want to deal with what they would call collateral damage after having one night of unadulterated pleasure.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your heart hurt for the man before you. It wasn’t his fault that he was under Cleo’s spell. She manipulated him.

“But every now and then, a vampire just won’t care,” he said.

Which means this kind of abuse still went on to this day, you realized.

“After the first bite, I begged Cleo for more. She offered to do me one better and asked for me to join her on her travels around the world: as her vampire prince. Her words. Not mine.”

Taeyong sighed and rolled his eyes. “Looking back on it, it was bullshit. But the human me was...singing from the rooftops. I idolized that woman. She was the key to my happiness. I would follow her to the ends of the earth. And that I did.”

You thought about his family and his life.

“I was a vampire. I couldn’t live my human life anymore. I was devoted to Cleo and that was all that mattered. I gave up on my master’s. I told my parents I was getting married, traveling the world, and didn’t plan on coming back. I was mad at them, y/n. They told me I was a fool for throwing away my future for a woman who sucked me in and would spit me back out. I hated that they doubted me but even more that they doubted Cleo.”

“So you left...”

“I did and it didn’t take long for me to realize that my parents were right. I loved her unconditionally, knowing full well that she was preying on other humans like me, building an empire...well, a harem would be a more accurate term. Soon, I realized I was no longer her favorite and it was eating me up from the inside. I...couldn’t take it so I-“

You felt a sense of dread at what he was about to say next.

”I never even considered the possibility that I could end my addiction to her. I just thought of the quickest way to put me out of my misery. I planned to stab myself in the chest.”

You put your hand to your mouth. “Taeyong...I-“

He squeezed your hand. “It’s okay.”

“It’s a lot...Remembering your darkest days...I don’t want you to feel pressured to tell me everything,” you added as you traced your fingers against his knuckles.

He shook his head. “I want to share this with you.” His brown eyes shifted into bright a shade of blue, suddenly.

“Taeyong, your eyes...”

“They’re blue, aren’t they?”

“Yes but why?”

“I’ll explain. Someone saved me the day I wanted to end it all. Jaejoong. Jaejoong...is like a father to me. He talked me down and helped extract Cleo’s latches off of me. And with that, my memories of her were gone. The witch who helped us with this process was able to conserve pieces of my memories and I only had the nerve to access them recently...After I met you.”

“Taeyong...”

“I wanted to know why I couldn’t let myself bite you. Something inside me was holding me back. I wanted to drink from you so badly but you weren’t an escort. I knew the rules. About the damage that could be caused. But I wanted to understand the nagging feeling at the back of my mind. And accessing those memories again...my eyes turn blue as I reflect on the darkest time in my life.”

“Oh, Taeyong...” You sat curled up against him and held him tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

Taeyong tucked some of your hair back so he can cup your face. “Thank you for listening to me. I thought you would be running for the hills by now.”

“Everyone has their dark past. Granted, mine consists of a crappy ex-boyfriend but my point is that I really appreciate you telling me about yourself. I didn’t expect that.”

Taeyong sighed. “You know, the arrangement we have...”

“Yeah?”

“I like it. But...” He stared out at the sea.

“Go on,” you said as you kissed his neck.

“I don’t want to be just friends with you,” he almost whispered. You were close enough to his lips to hear every syllable clearly.

“I know...”

“You do?” He looked down at you as you played around with the fabric of his tee.

“You told me everything...Basically. I don’t think you did it without an agenda,” you said as you removed yourself off of him and looked into his eyes.

He rubbed his hands against your legs, wishing you’d worn shorts so he can feel your soft skin heat up at his touch. “What do you think?”

You were about to respond when his hands ran up to your butt and he squeezed it. “I...I think we’re ready to move up another level.”

He smiled. “Really?”

Before he went for your butt again, you got yourself up and straddled him. “Really.”

You kissed him deeply, begging his tongue to meet yours. Taeyong quickly reciprocated.

He cupped your face again. “You are so beautiful.”

“I know you mean that,” you said, realizing you looked like a struggling college student in your getup. He really liked you. He wouldn’t avoid your stare. He was happy.

The blue in his eyes vanished and it was back to his warm dreamy brown.

“You okay?” You asked.

“Never better,” he said as you pulled you closer to him. He always embraced you like it was his last time.

He was indeed a hopeless romantic.

“So...” You couldn’t get Cleo out of your mind, though. You wondered what she looked like and how she seduced Taeyong. At one point, Taeyong was in love with her without the enchantment of a vampire. You couldn’t help but wonder if he ever compared you to her. And just how much he remembered after the memory wipe. “Where is Cleo now?”

He cleared his throat. “She’s dead.”

There was a sense of dread again at the pit of your stomach. “How did she die?” You sat beside him again.

“Jaejoong...finished her,” he continued.

“...How?”

“When Cleo found out I had defected to another clan, she was furious,” he said.

“She came after you?” You asked, shocked she would care so much.

“It’s not that she cared,” he answered your thoughts again without realizing it. “It was a matter of pride for her. I was her property. And Jaejoong took it away from her.” That infuriated you.

Taeyong continued, “Jaejoong hid me away from her for a year. So I wouldn’t be tempted to go back to her. Even if her influence escaped me, she could easily lure me in again. I was weak, starved for love. For anything I could get from her after I left everything behind.”

“Taeyong...”

“In 1987, Jaejoong and Cleo faced off. She perished from a wooden bullet shot to the heart.”

You still had so much you wanted to ask. “How do you know she’s gone?” You blurted. You didn’t have a lot of remorse for the death of this woman, you understood.

He met your gaze. “Jaejoong brought me to her body.”

You waited for him to continue.

He said, “And we burned it, making sure no trace of her remained.”

He worried that you would see him differently upon hearing this.

But you understood. She was a monster that preyed upon innocent people and played with them like dispensable toys. You hated that someone could be so vile and tinker with the heart of the man you...

Liked.

“Wow,” you said, meekly.

“I know,” he said, “Jaejoong took in the lost boys of her clan and helped them become independent. Like he did with me. Now we pledge our loyalty to him.”

You wondered if Jaejoong was really as heroic of a man as Taeyong made him out to be.

🎥

You sat with Taeyong in the kitchen. You took some cake mix out from your shopping tote and asked him if you could bake it. “Mind if I use your kitchen?”

“Depends. What flavor is the cake?”

“Red velvet,” you answered.

“Only if I can lick the spoon,” he said as he helped pull out all of the supplies and ingredients.

As you mixed the cake mix with the other ingredients, Taeyong watched you.

You were something else. After telling you some of his darkest memories, you didn’t run off. You didn’t doubt him. You stayed. And for that, he would be eternally thankful.

“You can lick the spoon now,” you sang.

Taeyong creeped up from behind you, dipped his finger into the bowl, scooped some of the batter and ran it across your neck. You stood still.

He moved his finger dangerously slow across your neck and his tongue followed even more slowly behind. You moaned at his delicate touch.

“It tastes pretty good,” he whispered. You could feel his cock grow against your leg.

Taeyong held you from behind as you finished putting the mix into a pan. You laughed at how he clung to you like a koala.

The cake would take about half an hour to bake, which meant...

“Lead the way, Taeyong,” you said.

He scooped you up and he bolted to his bedroom. You laughed.

He tossed you on the plush California king bed and nearly pounced on top of you. You yelled and giggled like you were playing tag.

He kissed you hard as he laid against the bed frame. You pulled his shirt off. He did the same. You surprised him then.

“Where’s your bra?” He asked.

“I took it off when I went to the bathroom. I thought you noticed and that’s why we’re here now.”

“I mean, your nipples looked...”

You pulled him closer. “How do they look?” You lowered your voice.

“Pretty,” he said as he kissed you again. You pulled down his pants and cock greeted you.

Taeyong stood up on the bed as you kneeled down to greet his gorgeous length.

You grasped it hard and Taeyong grunted. “Does it feel good, baby?” You asked.

“Yes, love,” he said as he ran his fingers against your hair.

You took his length into your mouth and moved slowly back and forth, enjoying the taste of precum in your mouth and the sound of Taeyong’s moans. His length tickled the back of your throat. The discomfort was mild but you liked giving him blow jobs. So with practice, the pain became pleasure. You were getting wet at the thought of pleasuring him now.

“Feel me,” you said as you moved your eyes down to your panties. Taeyong put his hands down there and gently placed two fingers inside of you. He moaned again as you sucked faster.

You wanted Taeyong to know that you weren’t there to play with his heart. That was never what you wanted. You wanted to get to know him. And you didn’t want to keep lying to yourself. You were all in. And somehow, you would find a way to make it work.

Taeyong tugged tightly at your hair as he was on the verge of his climax. The thought of his climax aroused you ever further and felt the vibrations deep down in your belly. When he came, you found yourself soaked from him and yourself. You lathered up his cum. You fingered yourself and gave him a taste of your essence. You took all of his cum in and dragged your tongue up to his abdomen and met his lips. You kissed him.

He hugged you and wiped the sweat off of your forehead. “I love you.”

You exhaled like you held your breath for a long time. “I love you, too.”

He laid you down so he could pleasure you. He kissed you again and ran his hands up your thighs and forced them open. You gasped.

He greedily lathered up your cum. “You are exquisite.” He began running his index finger in and out of your clit. You started rocking back and forth.

He tsked. “Stay still, angel. Or I’m going to stop.”

You whined. “Meanie.”

He laughed his deep laugh and just the sound of that made you moan.

His unoccupied hand gripped your thigh tightly, squeezed your ass, and caressed you face. He liked watching you come undone under him. It kept awake sometimes when he was home alone.

He continued to finger you and you mewled when he inserted two fingers. You felt yourself building up again. You couldn’t help but rock back and forth. You wanted to climax.

“Taeyong, please,” you begged.

He smiled as he removed his fingers.

You whined even more. “Evil overlord, please.”

He pecked your lips. “Your wish is my command.”

He quickly inserted his cock and it hit you hard that you cried out. The pain quickly became pleasure as you both moved back and forth.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed. “I fucking love you.”

“I...love...you...” You managed to get out until you both released.

You both went for two more rounds before passing out on the bed. He held you as he covered you under the sheets. The timer went off for the cake.

You were about to get up but Taeyong pulled you back.

“It’ll cool. It’s okay. Just stay with me,” he said as he snuggled up against you.

“You’re so clingy,” you said as you laid your back against his front. He spooned you. His cock was in your ass. You’d wanted to do this with him for a while.

Taeyong was beaming. You were beside him now and neither of you was in a rush to leave. You could take your time and enjoy each other.

He moaned against your neck. “Are you hungry, though?”

You laughed. “I’m good.”

So you laid beside each other as the sun rose and slept for hours.

🎥

You stayed asleep but Taeyong’s phone rang. He slowly got up from bed and covered you with the sheets. You frowned in your sleep like you unconsciously knew he left your side. He laughed quietly as he took his phone off the nightstand.

He walked out of the room so as not to disturb you.

“Hey Jaejoong, how was South Africa?” He asked.

His leader chuckled over the phone. “Beautiful. The great white sharks were incredible. You have to come with me next time.”

“Are you back in the country?” Taeyong asked excitedly. Jaejoong was gone for a while on his travels.

“Yes. I landed today in Mystic.”

Taeyong replied, “That’s great. You have to come over for dinner. I’ll make your favorite chicken parm and you can drop off all of the souvenirs you bought for me.”

Jaejoong laughed. “I hope a keychain won’t disappoint you. How about I come over tonight? There’s something I wanted to talk about with you.” You noticed the shift in his tone.

“Is everything okay?” Taeyong asked.

“Yeah...They’ll be even better soon enough,” Jaejoong said.

To Be Continued in Part 4

[miss-choco-chips]

The dangers of sugar coating

Dick tries to give his little brother nice things (and fucks up), Tim is paranoid (and too tired to think clearly), and Damian thinks they might actually be a good team (while they plot Santa Claus’ downfall).

(Beacuse @animemangasoul and I decided we’ve been too rough with Tim lately, so I tried to give him some batfamily fluff. Somewhere along the way I fucked up and ended with this. No edit, pure crack)

-----.------

-Before I tell you anything, you need to promise me you won’t get mad.

The Bruce of ten years ago, new to parenting and oblivious to its dangers, would have done his best to emulate any ‘How to be a good Dad- guide for new, utterly lost fathers’ book. Now, though, tired after raising Dick to semi-adulthood and still hurting over Jason’s… Jason, he knew better. Life had toughtened him up.

So he didn’t raise his eyes from his newspaper, and gave into the urge of sipping his coffee before humming under his breath. Not even the slightest show of acceptance over those terms.

If Dick was asking that, instead of hiding whatever this was or dealing with it himself, it meant the situation was either out of his control, bound to make its way to Bruce eventually, or both. 

Probably both.

-Come on, B, just promise you won’t get all passive aggressive bitch on me. I did it for the greater good...

Another hum.

However, Dick has spent the same amount of time learning under his guide than he had raising him, so the younger was bound to develop some of his own tactics.

-...and I did it because Tim obviously needed it, so…

Warning bells ringing in his mind, Bruce gave up and shoot Dick a look. He didn’t seem overly guilty, so whatever this was, it probably wasn’t irreversible. But he was also shifting his weight from one leg to the other nervously, so… there was a catch here.

-What did you do?

-You didn’t promise.

-I won’t take your allowance away, but I may yell. It depends on how convincingly you make your case -compromise, he had learned after many, many mistakes, was as good a plan as any. 

-Deal -then, quickly, like ripping off a bandaid:- I might have made Tim slightly more neurotic than he was. On accident.

The bells turned into firefighter’s sirens. 

-What did you do?

They have had the fifteen year old living in the mannor for a few weeks at most. They couldn't possibly have already broken him, right?

Right?

Dick winced, but sat down by Bruce’s left (the side closest to the dining room’s window), which meant this was the only issue, but a hard to explain one.

-You see… We were talking, bonding over childhood memories and stuff, and… you know how christmas is just around the corner, and I asked him about Santa. I mean, obviously he doesn’t believe in that now, but the thing is, he never did.

-He’s too smart for that -growled Bruce, impatiente to get to the point and figure out just how much damage control would he be doing.

-No, his parents were too shitty. They were never there on Christmas, so no gifts under the tree unless he put them there himself, and whenever that happened, it was because his parents sent them and he wrapped them himself. Also no surprises, because he was the one asking for specific stuff. And I got a little sad, because how can a kid never believe in Santa? Like, come on. It’s part of the concept of childhood innocence. So...

Bruce waited a few beats, but Dick didn’t follow up. See, this was the moment where his parenting books would suggest waiting until the kid was good and ready for sharing his thoughts. But, since this was his younger child at stake here, he couldn't allow himself the luxury of letting a single second go.

-And? -he prompted, as gently as he could, trying not to spook Dick into abandoning ship.

-And I sort of… convinced him that Santa was real. Like, a full out super powered meta whose purpose in life was to bring joy to all of us. I texted Barbara and she planted some old looking reports on the batcomputer about it, to give credibility to the lie. I even drew parallels with Batman being thought of as a myth outside of Gotham to support the ‘Santa is real, people just don’t believe in him’ thing. And, after some hours of convincing and with Babs’ help, he bought it. So now, if Tim approaches you about it, you better back me up, because otherwise you would be ruining the last vestige of innocence Tim might still keep. Downside, though, Tim is now holed up in his bedroom searching the deep web for any Santa related info he can get his nerdy little paws on.

Silence in the room. Dick blurted out a goodbye and jumped out of the window. Bruce didn’t get up to check if he had landed safely on the other side. He probably had. 

Tired, he looked down at his coffee. Black, just like he needed it now.

He should have stopped at zero children.

----.----

Cassie watched, with no small amount of unholy glee, as Tim thoroughly convinced both Kon and Bart of Santa’s existence. One a clone with little social understanding and the other from a very dark future, they were unsurprisingly easy to convince.

This was the kind of hilarious shit that made being in a superhero team worth it. All the life and death situations were balanced out by this kind of drama-like absurdity.

Even better was Tim’s completely fucked up perspective on the matter.

-So you’re saying Santa is not only real, but a deranged psychopath? Who’s probably both a pedofile and a mind controlling scumbag? -Kon tilted his head, both confused and esceptic.

Cassie did her utmost best to keep a straight face while nodding along, as if everything Tim had laid down in front of them made perfect sense. 

-I thought it was stupid, too. But Dick showed me evidence, old reports, both handwritten and digital, and I found footage of Santa sneaking into the Manor when he was still young, deeply buried in the Batcomputer mainframe.

-Couldn’t that video be, you know… made up? -Bart asked, frown unusual on him firmly in place.

-If it was anywhere else? Sure. But this is The Batcomputer we’re talking about. Why would Batman have that kind of thing there? It was too heavily protected to be placed there as decoy for anyone hacking, not like they could ever get over Oracle’s firewalls. Besides, what reason would Batman have to invent this? I’m fifteen, I don’t need the ‘Santa fantasy’. The only believable answer is that Santa is real and very dangerous, and some people have taken his name for capitalism’s sake and made a holiday out of that and some religious backing, to get more people roped up into it. The true mastermind is obviously hiding somewhere out there, and the Christmas propaganda is merely a means to get funding for his devious plots.

Both metas hummed thoughtfully, Superboy even crossing his arms as he examined the pile of photos and papers Tim had laid out in front of them. Bart was nodding, hand cupping his jaw. The looked dead serious.

Cassie wanted to excuse herself to use the toilet (lead lidden because this was Gotham, specifically Tim’s secret place, so of course it was super-proof) so she could laugh her ass off, but the temptation of seeing this trainwreck to its fiery end was too strong. 

It was taking up all of her amazonian training to keep her straight face, though. Diana would be so proud.

-I even searched the deep web for Santa related crimes, and looked up his name in disturbing forums. You wouldn't believe what some people, serial killers and rapists both, do using Christmas as a theme. I couldn't sort through it all, it was that sick.

Kon looked utterly disturbed- So what do we do now? Christmas is just around the corner!

Bart got up and started pacing back and forth- We need to hunt this dude down. Christmas is about goodness and family! We can’t let this, this… psychopath ruin it! Think about the children of the world!!

Oh god, this was getting even better.

-But how? The man sounds like a velocist of some kind, I mean, running and leaving gifts everywhere in the world in the span of a few hours? How are we even gonna catch him?

-Maybe if we dress up as Elves? -Cassie couldn't stop herself from suggesting, voice choked in her effort to be serious, but most likely interpreted by the boys as clogged up on rage- From what Tim wrote here -she raised a paper from the pile, hand shaking- it looks like they are his mind-controlled slaves. If he thinks we ran from his captivity, he might take us to the North Pole with him to brainwash us again… Oh, but I probably shouldn't dress up, so you know, I can be back up if he manages to catch you three…

-That’s a great idea! -Bart’s skinny arms wrapped themselves around her neck, and she took the chance to hide her face in his mane of hair, corners of her mouth twitching up.

-Should I also record it? -she asks, almost begging- In case people don’t believe us later, when we have to explain why we imprisoned Santa.

-Yes, I think that might be wise -Tim conceded, eyes scanning his papers again.

Thank the gods. That tape was going to be Cassie’s most precious treasure forever.

-I think he has a way of controlling people’s minds too. Like, parents and stuff. And then he makes them be the ones to give his children gifts in his name, as a way of gaining their trust. Sick fucker.

-So you think it’s a kinky thing for him?

-Kon, he literally categorizes kids as ‘good’ or ‘naughty’. 

-You are right, we need to stop this bastard.

Cassie loved her boys so, so much. She also owed Dick Grayson the biggest high five.

----.----

Red Hood was just lighting up a cigarette when he saw Red Robin making his way to his rooftop. Cursing, he dropped the entire thing and kicked it away. The brat knew Jason smoked, but Dick had been on his ass lately about being a good brother, and he still felt kinda bad about trying to kill the kid twice, so he was actually trying to set a good example. 

Besides, out of the two possible little brothers to take under his wing, he certainly drew the lucky ticket, because while Dickie had gotten stranded with the pompous brat, Jason had the all around good kid circling his radar more often than not. Like, Tim had broken him out of prison, a little after Jason had done his best to end his life; he couldn't get more forgiving and nice than that. It certainly beat making a murder League child let go of his katana on a nightly basis.

-I need your help.

He blinked. While they certainly had worked cases together in the past, they were always preluded by some kind of smalltalk,  little banter, at least a ‘hello’. Not this straight to the point bullshit.

He had the urge to take out his guns, to protect them both of any threat following Red Robin here. He refrained.

-What’s the matter, babybird? What’s wrong?

Tim looked almost frazzled. The cowl was hanging around his neck, just a domino preserving his identity, and his hair was a knotted mess. Disveleshed was too little a word for his state.

-We need to make a plan to catch Santa Claus before Christmas this year. His reign of terror must end. It’s still not too late.

Yeah, okay, he might need that cigarette after all, to hell with Dick’s bitching. Besides, how bad of a influence could that be, when this kid was obviously already on some kind of drugs? Like, Santa? Really?

-What… do you mean?

What followed was an hour long rant on the dangers of a super powered, evil version of the myth that Tim had somehow cooked up on his mind.

Was this real? The kid looked far too distraught for a joke.

-… Does Nightwing know about this? -whatever ‘this’ was- Bats?

Tim shook his hands frantically. Jason was legit getting worried.

-N was the one who told me about Santa -there, he knew this smelled like a Golden Boy trademark fuck up-, but he seems to be under his spell. Bruce as well. They tried to convince me he is some kind of good-hearted samaritan. Jason -he stated, breaking the no names during patrol rule, a show of just how deep into the rabbit hole he was- you wouldn't  believe what I found on the deepweb. Joker’s yearly special seems tame in comparison.

That, Jason could believe. But he was also fairly sure you could type about any word in the darkest side of the net, and find half a dozen kinky or deranged things that matched. Santa-temed crimes? More likely than anyone would believe. Real life Santa doing the deed? Not so much.

Tim had been too young when Dick lied to his face, most likely. And nowadays, the young vigilante was running on three hours of sleep on a good week. And it wasn’t even too far fetched to believe, on their line of business, specially when dealing with metas and supervillains day in and day out.

Still…

-Kid, I don’t know how to tell you this, but… Santa isn’t real -he told him, slowly, hands raised as if to touch his shoulders but not daring to actually make contact. Tim looked so manic he might actually nerve strike him.

The icy blue eyes were hidden under his mask, but Jason knew from the way he tensed that Tim was terrified.

-He got to you, too -he whispered, almost too softly for him to hear. Then, without giving Jason the chance to inquire further, he turned tail and disappeared into the night.

....

He really needed that cigarette.

----.----

When Drake told the family he was taking Damian under his wing for a case, everyone seemed so happy he couldn't just shoot the other man down. Besides, reluctant as he was to admit it, Red Robin was the superior detective in the entirety of the team, so there would be rewards for taking the blow to his pride and working with him.

He expected to be directed through some easy case, maybe a little puzzling but not too challenging. Or be sidelined while Drake worked through things, so he could learn by example.

This, though, this he hadn’t foresaw.

This case was way more serious.

-How come Father has allowed this depravancy to continue?! -exclaimed Damian, hands gripping the sheets of information tightly- This ‘Santa’s’ influence has been permitted to cement on too many people already! And it keeps growing!

-I know. Fuck, I know. But I can’t get anyone to help me. My team knows, but sadly we aren’t enough. Bruce and Dick don’t believe me, and neither does any other hero I contacted on the matter. It’s just like when B was missing in time; they either think I’m crazy, or try to sugarcoat things, like they would with a baby.

Damian snorted, disbelieving. Whatever his opinion might be on his predecessor, he at least knew to trust his insight in a case. Grandfather himself had recognized his genius on that field.

They were on Drake’s perch, his center of operations outside of Batman’s influence. He would never admit it out loud, but if Damian ever needed his own batcave, it would be just like this one. 

Now, the long table in front of him was completely covered in information, case reports, photos taken from live footage, deepweb forums’ conversations, history books…

-And you say this… monster, targets children?

-I mean, he brainwashes the parents too, but that seems like a plot to both increase his economic funds and to gain the children’s trust.

-How are you so sure they are his objective?

-The parents tell their children Santa is ‘always observing them’, and ask if they ‘have been good’ that year. If they aren’t perceived as obedient, Santa leaves them coal, which incentives them to do their best to change that by next year’s christmas. 

-Maybe the coal and gifts have mind control devices, or some magic?

-My thoughts exactly.

Damian frowns even deeper. He’s glad Drake is taking his detective training seriously, but if father himself is being deceived, he wonders what can the two of them (plus Drake’s team) do.

-What about Todd? Red Hood is proclaimed as Saint Protector of Children in Crime Alley, after all. He certainly has opinions about this ‘Santa’ person. 

Timothy shakes his head- He got Jason too. I suspect he’s been under his control ever since he was a child at the manor. 

-So, we are alone in this.

-Essentially, yes. Thankfully, not everyone celebrates christmas. Some religions flat out forbid it, so we won’t have as much ground to cover when we lay out a trap. We could choose a close by location and plan around it. 

He nods, back straight with purpose. He -and Drake, he supposes- would be freeing Father and Grayson, along with the rest of the victims, from this madman’s control. Maybe even Todd, if he has the time.

-I’m with you on this endeavor, Drake.

-Good. Remember we need to act natural in front of the family. If Santa catches wind of what we’re doing, he might focus his efforts in getting to us. 

Damian wants to say to let him come, he would show him why it's a bad idea to mess with his family. But Drake is, admittedly, the superior detective, and it seems he’s been working on this for a long time now. Damian will defer to his judgement this one time.

Drake’s superior knowledge and Damian’s unrivaled training might be what’s needed to orchestrate this ‘Santa’s’ downfall.

They will be a good team, he thinks.

[angelicichor]

Okay, here we go again, hope y’all ready.

Slashers dealing with their S/O having a mental break down pt.2 in which I’m a horrible person and Bubba baby I’m so sorry.

TW: self-degradation, mental trauma, mental break down, depression

Michael Myers (OG):

♦ The very moment the infamous Shape of Haddonfield had spared your life on that fateful Halloween night you knew that your existence would get a whole lot harder.

♦ You’ve read Doctor Loomis’ book, it created a clear image of this being before you in your head, this devil, who took people’s lives to satisfy some gross urge inside himself, some repressed emotions, some perversion, who knew.

♦ Yet as the man with the devil’s eyes moved into your house and you got to spend time with him, willingly or not, you learned there was more to him than the psychiatrist claimed. It was hard to tell what exactly you saw in him, it might’ve been pure Stockholm syndrome after being forced to stay indoors for a week just after meeting him, but you grew a bond with this murderer.

♦ It clearly wasn’t love, but rather adoration, maybe friendship, it was impossible to decide, really, somehow you doubted there was a title for what you two had, so you just decided to call it a voluntary hostage situation.

♦ It was stupid and Michael just sighed heavily through his mask when you’ve told him about the name, but it was SOMETHING.

♦ And you needed a lot of somethings to deal with him, with who he was and what hiding you at your place made you. 

♦ You’ve suffered sleepless nights because of it, all too aware what was going on when Michael was gone, noticing all the missing knives, the axe from your shed, the rope, even the blade from your lawnmower. You’d stand up in the morning only to find his bloody coveralls on the top of your dark clothing, ready for washing, while he was walking around in your ex’s pants.

♦ But even though your mind told you of all the atrocities this man committed, you couldn’t pull away from him. Something keeping you in place and you feared it was the anxious awareness that if you betrayed him, he’d know, he’d find you and he’d end you in a heart beat.

♦ Each day your sane mind told you to call the police and get under witness protection, get away from this soulless monster, start anew and once you’re old and already satisfied with the life you’ve led, you can write a book about it and live the rest of your days in luxury from your sales.

♦ But it wasn’t that easy, because the twisted part of your self was attracted to this now familiar danger. His body, his touch and his voice, only sounding for you, dark and raspy, making you tremble whenever he called out your name.

♦ You craved his dark affection, his toxic touch and those piercing eyes gazing into you with a primal possessiveness to them. He had marked you his way too many times.

♦ And within the walls of the house you used to feel at home in you felt lost, starring into the pool of red beneath your feet, still shuddering from what happened, your gut clenching at the realization that it had been the second time, too.

♦ He killed someone in front of you. 

♦ Yet this time you felt nothing, an empty, raging void sucking your heart in, as you zoned out of everything, not even able to think, an empty husk.

♦ There was some distant sensation, something dark pulling forward, a part of you tried to push it away, but it was weak and as you heard the floor boards behind you creak, it lost.

♦ “Michael… Can you… kill me?” you asked, voice devoid of emotion, cold and distant, lost, without purpose and sitting before a window you didn’t notice his reaction, the way his body stuttered, head tilting and brows furrowing under the mask. He never had it in him to take it off in front of you for longer than a minute.

♦ And you noticed it starring back at you, unmoving and that brought a tired half-smile towards your pale face, a breath of a broken laugh leaving your chest, but not mouth, giving your body a single shake. 

♦ Of course he wouldn’t take it off, why would he, for some stupid play thing like you? You were too stupid to even understand why he wore it in the first place, with his looks he could have anyone he wanted, but he settled for you, why? You were pretty sure it was only because you hadn’t annoyed him that much when he tried to kill you, he just thought you were simple and stupid, perfect to use and throw away once he got bored, but now you wished so hard that he’d get it over with and move on.

♦ “Michael, I’m tired.” you murmured, and if listening to your words your brain let the wave of exhaustion wash over your face, body and soul, letting that one feeling go, your hands grasping at your hair, again blind to the twitch in his hands.

♦ “I’m grateful that you let me live then and… I adore you in a way I guess, though don’t ask me why, I don’t really understand myself.” you didn’t see him, but heard his footsteps, coming closer, but slowly, almost hesitantly. But you were sure he was just mocking you for being weak in front of him, drawing out your anxiety, the other feeling that slipped through the iron curtain your mind had set.

♦ “I just can’t handle it anymore, I know I’m pathetic, a coward, but I’ve been bearing with your… tendencies for so long… I’ve accepted you because there’s some fucked up part of me that wants to be with you but… I can’t handle being your toy, Michael… not anymore. I have feelings, too many of them, and they just… “ you didn’t get to finish, as The Shape pulled at your shoulder harshly towards him. 

♦ His throat clenched when you didn’t even make a sound, your tired, blank stare welcoming him instead. “Please, Michael. I can’t risk everything for someone who can never care for me.“ you spoke still, the darkness in your heart leaking, drop by drop, filling you to the brim as you smiled still, letting tears run down your cheeks. And at the angle he held you at you couldn’t even see the anger his eyes conveyed, but you could sense it. “I know this isn’t your fault.” And all too suddenly it was gone. “But I need you to let me go now. You’ll find someone better, prettier, maybe smart enough to give you enough stability to take get rid of this mask… Because god, you know I’m just a dumb little thing.” you huffed a laughter and yet he was still, unmoved, just like he always was, so you risked it, grabbing his hand and pushing your neck into it, anger overtaking your eyes. “Just fucking finish the job, Myers.” you cried, closing your eyes the moment his fingers tightened around you neck, squeezing tight. 

♦ And the feeling of relief in your gut was just sickening.

♦ Yet as you waited for your pipes to close, for a snap of your neck, for the stinging pain of his knife, nothing came. Instead your head spun with the sudden sensation of both of your cheeks being grabbed, painfully, but almost gently.

♦ You dared to open your eyes and froze instantly.

♦ “No.” Michael spoke from above you, digging his nails into your soft skin, his expression fixed into pure rage and you gulped. “You’re mine.” The growling of his voice made you tremble, eyes tearing up once more, landing on his rough fingers. “And you will be till the day I die.” He pressed his forehead against yours, his blue eye making your very souls shiver as it’s gaze connected with your own, letting you soak in the pure obsessiveness of it’s nature.

♦ And you nodded gently, struggling to catch air, clawing at his dark shirt in a desperate attempt to ground yourself to something, anything.

♦ And for once, Michael reached out to you without the intent to harm, pulling you into his chest and sitting still, letting you steal just of tiny bit of his emotion.

♦ And you whimpered in joy, realizing just how horrible of a person you were.

Bubba Sawyer:

♦ You didn’t mean to scream.

♦ Or at least not at the person you did.

♦ Both Drayton and Nubbins looked at you appalled, as their sweetest family member let his head lower, taking in your words.

♦ This whole day was horrible from the start, you waking up with a headache, no motivation, the old man calling you down to trick you into feeding grandpa, then Nubbins came, insisting on showing you his knife and attempting to cut you with it, much to Drayton’s disapproval. 

♦ You’ve been walking around irritated as all hell the whole day, but once dinner rolled on, everything was just too much. Four screaming, kicking people were shoved towards the table and sat down, much to their protest, muted by the duck tape around their heads.

♦ Then Nubbins decided that it would’ve been a great idea to rip the gags off! With a knife! Laughing maniacally through the whole thing and the screams that mixed in with it soon after really didn’t help your migraine, neither did the ceremonial smashing heads in with a hammer, as Drayton missed on purpose to scare the poor, poor girl that was chosen to be first.

♦ And of course somebody had to wiggle out of the rope and hold a knife to your back, not realizing that you could, in fact, defend yourself by grabbing a plate and smashing it in his face.

♦ Then there was that chainsaw, oh, it was family, alright.

♦ Family of loud, annoying noises swearing to rip your poor brain to shreds, because there were no pain killers ANYWHERE in the house, of course there wouldn’t be! Drayton took them almost every day to ease his back pains, even though everybody knew damn well he was just tense and needed to find somebody to massage him, because neither you nor Nubbins would do it and Bubba… was a wild card.

♦ The poor boy.

♦ He just caught you at your worst moment, when you were about to tip over, having noticed that you were agitated the whole day and babbling to you in his sweet, darling voice, asking if you wan”ted to go rest.

♦ And that high pitched series of noises was enough for you to raise your voice.

♦ “CAN’T YOU FUCKING SHUT UP?!” You shrieked, not even pointing the complaint at him, but with the whole situation, it landed right at his heart.

♦ And you were god damn heart broken the moment you realized what you’ve just done.

♦ “Oh no…” he shook slightly, eyes focused on the ground as you stood up from your chair and fretted towards him. “Bubba, baby, I’m so sorry I-I didn’t…” you started, reaching out towards his masked face, but his sudden hold on your hands stopped you, making you look up at him in worry.

♦ He was pouting, but in that way that let you know he was angry and this time it was your turn to hang your head, pure shame flooding your heart.

♦ Bubba’s big, meaty and incredibly warm hand shifted to somehow fit into yours and with annoyed grumbles he pulled you to follow him and you did, ignoring Nubbins singing about you being in trouble.

♦ The big man brought you to your shared room and lightly pushed you onto the bed, making you exhaust a small huff as you hit the springy mattress. You sat up and to your shock you found Bubba kneeling down in front of you, lips still pouting, but head forcing it’s way onto your lap with a dissatisfied whine.

♦ You immediately started stroking his head, giving him small kisses in the process, calming him down as you explained your day to him, hoping he could forgive you.

♦ And when he took his boots off and climbed on the bed with you, pulling your small frame into his strong arms, you felt your whole body soften and tears ran down your cheeks, your whole being getting pulled into the worst crying fit you’ve ever had, even as a baby.

♦ And being the sweetheart that he was, Bubba was soon joining you in your messy love confessions and needy attempts at cuddling, which just ended with you sitting up, legs wrapped around each other’s waists (which was mostly just Bubba’s body making your disappear, like a true magician) and falling into a fit of crying, kisses and mumbling.

♦ When Drayton finally came to check on you, you were both asleep, eyes red from all the crying, but grinning like damned fools even while deep in dreams, hugging as much of each other as you could.

♦ And somehow three hours later your migraine was just a thing of the past, your new found motivation leading you to stand up and make everybody a tray of cookies.

♦ They deserved it, those beautiful bastards.

[vaire-gwir]

Some Cat and Wolf fanfic I had in mind pt.4

I wanted to write why Aiden didn’t kill humans anymore, so here it is, I tried. At least it can’t be worse than that horrible attempt at smut, right? Right? 

Everytime I think I’m finished with this I get new ideas and I have to write them or they keep me up at night. There is plot if you squint, still not canon, but as always, I hope it makes sense and you like it <3 

Edit: Sorry I forgot the title, you wouldn’t believe how stupid I am. 

***

Alps were a bit of a pain in the ass to kill, just like every other vampire. Tricky, loud, and cunning things they were, not incredibly dangerous but granted to give you a good rattle and one hell of a headache. Years ago, he shared his first kiss with Aiden after they cleaned a nest and now he thinks about it every time he's disposing of one. It's weird, cause who would think of sharing a first kiss in front of a pile of dead vampires, but it was one of his best memories.

Then again, the first time he told Aiden he loved him, the Cat was almost dead in a grimy cave, covered in blood, and Lambert was panicking cause the gash under his ribs was bad enough that no potion in the world would buy him the time to find a healer.

Toussaint didn't disappoint him: three days after arriving in Beauclair and he was already waiting for 200 easy crowns. The prospect of payment should be enough to lighten his mood, but his mind is elsewhere, namely on the black cat running around the garden he saw last night before entering the crypt where the Alp was praying on ladies and princesses. Another cat, another pair of stunning green eyes, another painful twist in his heart. He even asked the guard currently stationed outside about it and the idiot said there were no cats on the property, something about ruining the lawns or whatever, as if Lambert didn't see the animal with his own eyes.

It was the second beast with disturbingly familiar green eyes that he saw, and it's two cats more than what he had seen in months. Lambert wasn't even sure if he was hallucinating or if the boy was making fun of him when he said there were no cats. Maybe both. Is this what happens to people that go mad, they start seeing things, they hear voices, and next they're wandering in villages alone at night muttering nonsenses? 

Is this what is going to happen to him, he'll start seeing cats with green eyes everywhere and people will pity him? He was already hearing voices in his dreams, this was just one step further toward insanity, and the path to get there looked suspiciously short.

Lambert picks himself and his headache up from the tomb and walks to the marble arch covering the entrance of the crypt, where an over-enthusiastic guard is waiting for him, hopefully with his money.

"So, is the beast dead? You must have been very brave!" Lambert would laugh if his bones weren't aching so much. He knows that look: he's too young to know that what witchers do has nothing to do with bravery. Even the night before with all his questions he made the job sound fascinating and charming, probably someone didn't explain to him the difference between Witchers and knights in shining armor. He was hoping to see a hero but all he got was a dusty, cranky and hallucinating witcher with the beginning of a headache throbbing in his skull. Not exactly the heroic stuff fairytales are made of. There was nothing charming about this life.

Lambert ignores the voice and grits his teeth at the sudden burst of light and sound that overwhelms him as soon as he steps onto the paved path that leads to the house. Being subjected to the creature's horrible shrieks and screeches for half of the night has his nerves fried and now everything is too loud and too close even if it's barely past dawn. He wants to hear nothing but blessed silence for the entire day or he's going to seriously hurt someone.

"I'm curious, have you been here before?" Lambert starts moving in the general direction of the mansion chasing the promise of quiet and the soldier scrambles after him. He's still staring expectantly, as if he thinks he's owed something.

It annoys him, that for one reason or the other people are gawking all the fucking time. He learned to disregard it with experience but he never fully discovered how to ignore the stares. His brothers get them too, and he knows for a fact that it often bothers Eskel, but for reasons unknown to him, Geralt never seems to give a fuck. He's slightly jealous of that talent. He'll see them next winter if he's not completely out of his mind by then.

When they finally leave behind the crypt where he just killed the Alp, Lambert has regained enough presence of mind to check the garden again, hoping to catch a glimpse of the black cat he saw earlier but it's like the feline has disappeared from the face of the earth. 

The luxurious garden that surrounds the old house is perfectly still, the gardeners are not at work yet, the only note is the faint buzzing of birds. He tries to catch any sound or scent resembling the one he felt before but it's like the cat was never here. Probably he wasn't. What if there was no cat at all and his mind was just playing more tricks on him? He's not sure Witchers can go insane, he can't recall any lore on mad witchers, but maybe he'll be the first one, just his usual luck. He tunes out the noises around him, trying to detect a trail of the animal when the voice of the guard breaks his concentration again: "You have been here before, haven't you?"

Regular people seemed to have a hard time shutting up, he should know this after an entire winter with Geralt's bard, the Gods know he never kept quiet for more than 10 minutes unless he was sleeping. Maybe he even talked in his sleep, go figure. It's not like he asked Geralt. 

"I've been everywhere. Listen, I'll take what I'm owed and leave. Got things to do." Lambert answers this time just to make him shut up. No one needs to know that the things he has to do include tracking down a disappearing black cat. That is if there was one at all.

"Oh, of course, you must be very busy. Here it is, though I think my Lord wanted to see you tonight, throw a feast for the Court, but if you insist you can't stay it's better to..." "I can't." Lambert takes the velvety pouch and stuffs it in his pack, eager to put some distance between himself and the rambling man before him. He knows all about feasts in Beauclair, he suffered through them enough for a couple of lifetimes already. 

He's about to turn away when the guard exclaims: "Wait, I remember! You were working for Lord Launfal with the other Witcher, green eyes, very pretty thing, if I say so myself, you..." He makes a pitiful weak noise as he doubles over himself, words dying upon his lips as blood trickles from them. Lambert is on him in a second and pins him to the nearest wall, he's not thinking about anything except that he wants to hurt him. Before he knows, he's hitting him again and again, driven by some fucked up instinct kicking in cause this idiot is talking about his best friend and he has no right to do so, especially not in that way. He doesn't get away with describing the best person in his life as a pretty thing, not in front of him, not like that.

"Shut your damn mouth, you don't fucking know what you're talking about!" He can hear the faint sound of a bone breaking over the boy crying "Please," and "Stop," and spares a look at the bloody mess he made of his face. He lets go of him as if he's been burned and he sees the guard collapsing to the ground. He fucked up. 

He feels like his mind is swimming and he can't focus on anything but the blood on his hands. He stares at the unconscious form slumped against the wall and takes a step back, streaks of red marking the gray stone. Lambert knows he went too far. His hands moved of their own accord when he realized that man was talking about Aiden. A pretty thing, he said. Lambert can't tell why those words were so painful, but it felt like pouring salt into an open wound. 

Of all people in the fucking Continent he had to run into someone that remembered him, of course, he had to meet a guard that was here the last time he was in Toussaint with Aiden, cause apparently the universe, chaos and the Gods were having a field day of messing with him. Again.

He spares one more glance to the guard just to make sure he's still breathing, collects what he's owed and leaves in haste. When the boy wakes up and tells everyone what happened Lambert knows he won't be spared. He almost killed that stupid boy, not much he can do about it now. He just wanted him to shut up and stop talking about Aiden, the fucker didn't even remember his name. 

He's past the iron gates when he finally manages to stop his hands from shaking. It scares him how dangerously good it felt for a couple of minutes to make the man shut up, it scares him to the point he just wants to forget it happened. For a short time, he felt like he had complete control over something, and that was rare for him. He enjoyed being in charge, knowing that whether that man lived or died was in his hands, it was like playing God and winning. It was like having a choice.

He may have a couple of hours before someone decides to hunt him down, which is plenty of time to find work. Before taking the Alp contract Lambert overheard in a tavern not too far from the market about an archespores problem in the valley where a certain Lord keeps his precious vineyards. With a little bit of luck he can go back to the main square and someone will point him in the general direction of this new Lord's palace. He just needs a few hours, and then he'll have the perfect excuse to stay out of Beauclair for a while.

***

Lambert prefers the nights when sleep eludes him, they're more peaceful than the ones filled with ghosts and blood, or as close to peaceful as he can get. He was never very good at meditating like his brothers, something about how his stupid brain would not shut up long enough for him to fall into a proper state of reverie. Both Eskel and Geralt never had any problem with that, he had seen Geralt kneeling in the same spot without moving until morning, absolutely unbothered by anything that happened around him, as if he was in his own world. 

In a patient attempt to help him, Eskel told him once that meditation works better if you try to recall a state of peace or calm you already experienced and lose yourself in it. Peace and calm was not something Lambert ever experienced, at least not back then. Not before Aiden.

The room he's currently occupying is surprisingly comfortable, he even had a bath, but his brain still refuses to relax. Finding his next contract proved a little more complicated than he expected, he wandered around the narrow streets for a good while before arriving at the indicated house, growing more anxious by the hour, expecting someone to chase him down at any turn of the road. Luckily the man he found outside a heavily guarded black gate was the old farmer in charge of the orchard, and he was as eager as him to go back to the valley. 

Lambert joined him on the trip, but he instantly disliked the place: whoever needed that much security was not just a simple vineyards owner. Thank Gods the old man was not the chatty type, and they reached the old castle in silence just before nightfall. When they arrived the farmer pointed to a small house next to the main castle, told him to find an empty room and disappeared immediately after. Lambert was grateful for the silence.

He washed the blood and the dust out of his clothes but he couldn't wash the feeling of it from his hands, his ears still ringing with the sound of some bone cracking as he hit that stupid man just for talking about Aiden. 

Lambert feels weary and worn but it's not because of the vampire last night. It's not the monsters that tire him: killing is easy, but the rest, traveling, talking, living and functioning in a world where he has no place, it all leaves him drained, that type of bone-aching exhaustion that's beyond physical, it keeps you awake even if you're spent and it gnaws away at your nerves.

He still can't figure out why Aiden would go after (possibly) two griffins all on his own, the Cat was careless and a bit reckless but not completely stupid. He was pretty smart about his work, he had to be, all things considered. Aiden was the one that at the beginning insisted on how they should stick together just because some jobs were easier that way. 

Besides, he was supposed to spend the last week before spring traveling north with the Caravan. There was no deep sympathy between Aiden and most of the other Cats, cause many were not particularly pleased with his decision to stop taking contracts on humans, but traveling together was still supposed to be safer. Lambert tried for days to put the pieces together but the more time he spends thinking about it, the less everything makes sense: Karadin told him he was there when it happened, but he finds it hard to believe he killed the two monsters all on his own. 

Lambert remembers one winter Eskel and Coën went off to fight a pair of griffins in the mountains and they came back three days later, bloody and with a good amount of soon-to-be-scars that needed to be patched up immediately, a broken shoulder (Eskel) and four cracked ribs (Coën). He had seen what griffins can do to experienced Witchers, there was no way a Cat the same age as him disposed of two monsters like that without any serious injuries. He even had time to take the medallion! And if it was not just the two of them, how did Aiden sustain wounds that couldn't be fixed by two or three other witchers for the short time it took to get to a healer? Griffins were only dangerous to humans when they ventured past the mountains and closer to the villages, which meant they were not too far from the possibility of getting help.

His brain keeps churning an explanation, keeps conjuring up different scenarios but nothing he can think of leads to Aiden's death.

Lambert knows Aiden killed people too, but most importantly he knows why he stopped. They both found out very early in their relationship that confessing things in the dark, naked and hidden by the blankets, worked for them. They could say whatever was on their mind and come morning things were still fine between them, they could look at each other's in the eyes without shame, cause things said in the dark were like spirits disappearing with the sun, they couldn't hurt them anymore. The ghosts of their pasts and their fears had been there, and now they were gone, chased away with burning lips and soft touches. It was during one of those nights that Aiden explained why he couldn't kill humans anymore.

They were back at the inn after killing a striga but two innocents died and Lambert knows Aiden blamed himself, he could feel how shaken he was in the way his kisses were almost too harsh and he was tearing away at their clothes. Aiden tastes of something almost-burnt when he's angry, but much later, when Lambert hides his face in the crook of his shoulder, sore in all the right way even if he'll never admit out loud that Aiden fucks him even better when he's like that cause he's less gentle, the taste is gone, and only the honey remains. That's when he can start talking.

The Cat told him that he was fine with being considered a monster by everyone else as long as he didn't feel like that. He was just doing his job and it was not his fault people were too judgemental and prudish to accept that, it's not like he asked for a mage to play with mutagens and mess up his blood. He woke up one day outside of Stygga and he was too young to have any memories of how he arrived there. 

He didn't remember his family, or where he was born, his first memories were of the Cat School, there was nothing before that. He liked to say he had no past, but everyone has it, and they're usually running away from it. And no future too, cause there were not many options for a witcher. Still, not his fault the same people he worked for, the same ones that begged him to get rid of a monster or paid him handsomely for killing a problematic cousin, were also the first ones to throw stones at him or ask a Lord to imprison him cause he was a danger for the town. Not so much of a danger when they needed him for their dirty deeds. But people were quick to forget and even quicker to point their fingers, and after so long Aiden couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. 

He didn't feel like a monster just because they said so. But he certainly felt like a monster for killing innocents. He was taking away their choice just like a mage took away his. He was no better than the people he despised so much.

It all started when he was sent to kill Lord Darnay cause his own family decided he was no suitable successor to the name and heritage they represented. Aiden was presented with 1000 crowns to get rid of the unwanted heir, and he was not in the position to refuse. His last contracts were unsuccessful, he had run out of money weeks before arriving in town and now even his potions were running low. It should have been an easy job, kill a dumb Lord who probably never hold a sword in his life. It should have been easy, but that's not what happened.

Right after entering the royal chamber, Aiden faced a wide-eyed kid staring at him. He was no older than 7, maybe 8 years old, but he was not terrified, a little surprised yes, but not scared as everyone would be after seeing a stranger entering through their window. No one mentioned that this Lord Darnay was a fucking child! There was absolutely nothing in the world this boy could do to represent a problem, for anyone, he was barely old enough for school for fuck's sake. 

The knife in his hand felt like lead rather than silver. The room was utterly silent, Aiden looked at the kid expecting him to scream, but he didn't. He simply said: "It's my turn now?" Aiden stared back disoriented, he refused to believe this kid understood why he was there.

"Uncle sent you?" His throat was not fully cooperating and he had a hard time finding the words to answer, he nodded, the dagger in his hand felt heavier by the minute. The kid sitting up on the huge bed keeps worrying a loose thread in the blue blanket above him, he speaks as if he's confessing a terrible sin. "He doesn't like me. He did something to my father but I'm not supposed to speak about it. Dad was very brave. Are you brave?"

Brave, as if! He was sent to slit his throat, that was not bravery. Brave means you have a choice, he never had one. He could choose between Ghouls and Bruxae and humans for his contracts, that's how far his decisions could go. He could pick whether to stay with the Caravan and risk being killed with his brothers or he could travel the Path alone and be killed by a monster or zealous townfolks. At best, he could decide how he dies, certainly not how he lives. No one with a real choice would turn into what he is or do what he does. 

In that room with the boy, in the deep silence of the night with a sliver of moonlight illuminating their surroundings, Aiden felt like a monster. He hadn't felt that way in a long while. It was the first time he was sent to kill an innocent, all the others were different, he felt that the assholes he was sent to murder deserved to finally meet their fate. Not this time though.

A servant entered the room unexpectedly and held back the scream already on his lips. He frantically moved his gaze between the child and Aiden as he started muttering something about how Lord Havilland already killed his own brother. Finally, he understood.

He was sent to kill this kid so a rich Lord could become even richer and more powerful. He couldn't fake another hunting accident so he sent the Witcher to do his bloody job. Great, just great. Nobles and their obsession with money and titles, what did they even do to deserve all they had? Killed someone, won a tournament, led soldiers to be slaughtered in a war for a nameless King that didn't give a fuck about them? They had wealth, titles, castles, a legion of slaves and mages at their service, and yet it was never enough, they wanted more, more wealth, more slaves, more titles, more. Disgusting. They could be anything they wanted to be and yet they decided to be awful.

Aiden spared a glance toward the kid and decided right there and then that this kid was not dying because his uncle was an asshole. "Another one will come to finish my job, he can't stay here." The butler is faster than what he gave him credit to be and answered immediately: "I have a sister in Oxenfurt, she can take care of him." 

"Go then. Get as far away from here as possible." True to his word, the servant took the child and was out of the door in a heartbeat, minutes later Aiden saw them riding past the southern gate. He didn't feel worse, at least and that will have to do for now. The kid will live to see another day. His uncle won't though.

[marvel-ousnesss]

Flesh, not porcelain - part ll (Geralt x reader)

Request:  Hi! I don’t know if you are still taking requests but if you do, would you mind writing a witcher x reader where the reader and Geralt have been in a relationship before but somehow lost contact and now they see each other again after so long and they are both shy and afraid of “their love”. But in the end, they know they can’t be together?  Thank you so much if you do write it( please tag me 🙏🏻)

A/N: Okay, so here's the second part of @lareinedususpense​'s  request. Tell me what you think and ask me if you wanna be tagged on upcoming writings. I still don't know where it takes place when it comes to the timeline. 

Part I

Masterlist

“Princess!" 

Among the screaming voices that echoed through the ballroom, you could make out the one coming from your guards, who were now in a fighting stance, with swords ready and worried faces under their helmets. However, your legs didn't obey when you tried to move. 

Geralt pushed you behind him as you processed what was happening. The nobles had risen against the crown, which meant that your life and your family's were at stake. Your eyes drifted from face to face, trying to locate your family among the sea of nobles and guards, traitors and allegiants who were now fighting in defense of their respective causes. Your breath hitched when you found them, and the person conducting the whole mess.

Lord de Barra had his right hand locked around your sister’s arm and his blade threatening to kiss her neck. His men had your parents captive; and Aldestier, who had insisted on attending the ceremony without his elite escort, was struggling to free himself from a man you recognized as one of your father's most trusted advisors - former advisors, that is. 

Geralt growled menacingly at the men who advanced toward you, grabbing two silver knives he had been carrying on his belt. Without hesitation, he fought everyone who came at him, making it almost impossible for them to reach you. 

With horror you watched the men who your family had trusted slay those who were willing to die protecting the crown. You tried to look away, but your eyes were incapable of avoiding the bloodbath that had resulted from what was supposed to be a night of celebration and joy. 

You sobbed and wailed in silence, completely unable to do anything, until one of the quisling guards managed to sneak behind Geralt and grab you by the hair, dragging you toward the center of the room. You cried out in pain, causing Geralt's fall. He turned to look at you and launched himself at the man who had taken you, but Alatar, the mage of your kingdom's court, threw a spell his way, making his limbs freeze.  

The guards secured their grip on you and Ducarious found your gaze. He calmly made his way to you, dragging your sister with him, and spoke, beaming darkly. 

"Let’s get this over with," he scowled. His dagger was still pressed to your sister's neck. She looked at you, and your parents with glassy eyes; only to see that the men holding them had mimicked their leader's precaution, just like the guards who had you.  

 They were about to kill you on the spot, Alatar knew this, so, with remorse of his betrayal, he spoke up. 

"Wait! Lord de Barra, your grace, I beg for your mercy.”

“No mercy is to be granted for this man and his kind; what he did is unforgivable.” The young man’s words were full of anger and thirst for blood. However, you did not comprehend what terrible, unforgivable deed had your father committed for such vengeance to take place. 

“Ducarious, please, don’t let anger cloud your judgment. Your brother caused the people great pain;” the king’s eyes were kind, but the noble leading the uprising only showed himself more aggravated. 

He spoke with gritted teeth, “do not dare speak of my brother, you monster!”

Your lips parted as you saw it all clearly. His own uncle had been the one who proposed the death sentence for his younger brother, and you had overheard some maidens gushing about how he had agreed. His actions, and his lousy cover, were no surprise to you. 

Given his hubris, Ducarious was capable of doing anything to obtain power, and he had always had a way with words. Nevertheless, you couldn’t imagine what he had promised the nobles to bring them all together against your family; for your parents were known for ruling fairly and with kindness above all. 

Alatar’s voice cut through the silence once again; “I completely understand that this man is not fit to rule such great kingdom and that he has hurt you on unimaginable ways, but killing him would not make amends with the past, it ends his suffering way to easily.”

He practically spit the words, he was unable the disgust he was feeling toward himself. Alatar had always been great friends with your family, so Ducarious must've found a way of blackmail for him to stab your parents in the back. 

 “Then what, mage, what is it that you suggest?”

Alatar sighed, catching your father’s eye; the pain in his words was practically tangible. “Exile, your grace, don’t let any of them place afoot in this kingdom ever again; there’s no greater punishment.”

Lord the Barra paced around the room, after leaving your sister with another one of his men. 

“No.”

He was as thoughtful and crafty, as he was ruthless. You knew that he wouldn’t settle with such a simple plot. 

“Here’s what is to happen," he declared. "You are all banished from my kingdom. Not only will you be slain if you set foot in here again, but if you ever cross paths with my people, they are expected to shoot and kill, and will be generously rewarded for it. From the hunter to the beast; that, I call punishment.”

And so, it happened. You were kicked out of the place you had called home your whole life; with nothing but the clothes, you had on. In cuffs and chains, you were all taken to the stables by your own guards - the ones who were still alive - and given a horse and ordered to take off. 

About ten months ago, you had fled your land without knowing where to go, and, to be honest, it would be a lie to say that it hadn’t been hell. With the absence of luxury, you could deal; the worst part was separating from your family, for you had decided that together you were a bigger target, easier to hit. 

You kept in touch through codes and occasional letters addressed to false personas, at least you knew they were okay. Aldestier had negotiated with Ducarious but had only been able to save your sister's life. As for your parents, they raised enough money to get a chariot and, according to their last letter, were planning on traveling around as merchants. You, however, hadn't yet made a life for yourself. 

Sighing, you took a sip of your ale, then a bite of your bread. Six pm, a little bit late to have breakfast; you mentally shrugged, getting rid of the thought. You were exhausted, it had been a long day of traveling and you couldn’t be happier that it was coming to an end. You left a few coins on the table and headed out; walking in the direction in which you thought the hostel was. 

That’s when you saw him. Before you approached, you took in the scene before you. Geralt was walking quite slowly, next to Roach. His silver hair was tied in a loose bun, and his pace was sloppy, tired; but you paid no mind. His armor was scarred, marked with the years of use; yet he carried it so effortlessly that, by this point, it was as if it moved with him. 

“Can’t believe the little shits still sicced on. Fucking stupid, really,” scoffed the witcher; and the mare snorted as if snickering right back at him. 

“I know, no fucking brains. Throwing themselves at us like that; as if we had anything that could interest them,” once again, Roach replied with a soft snort and a head shake. 

 "Don’t judge me, I tried to warn them, but they came at me. Wasted lives, really.“

You couldn’t help but overhear what he was saying, and despite the somber nature of the story, you found it sort of amusing for a man so aloof and dangerous to be talking to his horse. 

"Almost didn’t recognize you without a beer in hand,” you greeted. 

Hearing your voice, he stopped in his tracks and turned around, smiling slightly. “Your highness, it’s been a while.”

You chuckled dryly, ”just Y/N is fine, not ‘your highness’ anymore.“

Even if you said it with a humorous tint, the words left your lips with a sense of nostalgia. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The sincerity of his words brought a soft smile to your lips.

You walked in silence, but didn’t want your encounter to entail such a short and meaningless conversation; so you inquired, “what have you been up to, since the last time we met?” 

“Those are stories you wouldn’t like to hear about,” his eyes remained locked on the dimly lit path you were walking through. His voice was dry. 

“You can talk to me, you know that.” 

He breathed, “Some villagers, they launched themselves at me, drunk; there were eight of them, I think. Took out their daggers and attacked.”

You grabbed your skirts, trying to make walking a bit easier. No avail, your feet were burning. Your horse had fallen ill; it was nothing major, according to the healer who had seen him, but he could no longer endure such travels. You were forced to sell him to a farmer, who had set his eye on him for his children. 

“I didn’t- I tried to stop them, to stop myself, but I ended up losing control;” grumbled the Witcher. “ended up being the monster that they painted me as.”

Unbelievable. You glared at him, “For your sake, and mine, I’m gonna pretend the last ten words didn’t fucking come out of your mouth.” 

“I fucking killed them, Y/N,” he argued. 

“And they almost fucking killed, you, Geralt” you countered, your voice rising with disbelief. 

He didn't say anything else; opting, instead, to look at you deeply, trying to find the reason for which you cared. 

Silence remained for a few minutes, but then he stopped walking. You were about to ask him, but looked at the path; the pair of you were standing in front of a crossroad. 

Your confused expression gave you away. 

“You have nowhere to go.”

You huffed; “actually, I do have a wonderful room waiting for me at the hostel, thank you very much.”

“We walked past the hostel a mile ago.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that ten fucking minutes ago?,” you groaned, glaring at him. However, in the Witcher’s eyes, you were perkier than you were intimidating. 

You turned back around, but Geralt grabbed your forearm gently; he chuckled, “I’m going to the hostel too." 

"Then why would-”

“Next time, don’t follow someone, even if you know them, without being sure where they’re going. Dopplers enjoy playing lonely travelers." 

His ember eyes bore into yours for a second, then he let go. 

You crossed the wooden door and approached the woman behind the desk. As a subject of payment, you placed a silver bracelet over the table; "That should cover both of our rooms for a few days.”

She looked at you quizzically but handed you two keys. Without a word, you began walking toward the rooms, slightly behind Geralt, it was then when it came to your attention that something was off with his right leg. You didn’t say anything until he stopped in front of a door; instead of continuing, you walked inside with him. 

His eyes were tired and expectant, as stood in front of you, motionless.

“Let me take care of you.”

He tried to explain, “listen, your high– I mean, Y/N; I don't see you that way. But, thanks for the offer."  

"Not sex, Geralt, for fuck’s sake,” you grimaced, ���I just want to take care of your leg; you’ve practically stumbled your way here.”

“No need." 

"Have you forgotten how stubborn I am?" you teased.

He sighed in surrender, but you were quick to see the smile briefly gracing his features. " No, I haven't, but I'm fine."

“Bullshit."

He quirked a brow. 

You stepped forward, getting closer to him. "If your leg is truly as good as new, it won’t hurt if I do this;” your left foot collided with his shin and both of you groaned in pain. Was this man-made of fucking Iron? 

“Fine,” he grumbled, stepping back. 

You forced your eyes to stay down as you heard the witcher discarding his armor and getting ready for you to take a look at his leg. You damped one of the rags you had fetched in a bucket of water and made sure the bandages were enough and in a decent state.   

You asked, “are you presentable?” 

He hummed, so you lifted your gaze. Geralt was sitting on the bed, wearing a loose linen shirt and the same breeches he had before. 

You blushed, swallowing hard. “You’ll need to remove those if you want me to take a look at whatever’s wrong with your leg.”

He began taking his pants off, so you averted your gaze once again.

He quietly chuckled at your antics, hoping you didn't hear; but the croaky sound only made your face darken another shade. Clearly, he had noticed how flushed the sight of him had made you. 

"Thank you," you turned to look at him, "for letting me do this."

Geralt hummed, relocating himself exactly in the same positions as before. This time, however, with his leg exposed, the rest was covered only by a sheet. 

You took a deep breath as you scanned the scene before you but strictly centered your attention on the part of his body that you were meaning to mend. As you had supposed, his right leg had a tapestry of bruises, - some of which had certainly not been caused by the villagers he told you about -, and an open wound on the external part of his thigh. To be frank, the damage was too messy, animalistic; so you just assumed it had been a matter of occupational hazards. 

“For the monstrous bruising you got there, I don’t know what to do.” You moved the bucket to the side of the bed and, with a motion of your hands, prompted him to move a bit. “But the open, nasty wound; that one, I can fix.”

You drained the rag and placed it over the injury that, you assumed, was a bite. He didn’t move or speak, he just tensed his muscles whenever the rag hit a nerve. Every time he did this, you quietly apologized, to which he responded with either a grumble or a breathy 'it's fine.' Quietly humming, you repeated the procedure a few times before coming to the conclusion that, if it was to heal completely and properly, you would have to clean it more thoroughly.

“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

"Where are you going?" he asked, but you had already left. 

"Just wait," you shouted from the other side of the hall. 

As fast as you could, as to not keep Geralt waiting, you went to the small bar in front of the hostel and fetched a bottle of vodka, leaving a few coins as payment. Then, you ran back to the hostel and sprinted back to the witcher's room. You had never been agile when it came to running in a dress; so, with a surprised scream, in the hall that led to your destination, you fell face-first against the cold, stone floor. 

Geralt heard your scream and came to your rescue, with the sheet tightly wrapped around his waist. He helped you up and took you to his room, with the bottle still in your hand. 

“I think I told you not to move,” you teased, 

He just scoffed, so you continued.

“For your information, I had it all under control.” 

He placed you on his bed, carefully accommodating your head in one of the pillows. 

“Yeah, I saw that when I heard you scream.” 

He drained one of the rags and handed it to you. Rolling your eyes, you sat up and pressed it against your jaw, which had received quite a hit. 

You scoffed, “it was nothing, just a small exclamation of surprise." 

He hummed, soaking and draining another rag, handing it to you. You left the previous one on the wooden table and continued to apply pressure on the sore spot, hoping that way you'd avoid getting a bruise. 

"Besides, I still have to clean that nasty cut of yours; can’t make all of this a waste of effort.”

“I'm fine." 

He was adamant, you knew, but you persisted. 

"Yeah, if by fine you mean hobbling." You stood up but frowned slightly when your right foot came in contact with the ground. 

How ironic. You brushed it off. Fixing your stance so almost no weight resting on your sore foot, you instructed the witcher to take your previous place on the bed, and, to your surprise, he complied without a word.

He loosened the sheet so that the cotton left his leg exposed, but the way in which his frame was contoured almost made your breath hitch. The fact that it was the second time you saw him like that didn’t make it easier; it was truly difficult to concentrate with the sight of the godlike man before you. 

With a sharp intake of air, you began to work. Even with his pain tolerance, he hissed and groaned every time you soaked the rag and brushed his skin. Intending to distract him, you decided to strike a conversation, even if there was the chance that he would consider it intrusive.  

"How did you get these?" 

 "Selkie maw, a few days ago." 

"What’s a seckymore?" You took a sip of the bottle, almost coughing when the burning sensation hit your throat. You had already mixed part of it with the water in the bucket, so drinking what was left meant no harm. 

"Selkie maw,” he corrected. “It’s like a salamander: but with a few hundred teeth, and the size of a small dragon." 

"Cute,” your tone was bitter. 

You took another swing and offered the drink to him. He accepted it, drowning half of what was left in a single zip. “Sorry,” he looked at the bottle and handed it to you, you tauntingly glared at him as you drained the rag over his wound once again. 

“Not that big of a monster, they usually feed on plankton.“

With a final stroke of the rag, you finished cleaning his open wound and proceeded to stitch it with the needle and thread spool you always carried in your small bag. 

Biting your lip in concentration, you asked, "do you get scared of monsters, or are you just that stoic?”

He took his time to answer, carefully choosing his words; “wouldn’t call it fear. It’s just knowing that, if you get slow, you die. More like a rush; you know what to expect, so there's a certain calm in it too." 

You made a small knot at the end of the thread, and grabbed the bandage, wrapping his leg. 

"There, all done.” You reached for his pants and threw them his way. 

“Thank you,” he said, as he grabbed the garment and adjusted his position to put it on while still covered. Once dressed, he stood up. 

“You’re welcome”, you handed him the bottle, now depleting. That would help him with the pain. This time, he emptied it without thought.

"There’s more where that one came from, you know.“

He gave you a questioning look. 

"Don’t act like you don’t need it,” you foretold. “Besides, you left me with no vodka in like two sips.”

For a moment, you got no answer. The witcher walked to exit the room, so you gave up the hope of his company; but, instead of heading further down the hall, he stopped. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

Tags: @beautiful-tragic-fallout

[paodequeijofeliz-blog]

I would do it all again

Ride or Die Fanfiction (characters and main story belongs to Pixelberry Studios).

Pairing: Mona and MC (Annie)

Information: this takes place after the first book.

Summary: After what happened at the parking lot, each member of the crew tries to build a new life, following the “every man for himself” motto. But Annie doesn’t agree with that and tries to pull them back together, especially Mona, who she has been waiting for too many years.

Warnings: some Angst talk about not being good enough. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

I would do it all again - Part 6 (ANGST)

“Whatever you choose is fine.” Mona barely glanced at the phone, mumbling the words as her attention was focused on fixing the toaster. Annie kept the screen pointed at her for a few seconds, hesitant, before taking it away and scrolling around the options again.

“Okay…” she sighed, going back to the living room. “I’ll order burgers then.”

The last couple of months were so hard on their relationship. They seemed to be building such a high level of trust before, but something happened in between, and the teacher just couldn’t find out what. Her girlfriend was flipping from distant and rude to extremely loving all the time, each day a surprise. Sometimes, she would go outside to answer a call and come back so cold, quiet, that Annie was too afraid to ask who was on the other side of the line. But then, in the next day, things could change again. Mona would wake her up with a kiss and go back to her normal self.

That cycle was not healthy. Not at all.

Annie tried to talk about it, but the subject was too sensitive. She could tell there was something bothering the Lebanese. The mood switches, short answers, those weird phone calls… Perhaps the parole and the auto shop were too much pressure on her shoulders. The teacher convinced herself that was the reason, there couldn’t be any other explanation. So, she tried to make things easier, to address the parole issue carefully, spend more time at home than at work, help Mona around even if she had no idea of how to fix stuff. Just to be there, hoping her girlfriend would eventually talk about whatever was wrong with them now.

That night, the teacher was patiently sewing a button back on her favourite shirt when a noise captured her attention. Annie thought she heard voices downstairs. It was late, but Mona had been cleaning the shop for hours that day, maybe it was just Toby or Ximena on a videocall. She happily slipped herself inside a robe and went there to check, maybe even convince her girlfriend to finish it tomorrow and come to bed. It was no fun going to sleep on her own, not when there was a gorgeous woman walking around the house.

Slowly, Annie followed the sound to the back of the shop, where they had a small kitchen recently reformed. It was her idea to keep it, so no one would need to go upstairs every time they needed water or coffee. Considering how lazy Toby and Mona could be, that was a smart thing to do.

But before she got any close to the door, an unfamiliar husky voice started talking. It wasn’t a videocall.

“Bullshit and you know it!” A woman. She sounded angry, frustrated. “Why are you lying to yourself, M.? I know you better than this. Don’t be so dumb.”

The teacher swallowed hard in the hallway. That didn’t seem like a nice guest. And it didn’t matter who it was, nobody would talk to her girlfriend like that. She marched towards the kitchen door, furious, ready to put up a fight…

“You don’t love that stupid girl, sweetheart.” Said the husky voice again.

Through a crack on the door, Annie saw the strange woman holding Mona by the waist, pressing her against the kitchen counter.

That sight made the teacher freeze in the hallway, unable to move or say anything. Just listen. Listen to a tall, strong, and hot stranger in a leather jacket saying the meanest things there could be. Arms still involving Mona, their faces so close, it made Annie feel a bad taste on her mouth.

“Go away, Ada. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But the woman didn’t move an inch, only tilting her head to force their eyes to meet. Mona wasn’t fighting but didn’t seem to enjoy the proximity either. She was just standing there like a tense statue, hands inside the pockets.

“I know you. And this… Place? This hole you’re trying to fix, that’s a joke, M. Are you seriously convincing yourself this is what you want? A steady job as a low paid mechanic in an old dusty shop with two ex-convicts? Earning the bare minimum to live here? You’re a woman for luxury, hon. Sports cars, jewels, fancy dresses, the best hotels, that’s your thing, that has always been your thing. Is this dump gonna give you enough money to afford it? No, the real question…” Ada got even closer now, lips brushing against Mona’s. At that point, Annie already had her vision blurred by the tears, so she wouldn’t be able to tell if they kissed or not. “The real question, babe, is why on earth are you dating a woman that can’t give you what you deserve? And a fucking teacher. Seriously? The most boring thing ever? She’s not even hot enough to explain it.”

Annie fought against the tears, desperate to see what was happening, but she couldn’t make them stop coming. Her hands went to cover the mouth, afraid to make a sound. Something inside of her wanted to hear the whole thing. Some sort of hope, whispering, it will be okay… Mona will defend you… At any moment now…

“I know that sooner or later you’re gonna get bored of this cute marriage role play going on here.” Ada had icy green eyes, piercing through the Lebanese like a hypnosis, dragging her back to the worst memory of her past. “I took care of you when we were in prison. I will take care of you now. It was our agreement, you gave me your word when we killed that girl. Now, let’s go home. I can give you exactly what you want.”

Silence. A long, hurting, meaningful silence.

That was it. Annie still had the shirt on her hands, and the touch of the fabric made her feel like the most stupid woman in the world. Everything around her, every single object, even the walls, it was all making her believe she was an idiot. A dreamer. A child. A naïve woman who did it all wrong. She had six years to plan their lives and even with all that time, still managed to screw it up. Whoever the stranger was, her words glued in the teacher’s head, mocking her feelings.

It made her feel small. Like a little toy a kid was tired of playing with.

Anna walked away from the door. Her heart couldn’t take another word. Tripping and stumbling along the hallway, she finally reached to the old car. Her chest was burning in pain when she turned the engine on, opening the new electric gates with the remote control. When Mona heard the sound and got to the front of the shop, the car was long gone, driving in full speed down the road.

“No, no, no, no!” she kicked an empty trash can, hands roaming through the hair, trying to think faster. Suddenly, Ada was there too, a cocky smile on her face. “Get away from me.”

“C’mon, what’s with all the drama? Let her go. Good for you. Now we can continue from where we stopped…”

“Get the hell away from me!” Mona’s voice had a dangerous tone. Without waiting for another word, she just left Ada behind and went to the one person who could help solve the situation.

Dominick woke up with the sound of someone banging on his door. His heart raced as he took a bat from under the bed, glancing at his son’s room with concern. The left hand was holding the weapon tightly when the right turned the knob to open the door, but both relaxed when he recognized Mona’s face. She was about to make fun of his Monsters Inc. pajamas, but there was no time to waste.

“I need your car. It’s an emergency. Now.”

“What happened? Is Annie ok?”

“Now, Dom! I don’t know, probably not, don’t make difficult questions, damn it!” her eyes scanned the living room, then she jumped to take the keys from the table. “I’ll bring it back before dawn, I promise!”

“Wha…”

“No time to explain!”

Every second was counting. Mona had a few ideas of where Annie could’ve gone, but the more time she wasted, the worse would it be to fix this mess. When the Lebanese drove past the auto shop, Ada had disappeared already. At least, for now.

Think, you idiot. Think. Her fingers flexed and held the steering wheel again. The adrenaline was making everything a blur. What’s the first place she would go? The library? It’s closed. The park? Too dangerous at this hour. She’s crying, so it has to be somewhere calm. Where would she feel safe…?

Then, it her. So obvious.

Mona turned the wheel to take an exit on the right and stepped on the gas. The road was desert, making it easier to speed, but it had some dangerous curves that forced her to be more careful.  

Half an hour later, she was parking at the back of the university. There was no student or teacher in that darkness, only two securities, a janitor taking out the trash and…

Harold. Annie’s old silver car parked just a few spots away.

I’ll fix it. Said Mona to herself, taking a deep breath. I’ll fix it all.