#Speak with Nolan Chance

[nolan-chance-fortnite]

He is safe...inside a vault but you can break through a vault very easy,right nolan?

Is not that kind of vault, Diamond. You wouldn't get it. You can't simply go and take whatever you want from there. Is not a physical space, is more like... A concept? Maybe a 5th dimension beyond our comprehension? Things simply vanish in that vault, and appear randomly after some time, or sometimes they don't ever come back

Is not... A vault I can break in

[nolan-chance-fortnite]

I'M SO HAPPY I COULD EXPLODE

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

THEY AEE BACKKKKK

@nolan-chance-fortnite he is back,ur son is back

[aila0veyou2death]

𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬

𖹭 pairing: viltrumite!mark grayson x flesh-hungry!female!reader (A.K.A warlord prince with god complex x bio-engineered monster girl built for carnage)

𖹭 TW: DUB CON, dark content, blood, gore, violence, power imbalance, swearing, possessive behavior, death, non-human biology, captivity, enemies-to-lovers trope?, face-fvcking, p in a v, size difference, breeding k1nk, dumbification, belly bulging, master/pet dynamic, overstimulation, biting, marking, p0rn with a plot.

𖹭 author's note: This fic is long, messy, heavy edited and 100% born from my horny little brain while watching Invincible Hope you enjoy :P

Silence had never sounded so victorious.

What was once a vibrant blue planet, bursting with resistance and stubborn will, now lay in ruins. Cities crumbled. Skyscrapers reduced to bones. Blood dried into the dirt...Humanity tried its best—they fought with desperation, with all the fire they could muster.

But in the end, it was never a fair fight.

The Viltrumites walked the Earth's surface like gods claiming what was rightfully theirs.

Mark Grayson—son of a human mother, molded by a Viltrumite father—flew alongside the others in silence, dressed in the same white uniform. His gaze was sharp, scanning the rubble below. He didn't blink. Didn't speak. Just watched as his people moved like a plague across the land, searching through the decay not for survivors, but for something more valuable.

Secrets. Weapons. Leftovers of mankind's final, frantic efforts to defend itself.

They scoured beneath the ash, the collapsed buildings, the bones of a world that had tried to resist. Eventually, they found it—underground bunkers hidden deep beneath the crust of a dead world.

Inside, scraps of humanity clung to life. The scent of sweat, fear, and filth hit them first. Then came the screams—raw, panicked, and pointless.

The survivors didn't beg. They knew better. They cried, they clutched each other, they tried to run.

Mark said nothing. Not a single word. He didn't interfere. He simply watched, unmoved, as the others handled it. Blood filled the halls and screams died quickly.

There was no mercy left to give. Only silence and death.

Not a single emotion flickered in his eyes. No sorrow. No pity. No guilt. Nothing.

Not even as he hovered above the charred remains of the planet that birthed him.

Earth burned. And he watched.

He had been taken away before he ever had the chance to experience what this world could have offered him—just a boy when his father brought him to Viltrum, to be raised as one of their own. As a soldier. As an heir.

There were no childhood memories to mourn. No human attachments to cloud his judgment. To him, Earth was not home. It was a mission. A conquest. Another name on the long list of worlds that fell beneath the Viltrumite flag.

A hand landed firmly on his shoulder.

He didn't flinch. He knew that grip—it was measured, heavy, and commanding.

He turned his head slightly, meeting the sharp, weathered gaze of his father. Nolan stood beside him, armor stained with blood and ash, his cape fluttering in the dead wind. He looked at his son, not with warmth or pride—but with the calm precision of a general addressing his equal.

Nolan's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting from his son to the smoldering wreckage below. The quiet crackle of still-burning buildings echoed between them like a lullaby of conquest.

"It's pathetic." he muttered, voice slicing through the smoke. "The ones hiding underground. Crammed in piss-soaked bunkers, clinging to some foolish hope that their heroes would come back for them."

Mark said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"They should've surrendered," Nolan went on, colder now. "Some did. The smarter ones. But the rest?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Cowards. Hiding like insects in the dark. It’s disgraceful."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant wind and the distant creaking of a collapsed tower.

Then Nolan spoke again, glancing sideways at Mark. "We should check the GDA's underground facilities. Cecil was always hiding something. Back when I worked with him, I caught whispers—rumors of illegal experiments, unnatural weapons… even bio-creatures bred for war."

Mark’s brow furrowed slightly. "You think they actually built something strong enough to stop us?"

Nolan let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Doubtful. But who knows? If there is something down there, it could either be a useful tool… or a lingering threat. More likely, just another one of Cecil's pathetic failures rotting in the dark."

He looked ahead, eyes sharp. "Whatever it is, we can't leave it unchecked."

Without another word, Nolan lifted his hand and gestured.

From above, four Viltrumites dropped through the smoke in perfect formation, landing beside them in silence. Their white uniforms were stained with dirt and streaks of blood, but their expressions were calm and ready.

"Head to the GDA headquarters," Nolan ordered. "New York is nothing but bones now, but if they hid anything, it's down there. Deep." He turned to Mark. "We dig. We search. No stone left untouched. I want their secrets exposed and buried with them."

Mark gave a small nod and took off, the others following behind. They soared through the grey sky, silent wings of death gliding over what was once one of the busiest cities in the world.

Below, skyscrapers stood like charred tombstones, windows blown out, steel skeletons groaning in the wind. The familiar spire of the GDA building jutted out from the rubble, half of it caved in, the rest barely standing. Whatever was beneath it had remained hidden even through Earth’s last breath.

The Viltrumites landed and began tearing into the rubble like it was paper, shoving aside steel beams and broken machinery.

They crashed through steel and concrete with ease, moving deeper into the abyss beneath the ruined city. Reinforced floors gave way. Labs long abandoned passed in a blur of rusted equipment and glass. The dust thickened. Lights flickered, dim and weak like dying stars. The silence turned heavy. Tense. Wrong.

Then they found it—buried farther than any of them expected. A sealed facility, hidden beneath layers of stone and steel. Carved into the earth like something meant to stay forgotten. The air down there clung to them, thick with rot, blood, and iron.

The hallway ahead was narrow, smeared with the stains of time and something more violent. Rust bled down the walls in lines like veins. Blood left in handprints. Claw marks. Torn restraints bolted to the walls. Some of the doors were dented from the inside.

Nolan stepped forward and shoved one of them open with a metallic shriek.

WEEOO-WEEOO-WEEOO—

The alarms wailed like dying animals, echoing up every floor and spilling out into the ruined city above. Scarlet lights flooded the hallway, pulsing like veins. It was a scream. It reached the top of the building. The streets. The sky. Every Viltrumite nearby the area turned their head at the sound that's coming from crumbling structure.

And in the depths of that pulsing red light... something laughed.

Soft at first, childlike and playful.

Then it grew louder. Sharper. Hungrier.

A small figure dragged itself from the darkness of a ruined chamber, half-naked, blood-stained, nails cracked and filthy, hair tangled into a wild, matted mess. Your eyes were wide, glowing faintly under the emergency lights. Your body was trembling—not from fear, but from hunger. You hadn’t fed properly in months. Maybe years. And their scent—those clean, proud Viltrumite bastards reeking of blood under their pristine uniforms—hit your senses like a drug.

You smiled wide.

Your gaze snapped to the Viltrumites—and your pupils dilated.

You lunged.

It all went to hell from there.

The first Viltrumite barely had time to blink before you slammed into him, your fangs tearing deep into his throat. You shook your head violently, ripping out chunks of flesh like a starving beast. His scream gurgled to nothing as you twisted—snapping his neck and tearing it free with a savage pull.

You bounced off the falling body, landing on all fours like an animal, with his head still in your hands. Then you bit into it, chewing with noisy satisfaction, like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

The others quickly charged, and one swung but missed.

You dropped the head mid-laugh, and grabbed his wrist, twisted it until the bones snapped loud enough to echo. He screamed. You slammed him into the wall so hard the stone cracked. The third came next—until your claws tore through his chest and you punched into his stomach, yanking out his organs like candy from a piñata.

"Oooh, so warm~!" you cooed, blood dripping from your chin. "Fresh meat really hits hard."

Mark stood frozen, mouth slightly open. His fists clenched and unclenched like his brain hadn't caught up yet. "What the hell...?"

Nolan didn't speak. His expression was hard, unreadable. But his eyes narrowed—and he took a single step back when you ripped the body in half, gore spraying across the floor in a wet splash.

No mortal prisoner stood before them—but a demon cloaked in flesh.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall as more Viltrumites stormed in, drawn by the alarm—only to find two of their own dead, one barely clinging to life, and you at the center of it all. Blood-drenched, crouched low like a beast, surrounded by the shredded remains of their comrades. You grinned from ear to ear, fangs glinting in the scarlet light, eyes sparkling with joy.

You looked up at the new arrivals and waved with a severed hand.

"More food?" you asked sweetly, licking blood from the stiff fingers in your grasp. "Hell yeah! Looks like we're going full course for breakfast today."

Mark's stomach twisted. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He was frozen in shock, even as his fists clenched on instinct.

Nolan's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening with rage.

And then you moved again—laughing, a blur of gore and teeth as you lunged forward.

The fight erupted.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You left a trail of carnage in your wake—bodies were torn, blood still warm, the taste of Viltrumite flesh clinging to your tongue like candy. They fought hard. Harder than you expected. But not hard enough to stop you.

Some were left twitching on the ground, ribs shattered and lungs heaving. Others were little more than red pulp smeared across the concrete. You didn't kill all of them—not out of mercy, but because you were too full, too high on the rush of violence, and too focused on one thing now.

Escape.

You burst through the final floor like a cannonball, tearing through the layers of the GDA's underground like tissue paper. The red lights still flashed behind you, alarms screamed themselves hoarse. Your bare feet slammed into the cracked pavement of the surface—them you froze.

For the first time in decades, you felt air that hadn't been filtered through vents or tasted like copper. The sky opened above you—gray, grimy, sick with smoke, but still a sky. Buildings stood in disrepair, cracked and leaning, some half-swallowed by the earth like rotting teeth. The world wasn't at peace. But it wasn't the warzone you remembered either.

You stood on shaking legs—bare, blood-streaked, sun-drunk—blinking hard against the harsh, unfiltered daylight. Everything felt too big. Too open. Too quiet. You could still hear the screams of the underground, the alarms howling like dying things, the wet crunch of bone in your teeth. Blood still clung to your mouth like honey.

What happened here—?

A sudden gust of wind blew behind you—it was sharp, fast, and heavy.

Before you could fully turn, something slammed into your cheek like a meteor. The impact sent your body spiraling backward through the air, crashing through an abandoned car and skidding against the pavement before you dug your claws in, stopping yourself with a screech of broken concrete.

You snarled, wiping blood from your mouth, eyes snapping up at the figure hovering midair.

Dark hair. Blood on his fists. Chest rising and falling with tight, controlled fury.

Mark Grayson.

His eyes locked onto you, not with fear—but something worse. Cold, seething frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, twitching like he was holding back the urge to rip you apart on sight. He was scratched up, bruised, panting. Signs of your earlier encounter still painted across his skin. Behind him, more Viltrumites descended from the clouds like vultures, with Nolan among them, arms crossed, silently watching.

"Well, well," you purred, dragging yourself up to your feet with a crooked grin. "Aren't you a pretty one."

Mark didn't waste time. He charged.

You stepped aside like you were dancing, catching his arm mid-swing—but he twisted, and the two of you went crashing into the ground. His body slammed into yours, forcing the air from your lungs. You hit the pavement hard. It cracked beneath you.

You laughed.

Your legs locked around his torso, muscle to muscle, as you twisted and the two of you crashed through the skeleton of another half-standing building.

"Is this how you greet girls these days?" you breathed, grinning at him. "Tsk. No flowers? No sweet talk? Geez. What's up with men lately?"

Mark gritted his teeth, trying to overpower you.

You leaned in close, whispering against his jaw. "You always this rough on your dates, pretty boy?"

The two of you clashed again and again—flesh against flesh, teeth bared, blood spilled. The ground split open beneath your feet with every collision, debris flying, the city echoing with the sound of carnage. You were laughing—breathless, wild, drunk on adrenaline. Mark was giving you a fight, and god, it felt good.

But he was starting to slip.

You saw it in the way his chest heaved, in the slight delay between his punches. And worse—he hesitated. Just once. His gaze dropped to your mouth, flushed and slick with blood, and he flinched when you licked it slow, grinning through the chaos.

"Fuck, that hurts so good..."

That's when they invaded.

The other Viltrumites descended like mad hounds. You didn't get a warning—just the sudden weight of five bodies crashing into you mid-lunge. You screamed, thrashed, tore into one's side with your claws and sent another flying with a headbutt. One tried to grab your wrists but you quickly snapped his fingers like twigs. Another went for your legs and you sunk your heel into his jaw.

You were brutal. A machine built to kill. But they didn’t care. They kept coming.

You growled, nearly feral, muscles screaming under the strain of so many hands forcing you down. Your feet left the ground. You were held in place by sheer numbers that had your back arched and neck straining. One arm was pinned behind you, another around your ribs, another around your throat.

Then you saw... him.

Nolan.

Hovering just out of reach. Watching you with cold judgment in his eyes.

Something inside you snapped.

You lunged, with your head whipping forward like a beast. You nearly got him—teeth bared, inches from tearing into his throat—but you were yanked back at the last second. Still, it rattled them. They didn’t expect you to go for the general.

And neither did Mark.

He moved without thinking and slammed into you with enough force to break a mountain, shoulder in your gut, arm locking around your chest as he drove you to the ground.

"Stop!" he shouted, his breath hot against your skin.

You twisted in his grip—then bit down. Hard.

Your sharp teeth sank into his forearm, tearing its skin, ripping the muscle. He shouted, blood running warm across your tongue. You could taste him—Viltrumite blood, rich and violent, flooding your mouth like a reward.

He yanked his arm back and without pause, drove his fist into your jaw—forcefully.

You were still smiling as you went down, lips smeared in red. "...fucking awesome." you muttered breathless, the taste of Viltrumite blood still warm in your mouth. Your eyes rolled back as the world cracked sideways. Your body slumped and the sky above you blurred. You barely heard the other Viltrumites yelling before your knees buckled and your vision started to go dark.

The last thing you saw was Mark's face—shocked, bleeding, staring down at you like he didn't know whether to be petrified or fascinated.

And then, there were arms around you.

Strong and steady. Definitely his.

Mark caught you before you hit the ground completely, lowering you into his hold like he wasn't still bleeding from your bite, like he didn't just knock you out cold. You didn't feel the relief in the others, or the weight of containment cuffs snapping around your wrists. All you felt was warmth, before darkness swallowed you once again.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You stirred with a groan, pain blooming at the base of your skull. Your body ached, heavy and sore like you've been hit by a planet—and maybe, in a way, you had. Your thoughts came sluggish, swimming through the fog in your head. Voices echoed around you, distant and distorted at first, like they were bouncing off the walls of your skull. But slowly, they grew clearer—they sharpened into words, whispers, and conversations.

Your eyes cracked open.

Bright lights seared into your vision.

You were kneeling.

Both knees pressed against freezing tiles, with your legs spread apart as if it forced open with no mercy. Thick restraints clamped tightly around your wrists behind your back, made of some dense, unyielding alloy that even your strength couldn't break through. The cold kiss of metal crawled over your spine. Chains dug into your skin where you had already been bruised, holding you still.

You were naked.

Completely.

There was no cloth, no covering—nothing to shield you from the cold or the sea of eyes watching from every corner of the stadium. The air prickled along every inch of your exposed skin, and the lights were focused solely on you, spotlighting every inch of your body—every inhuman line, every unnatural curve, every scar and every mark. Every part of what made you a monster was put on display.

A muzzle clamped tightly over the lower half of your face, molded hard against your jaw. It silenced you completely. No speaking. No biting. Just the soft rasp of your breath through your nose, quick and sharp, barely enough to calm the burn in your lungs. Your mouth was sealed shut.

A low growl rumbled from deep in your chest.

The sound cut through the low hum of voices like a blade.

Conversations stopped. Heads turned. The entire stadium fell silent.

Dozens—no, hundreds of eyes snapped to you.

They were all Viltrumites.

All of them. Rows of them, seated in ranks dressed in pristine white uniforms, most of them were cloaked—like some twisted cult of gods looking down at their captured beast. Their faces were cold, observing, and judgmental.

You shot the crowd with a venomous glare.

Then, one of the seated figures stood.

"It seems the beast has finally awoken."

The voice cut clean through the silence—calm, commanding, sharp as a blade. "Good."

General Nolan stepped forward, his presence heavy like gravity, each step deliberate. The stadium seemed to tense beneath his weight. He didn't look away from you, not even once, not even while the crowd of white-cloaked Viltrumites leaned in, listening. Hanging on his every word.

"This is the weapon that slaughtered twenty-seven of our finest." he announced, voice crisp and brutal. "An Earth-born experiment that crawled out of her hole after decades of silence. Not a soldier. Not a warrior. A threat. One that’s proven herself to be something far more dangerous than even a Viltrumite..."

You weren't listening to him.

Not really.

You didn't care for his dramatic little speech. All you cared about was the weight of the chains digging into your wrists and the deep, familiar ache that sparked in your muscles. You shifted on your knees, raw skin scraping against the cold metal floor as you tested your bounds again. Harder. Rougher. You knew they were watching. You simply didn't care.

Your breath came fast through your nose, the muzzle clamped over your mouth keeping you from speaking, biting, screaming. It was tight. Containing. But it wouldn't hold you back forever.

A low growl rumbled in your throat.

Then came the footsteps.

One by one, other Viltrumites stepped forward—soldiers, elites, survivors. Each of them wore the scars of your fury like badges of shame. Torn uniforms, burned skin, bruises blooming down their jaws and ribs. Some limped, others stood stiff and bloodied. They looked like warriors who had fought something far worse than their own.

They stood beside Nolan, forming a silent wall of evidence, an undeniable proof of your destruction.

"...To those who doubt what she's capable of," Nolan continued, gesturing toward them, "Let these survivors be your reminder—of the massacre she unleashed. Of the destruction this monster has caused."

A ripple of hushed awe and unease moved through the stadium. Even behind disgusted whispers and down-turned mouths, you could feel it.

Fear.

Respect.

Even some admiration.

They weren't just looking at you like a monster. No. Some of them were looking at you like you were unstoppable.

A force of nature.

You kept your head high despite the chains, the cold, the exposure. And as your gaze flicked across the stage, your eyes locked on something else—someone else.

Pretty boy.

He was standing just behind Nolan. Silent and stiff.

His face was hard to read, his jaw tight, but his eyes never left yours. Even after everything, he wouldn't stop looking at you.

And then there was Anissa, standing beside him like a shadow. Arms crossed, chin lifted slightly, like she was trying to figure you out. Judging and calculating. Not impressed—but not dismissive, either. She whispered something to Mark, a sharp little comment masked behind a smirk.

He didn't look at her. Didn't react. His gaze was locked on you.

And despite everything—despite the bruises on your body, the metal biting into your wrists, the weight of every eye watching—you smirked behind the muzzle.

Even now. Even here.

You could feel it.

That heat in your veins.

That wild pulse in your chest.

That hunger.

And he was still watching.

Their voices rose around you—cold and calculating, debating your fate like you were some unruly creature rather than a living being. The Viltrumite council spoke in harsh tones. Some suggested you be kept alive for study, molded into a living weapon. Your strength was too rare, too valuable to waste. You were a weapon, after all—unrefined, but powerful. Others disagreed. Their voices were sharp with caution, insisting you were too dangerous, too unpredictable, as you had already killed too many.

But then, the conversation shifted. It spiraled—quicker than your still-throbbing head could follow. But you caught enough.

They weren't talking about justice anymore, or even punishment.

A new thread had slithered into the room, it low and quiet at first. A suggestion that made your skin crawl.

"She's female." one of the council members said plainly, studying you with clinical detachment. "And clearly fertile."

Your jaw clenched behind the muzzle.

"She may be human in origin, but her body’s resilience and strength—those are above even standard Viltrumite females." another added. "Breeding with her could produce a hybrid that surpasses us. A child born of her might become the key to furthering our strength."

Disgust curled in your gut.

Breeding.

Shit. They were seriously discussing breeding you.

You could feel the weight of their eyes on your bare form. They weren’t just looking at a criminal anymore. They were evaluating you like a broodmare.

The female Viltrumites didn't object either. One of them tilted her head and added, "Her frame suggests high reproductive capability. The musculature, the hips, her bone density—everything aligns."

You wanted to laugh. To rip the muzzle off your face and tell them to shove their breeding program up to their asses.

But all you could do was breathe. Controlled, but furious.

And yet… somewhere under the heat of that fury, something twisted—a perverted, morbid curiosity coiled in your gut.

Breeding you?

Like you were some kind of baby-making machine.

You were trained to kill. Built for war. A monster, they said—and now suddenly, they were talking about your hips, your womb, your usefulness as if you were nothing more than a vessel. A thing to be filled, broken, used to build their empire from the inside out.

Your stomach turned. The word fertile echoed in your ears like a curse.

What were you now, a walking cradle? A fucking incubator for the Viltrumite legacy?

And worse—part of you wondered. What would it even look like? You, monstrous and wild, collared and panting beneath someone they chose for you. With your body betraying you. Bearing Viltrumite blood. Creating something terrifying. Something worse.

Something like you.

Your eyes narrowed, seething through your lashes.

You weren't going to let them own you.

But gods, the idea wouldn't leave. It curled around your brain like smoke. Sick. Curious. And Violent.

They didn't want to kill you.

They wanted to breed you.

A tall, scarred warrior stepped forward from the group of survivors—his arm still in a sling, a fresh wound slashed across his chest.

"If she is to be contained," he said, "then she must be broken. Handled. Someone will have to... train her."

The word train sent a flicker of rage down your spine.

"She won't yield to just anyone. Most of us tried, and barely survived. But according to the surviving officers…" His eyes narrowed at you. "There was one who managed to fight her back. Who held his ground longer than anyone else."

You stopped moving.

"Mark Grayson." he said.

The silence that followed was loud. Heavy.

"She responded to him. Almost like she enjoyed it." another commented. "We observed it—she was smiling. Laughing. Every time he hit her, she hit harder. She didn't want to kill him. It's almost like she wanted to play."

The crowd murmured again.

"She was having fun, and yet he still managed to injure her. To bring her down."

Mark's hands were clenched at his sides now, his brows furrowed, jaw tight. His silence said more than words could.

"She's a beast." the first speaker said. "But beasts can be trained. And if anyone is going to do it… it has to be him."

General Nolan finally turned slowly to face his son. "Mark."

Mark lifted his eyes, and for the first time, you saw the faintest flicker of conflict in them.

Nolan's voice rang clear, loud enough for all to hear. Cold. Final.

"She's your responsibility now."

"Break her. Tame her. Turn that wild thing into something useful. Think of it as… training a new pet." Nolan sharply commanded.

The word pet hung in the air, heavy and cruel.

And just like that, the decision was made.

You were no longer just a monster.

You were his task. His burden. His possession.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

You were moved into Mark Grayson's private quarters two days later.

You were escorted like an animal—your wrists locked in thick cuffs, a black gag secured tightly between your lips, and a gleaming high-tech collar locked around your neck. It pulsed faintly red, a constant reminder of the shocks it could deliver. You had already learned its bite. The plain white prisoner uniform clung to your body neatly but it couldn't hide the tension in your muscles or the defiance in your eyes. Your hair had been washed, but left wild and tangled, like they hadn't cared to do more than rinse you clean.

His father led the procession, flanked by five other Viltrumites. They walked in silence—grim and towering, like they couldn't wait to be rid of you. When the door to Mark's quarters hissed open, they shoved you forward without care. You stumbled, unbalanced, but didn't fall. You landed on your knees before him, like a stray beast dumped at the feet of her new master.

Mark said nothing.

He stood tall in his pristine white Viltrumite uniform, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. His eyes moved over you—your face, the collar, the gag, the subtle twitch in your smile. You could feel his gaze, cold and heavy, like he was judging you.

He didn't look surprised. He didn't even look particularly interested.

But he looked at you like you were his. Like you were already his.

The cage in the corner of the room was built just for you. Reinforced alloy. Thick bars. It wasn't hidden—it was a fixture in the space, something he'd clearly made room for. You were shoved inside it without grace, and the door clanged shut with a low, echoing finality.

His father said a few quiet words before departing with the others. Something about obedience. About control. Mark nodded, silent and cold, never once looking at you again until they were gone.

Only then did he approach the cage.

You were lying inside, already curled on your side like a cat. When he finally turned his gaze to you, you met it with a wink.

He stared at you with an unreadable expression. There was no lust, no hatred—just something… calculating. You could sense the effort it took him to stay composed, to look down at you and not act. You could feel the discomfort behind that stare. And you loved it.

He left you alone after that.

But when he returned hours later, the cage was torn open like it was made of paper. One of the bars was bent backward, and sparks flickered where the internal locking system had fried. You sat lazily in the center of his bed, legs tucked under you, the remains of your uniform hanging from your hips. Your upper body was bare—slick with sweat and blood, lips red from raw meat as you gnawed on something half-cooked

It stained his bedsheets. It stained your fingers.

He stopped in the doorway and stared at you for a long moment.

Then he exhaled slowly and murmured, "I really hoped you'd stay in the cage."

You licked your fingers, then flashed him a lazy grin. "I'm not an animal, Grayson."

He said nothing as he entered, stripping out of his uniform until he was half-naked. He moved toward the small kitchen like you weren't there, calm and composed, even as you followed him with your eyes, your teeth still sunk into the meat in your lap.

"Don't you have anything better to wear? Didn't my father give you something?" he asked over his shoulder.

You stood behind him now, silent, completely naked. You stretched your arms up—slowly, deliberately—exposing yourself without a single shred of shame.

"Ooh, don't like what you see?" you asked, with your voice sickly sweet.

Mark didn't turn around. "You don't get to tease me, pet."

Your smile widened. "That collar says otherwise."

And then—before you could take another step toward him—it sparked. Electricity crackled across your throat in a violent shock. You collapsed to the floor with a hiss, trembling and panting, but still smiling through the pain. He still didn't turn around.

"You're mine." he said flatly. "And pets don't speak without permission."

You lay there twitching on the floor, laughter bubbling from your throat even as your body spasmed.

You were such a problem. A walking mess of temptation and chaos. A feral, sharp-toothed creature he hadn't tamed yet. You stalked around his space like a spoiled cat—shedding blood, climbing on his things, curling up naked where you didn't belong. You didn't eat the rations he gave you. You rejected everything cooked. Mark quickly learned that the only way to keep you fed was raw meat, still dripping. And when he gave in and brought it, you looked at him with gleaming eyes like he was rewarding you.

He hated that. Hated the way you made him feel like he enjoyed your presence. Like he looked forward to your games.

You were always touching his things, brushing against him when he walked past, whispering into his ear when he tried to sleep.

"You're fun when you're pretending not to want me." you whispered one night, your breath warm against his neck. "I was just wondering how long it would take before you finally snapped."

His hand gripped your jaw tight, forcing your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed slowly along your collar

"I will break you..." he murmured, voice low and lethal. "And you'll beg me for it."

You met his threat with a wicked smile, eyes gleaming with challenge.

Gods, you were such a naughty thing.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

Living with Mark was a war of nerves.

He didn't speak much, not unless he had to. He gave orders, not conversation. Every time he walked into the room, he expected obedience—and every time, you gave him the exact opposite.

He tried to tame you with structure. Routine. Food. Clean quarters. The cage—still bolted to the corner of his room—was meant to remind you that no matter where you roamed, this was still captivity. You were still his.

And yet, you prowled through his space like a cat. A filthy, bloodthirsty little thing with sharp teeth and mischief in her eyes.

You made a game out of pissing him off.

You ripped the sleeves off the black Viltrumite uniform he had ordered for you, claiming they were itchy—then refused to wear anything else. You slept wherever you pleased, most often curled in his bed, stretched across the sheets like you owned them. You dripped blood on his floors from your stolen snacks, purred at him in mockery, and bared your teeth every time he looked too calm. You called him "pretty boy," "master," "hot stuff" and "Grayson," depending on what reaction you were hunting for.

Sometimes, you stood right in front of him, naked and smiling, collar still glowing red.

Sometimes, he didn't say anything.

Sometimes, he did.

And when he did, it was never nice.

Still, you could feel it—beneath all that authority and arrogance, something was cracking. Every time you got under his skin, every time his jaw clenched and his fists curled, you felt it coming closer. That first fight between you hadn't just been survival—it had been ecstasy. Something deep in your corrupted instincts craved the collision again. The pain. The rush. The blood. And the way he had looked at you, panting, bruised, victorious.

You wanted to taste it again.

But Mark had been sent off-world. Called away on a brutal conquest with other Viltrumites. Rumors spread fast—it had been ugly. Ugly and loud. You could practically hear the taunts in his ears, the rage in his fists. You knew how he got when pushed too far.

So you pushed him further.

By the time he returned, there was blood on Viltrum's walls.

You had tried to escape.

You tore through six Viltrumites before they even realized what was happening. Ate one. Injured another so badly they couldn't walk. You laughed the whole time, dripping with gore, half-mad with the thrill of it. You're not actually trying to leave, not really. You just wanted to fight. You wanted to feel alive again.

Once they captured you, they threw you into one of their most heavily guarded prisons. Chained you like the monster they said you were. But not before you left your mark.

So when Mark came home—wounded, furious, soaked in blood and sweat—he didn't go back to his quarters.

He went straight to the prison.

And when the cell door hissed open, there you were. Naked again, legs casually crossed, sitting on the floor like a satisfied beast after a feast, while still wearing your collar like a choker. Your mouth was stained with red. Your arms were chained above your head, but your eyes were calm—glowing with smugness and something else.

You tilted your head. "Welcome home, pretty boy~"

He stepped inside. The door sealed shut behind him with a cold hiss, and he didn't speak. He just stared and his silence was loud.

You didn't lower your gaze. Didn't shift or flinch under the weight of it. You wanted this—you wanted that fire in his eyes, the heat of fury crawling down his spine. You wanted that unhinged thing in him to wake up. To bare its teeth. To bite you back.

You smiled, slow and sharp. "You look like shit."

His jaw tightened. The cuts on his face were still fresh. Blood streaked down the side of his neck, half-dried, and his hands were trembling from self-control.

You cocked your head, chains clinking above you. "What's wrong? Mission didn't go so well? Or are you just mad I had a little fun while you were gone?"

You let out a giggle as he moved closer. Boots echoing off the cold floor. You shifted, legs still crossed, thighs open just enough to tempt.

"You killed six." Mark said, voice laced with coldness, "Injured five more."

You smiled with your teeth. "I was hungry."

His palm cracked across your face before you even finished the sentence.

Your head jerked to the side, the taste of copper blooming on your tongue. You spat, a string of red falling to the floor between your knees, then looked up at him with a smug, bloodstained grin. "There he is…"

He stepped closer. Towering. Trembling with restrained fury.

"You think this is funny?" he snarled.

You laughed, low and taunting. "It's hilarious, actually. They cried so loud. Struggled like babies. You should've seen their faces, pretty boy." Your voice lowered to a mock whisper. "I think you're getting soft on me. Not the same Viltrumite who left me broken on a battlefield."

His eye twitched. His chest rose and fell like he was holding back the urge to throw you through the wall.

"What do you want, huh?" he snapped. "Another beating?"

You cocked your head, smile dripping arrogance. "I want to see you snap. I want the same fire that pinned me down and made me feel alive. You've been boring since you brought me here... there's no fun."

Something shifted in his face—a cold fury, flickering with something darker.

His hands moved.

He simply undid the belt of his white Viltrumite uniform, then let the fabric drop away just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, and mean. Veins tracing the length like dark roads, the head was wet and angry.

You blinked. Frowning, your mouth twisting into a sneer. "Eww, gross—what the fuck do you think I'm gonna do with that!?"

Mark stepped forward, towering over your chained form. His hand wrapped around your collar, tilting your head back roughly.

"Open your mouth."

"Fuck you."

"I swear," he growled, leaning down until his breath scorched your lips, his voice is low and seething, "If you don't open your fucking mouth, I'll tear your jaw open and shove my cock down your throat until you forget how to breathe."

Your eyes narrowed as you watched Mark stand tall before you, his 8.5 to 9-inch cock jutting out, the swollen tip slapping lewdly against your parting lips. You could feel the heat radiating off his thick shaft, smell the heady musk of his arousal. His girthy length hovered dangerously close to your face, a silent threat and a promise of what's to come.

You opened your mouth slowly, not out of submission or eagerness, but to bare the sharp, wicked teeth you were so proudly known for. It was a challenge, a silent dare. Your tongue darted out, flicking against the weeping slit of his cockhead in a teasing caress that was barely a touch.

Mark's eyes flashed dangerously as you slowly parted your lips, revealing the glint of your sharp teeth. This was no act of submission, but a silent challenge thrown down between you. "Tuck those fangs away." he growled, his grip in your hair tightening warningsly.

You met his glare with a defiant tilt of your chin, not complying. "Make me." you taunted, your voice dripping with insolence even as his fingers dug into your scalp.

A dark snarl rumbled in Mark's chest. "Brat," he spat. His other hand shot out, gripping your collar possessively. "If I feel even a graze of those little fangs on my cock, I will snap your fucking neck. Got it?"

Before you could react, he pushed it forward, the thick head of his dick forcing your lips apart and stretching them obscenely around his girth. You gasped as he pushed deeper, your throat squeezing around its size. The tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat, making you gag reflexively.

Mark paused, allowing your throat to adjust to his size. His thumb stroked along your jawline, not a gentle caress, but a dominant, controlling gesture. "Breathe through your nose." he commanded gruffly. "You can take it."

Trapped and stuffed full, your glare was your only remaining weapon. Mark started to move, his thrusts initially slow and deliberate. Each drag of his thick length along your tongue and throat sends jolts of unwanted pleasure through you. As if your body is betraying you, you can feel your cunt pulsing, clenching around nothing as he used your mouth.

His pace increased, fucking your face hard and rough. Wet, filthy sounds of flesh slapping echoed through your cell. Drool and precum mingled, dripping down to your collar and to the floor. He gripped your hair tighter, holding your head still as he hilted with each brutal thrust.

He forced you to take his entire length, over and over, balls slapping against your spit-slicked chin. Tears streamed down your face from the relentless face-fucking and lack of oxygen, but he showed no mercy.

Suddenly, with a harsh tug on your hair, he yanked your head back and pulled out abruptly. You gasped desperately, drawing ragged breaths, thick ropes of your saliva was connected to his cock and the head of his dick was an angry red, flushed and leaking, hovering inches from your face.

It was then silent between the two of you, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing filling the tense air. His chest rose and fell, sweat beading at his temples, while you knelt there—lips swollen, throat aching, eyes glassy and unfocused from the brutal rhythm he'd forced on you.

Your head swayed slightly, lightheaded and dazed, the aftershocks of it still buzzing through your body like static. You blinked up at him, not out of defiance this time, but because your mind hadn't caught up yet—too fogged to realize he had pulled out without even cumming.

Mark grasped the metal cuff binding your wrists and, with a simple flex of his superhuman strength, tore it apart like it was nothing more than paper. The sudden release sent you off balance that you collapsed forward with a grunt, catching yourself on your hands and knees in an undignified sprawl. Before you could push yourself up, his fingers hooked under your chin, jerking your head back to meet his gaze.

A slow, mocking smirk tugged at his lips as he took in the sight of your disheveled state. Then, without a word, he grabbed you and with a sharp, effortless motion, hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. The air rushed out of your lungs as your body collided with the hard wall of his chest, muscles shifting beneath you as he began walking out of your cell.

As you attempted to slip free from his hold, one hand gripped your rear possessively, giving it a sharp, punishing slap. The stinging pain radiated through you, a silent warning from him. You bit back a yelp, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry out.

Mark walked down the corridor in heavy silence, his steps echoing ominously as he carried you like a trophy draped over his shoulder. Viltrumite guards paused to stare, their gazes lingering on your bare, used form. You could feel their eyes crawling over your skin, filled with assumptions, judgment, maybe even envy at the power play unfolding in front of them. You shot them a sharp side-glare, though the faint blush dusting your cheeks betrayed the heat pooling beneath your skin.

Without breaking a stride, Mark took off into the air, the force of his flight making the wind whip past your ears. In seconds, you landed hard on the balcony of his private quarters. He barely gave you a moment to react before tossing you onto the bed like you were nothing more than his personal possession. The moment your back hit the mattress, he was already stripping off his bloodied uniform before crawling on top of you, pinning you down with the full weight of his body.

And then his mouth crashed onto yours. It was not gentle or loving but a brutal claiming. His tongue forced its way past your lips to dominate your mouth. He poured all his pent-up frustration and lust into the kiss, one hand gripping your hair to hold you in place as he plundered your mouth.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he released your bruised lips, both of you panting harshly. "You've done nothing but push and provoke me—every damn chance you got." he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "But now? You're right where I want you."

With one swift motion, he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head in one large, unyielding hand, pressing them into the mattress. His body hovered close, radiating with heat and fury as he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "No more games."

Mark shifted his hips, positioning himself between your spread thighs. The thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance, already slick with your unwilling arousal. "It's time someone taught you the meaning of obedience." he rasped. "And I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."

With a single, brutal thrust, he slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight, dripping cunt. A guttural moan tore from his throat as his aching cock sank into the silken heat of your depths. Your back arched off the bed, a scream of pained pleasure punching from your lungs as you were split open on his massive shaft.

"AAHH~!"

"Fuck, you're so goddamn tight..." Mark grunted, giving you a moment to adjust to his size stretching you wide. "This cunt was made for my cock." He rolled his hips, grinding against your cervix, before pulling back and slamming in again.

Each relentless thrust sent lewd, wet sounds bouncing off the walls, your moans rising higher with every slap of skin against skin. His free hand roamed up your body, seizing your breast in a firm grip, fingers digging its softness as he pounded into you without mercy.

"Aah! Aah! Aah! Fuck! Mark! Mark—!"

Mark's mouth found your neck, his lips and teeth teasing over the sensitive skin. He licked and nipped at your racing pulse before soothing the sting with his tongue, almost tenderly. Mark's lips trailed up to your ear as he continued his relentless pace. "That's right. Scream for me." he demanded, voice a guttural rasp. "Let them hear who owns you now." His hand slid from your breast to your throat, fingers wrapping around it possessively, not squeezing, but with the clear threat of doing so.

He pistioned his hips faster, each powerful thrust striking your cervix and sending bolts of white-hot pleasure spiking up your spine. Your cunt clenched and fluttered around his plundering cock, slick walls gripping him like a velvet vice. The stimulation was overwhelming, pushing you rapidly towards a peak.

Mark panted harshly, sweat dripping down his brow from exertion. "Take my cock. Fucking take it, you whore." His grip on your hair and throat tightened in tandem with his increasingly brutal thrusts.

He could feel your body tensing, your legs starting to quake. "No." he growled. "Don't you dare cum without my permission." To emphasize his point, he reached between your bodies and pressed down hard on your clit, pinching the sensitive nub almost cruelly.

"No! No! Aah! I-It's too much! Aah! I can't—AAHH~!" Your back arched, a scream ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. Your cunt spasmed and clenched wildly, milking Mark's hard cock as wave after wave of ecstasy consumed you.

Mark groaned, the rhythmic squeezing of your cunt pushing him closer to his own release. "You think you deserve to come after all the shit you've pulled? You'll be punished for this." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with a punishing force as he chased his own pleasure.

With one last, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside of you. His cock jerked and throbbed as it unleashed it's hot, thick ropes of seed directly into your spasming walls. He filled you with his essence, flooding your empty womb, until you were overflowing.

As the final pulses of your shared climax fades away , Mark collapsed onto you, pinning you into the mattress. He caught your lips in a searing kiss, more passionate and intense than the one before. When he finally broke away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes searching yours with a dark, triumphant gleam.

"We're not done yet. You think you get to rest after cumming without permission?" he growled.

Your hazy eyes fluttered open, cheeks flushed deep red. Still breathless, you gave him a small, teasing smile as you slowly dragged your wet tongue across your lips, hungry for more.

𖹭 𖹭 𖹭

The night blurred into a haze of relentless, brutal coupling. Mark's stamina seemed boundless as he took you in every position imaginable, each thrust driving into you with punishing force and precision. The bed creaked and groaned beneath the onslaught, a lewd symphony of carnal lust.

You were drunk on pleasure, drowning in the overwhelming sensations of his body claiming yours over and over. Laughter bubbled from your lips, interspersed with wanton moans and cries of ecstasy. It was a stark contrast to the pain and fury of your first fight; this was a different kind of battle, one where you found yourself surrendering to the enemy's touch.

"Look at you," Mark growled, voice thick with satisfaction as he pounded into you from behind. "Taking my cock like a bitch in heat." His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, fingers sinking into the flesh as he rutted into you with wild abandon. "Such a good little pet."

He leaned down, teeth finding your ear as his hips snapped forward, striking your cervix dead-on. "You're going to look beautiful, all round and full with my child..." he murmured, voice dripping with dark promise. The filthy words sent a shiver down your spine, even as a traitorous part of you thrilled at the idea.

Your body was a canvas of marks and bruises, each one a testament to his ferocious desire. Your breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, the two slick with sweat and come. The obscene squelch of his seed sloshing inside you with each roll of your hips was the only sound louder than your escalating moans.

You lost count of the number of times he filled you, painting your insides white with his release. Your womb was flooded, as your belly starting to swell with the sheer volume of his cum. It looked as if you were already pregnant, the bulge of his seed a perverse parody of new life.

As dawn approached, Mark finally slowed, his thrusts growing less urgent as he chased his final climax. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt, cock jerking and pulsing as he pumped you full once more. He collapsed against your back, crushing you into the mattress with his weight.

After a long moment, he rolled onto his side, spooning you from behind. Mark's strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your limp, body flush against his chest. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat that clung to your skin. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, gradually slowing as exhaustion claimed him.

As exhaustion threatened to pull you under into a deep, dreamless slumber, Mark's strong arms encircled you from behind, holding you close against his muscular chest. He curled around your limp body like a lover, one hand possessively splayed across the slight swell of your belly, feeling the way it strained with the heavy load of his seed trapped inside you. A look of dark satisfaction flickered across his chiseled features as he surveyed the results of his relentless claiming.

"Rest now, my love." he whispered against your ear, a tender darkness in his tone. "Close your eyes… because when you wake up, I'm going to make you mine all over again."

. ݁�� ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊˚⊹ ᰔ

𖹭 please don't repost, publish, or translate this shit anywhere. You don't have the right to do that. Thank you for understanding.

Divider made by @cafekitsune ୨ৎ

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 6

Enjoy Chapter 6! Ch8 will be a look into what has been happening in Ghotam and Ch9 will probably follow the first episode of Invincible.

We're slowly approaching the main timeline age, so if ya'll want a specific character to make an appearance or would like to see a specific plot line this is your time to speak now or forever remain silent /j

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 6 >>next

He is crazy- he can’t just- He-!

You couldn’t even know where to begin telling what happened. One moment you were relaxing, enjoying the sun, living the dream- and then this old, 6 feet and 2 inches of pure muscle, alien-man thing just up and kidnaps you. Omni-Man kidnapped you with a simple “Hello, kid. Let’s go home.” You were more shocked than angry, to be honest, the man was just spewing nonsense as he flew you across the states.

Now, Nolan wouldn’t call it kidnapping- why, he’d never! He was just- cleaning up the streets, helping a homeless kid, even though he knew where she lived- it was adopting without all the other steps!

He was meticulous in his watching, not stalking, but watching, observing. When Cecil first called him, bringing to his attention a mysterious flying person coming and going from NYC, he was ready for a villain, an alien preparing to overtake NYC, anything but a tween kid shakily flying, almost hitting buildings and nearly being taken down by other flying heroes.

He knew she was no threat; he told Cecil as much- but he kept coming back. Something kept making him come back, just to look, to make sure she didn’t hurt herself or others- he kept telling himself. He knew deep inside why he came back every day for a year, it was the same reason why he married Debbie, it was the same reason why he couldn’t bring himself to hate his son.

Sure, she was living well, but the food she ate, if she remembered to, wasn’t sustainable, she needed home-cooked food, she needed socializing and training, she needed- she needed a family and stability. Nolan took the initiative to pack her bags and everything in her little apartment and move her into his and Debbie’s house, in the room next to Mark’s. And then, he took her.

You didn’t put up much of a fight if one at all, but really what could you say or do when Omi-Man has deemed you his and his wife’s kid, the man spoke of her highly, his son too, but still- He kidnapped you, you wouldn’t just stay- “And Debbie is making this roast beef with baked potatoes-“…

Some would call you weak, others would say you can be easily bought, but this was the greatest roast beef you had tasted in a long while. “This is amazing food, Mrs. Grayson.” You could play along for a while. The woman just smiled and thanked you, insisting on you calling her Debbie. The offer of ice cream made you sure you could play along for a long while.

She wasn’t initially happy with Nolan coming with a random kid under his arm, but one look at your disheveled appearance and wide eyes made her rethink everything. A daughter wouldn’t hurt, two kids would make the house happier, and you reminded her of those scuffed up little kittens, she didn’t have it in her to let you go without a meal at least.

Over dinner, you answered every question they threw at you, from your name to Mark asking if you like comics, but when they asked your age, you just shrugged. “Around 13-14? Can’t quite remember, I haven’t celebrated my birthday ever, mom just told me how old I was and then-“ Your body went rigid.

You were telling too much, getting too comfortable- but, maybe this was your chance at a true family. Can’t back down now, you could always just leave if you really wanted. The two adults understood as soon as you tensed up, Debbie immediately acting as her hand soothingly rubbed at your shoulder and back while they let you decide whether to continue or change the subject. “She died when I was five.”

She smiled at you softly, apologizing for prying and giving their condolences, something not even Alfred did. All Nolan saw was an opportunity to grab you and never let go, to give you what the father that clearly wasn’t in the picture never gave.

Mark just grabbed your wrist, a sad frown on his face. “I can share my parent with you. I know I’d be sad if mom or dad were gone. We can be siblings!” His bright smile was contagious, making you smile just as bright before your hopeful eyes met Debbie’s. She was sold a while back, as soon as you called her pretty while calling Nolan a bum and asking how she had the misfortune of marrying a brute, making the man grumble as he sat you on the couch, your hopeful glance just set it in stone.

Despite having a room all to yourself, you wanted to push. They were different to the Waynes, that was clear. They were warmer, talked to you, and it all felt so much better. So, you wanted to test the water by asking Mark if he’d be willing to share his bedroom with you tonight, not wanting to be alone. Not when you had the opportunity to soak in any attention they give you.

The boy was excited to have a sleepover in his room, eager to show you all the comics and toys he had- and neither Debbie nor Nolan could say no. Not to two pairs of puppy eyes. The adults were sure this weakness to saying no wouldn’t last… Hopefully.

Spending the night with Mark was amazing, it was everything you thought Dick and the other would give you. He showed you all his comics, letting you read all of them, and as the night settled and the stars were high in the sky you taught him about them. In the end, you both fell asleep in the pillow fort you made, comic books lying open around you. Your plans of escape quickly went out the window, this family thing with them felt like it was worth trying. You liked NYC, but maybe Chicago is where you belonged. And if the adults heard you two giggle and fuss around all night, they didn’t say anything.

By next week you were a Grayson, thanks to Cecil’s string-pulling. Looks like Nolan knew exactly what to say to make the man agree.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple

my greatest fear is misspelling a name and tagging someone who has never seen this 🫠

[gatorbites-imagines]

Any ViltruWives crumbs to spare? 🙏👀✨️

Heres me rambling about old men, cuz god... I LOVE old men, so much.

Fake old man lovers could not survive me. 

I know it probably wouldnt hit any of the viltrumwives, cuz they're supposed to be all, you know. Greater beings who don't have the weaknesses humans do. But my god... old men with erectile dysfunction. The only one of them I could even imagine having anything like that would be Conquest, as he's the oldest out of all of them. 

Speaking of old. I could see all four of them feeling a bit out of it because they're just... old. Especially if you are human, then they would be so so much older than you. It's even funnier if you somehow still have more experience than them. Big chance you do, since viltrumites are so duty bound, unlike us humans, who can just do whatever. 

I think they all dress like old men too, like, polo shirts, khaki pants, socks and sandals, those shades that dads wear when grilling. Nolan dresses the best when it comes to human clothing, since he's been here for so long and knows the ups and downs. 

Only one out of them that knows how to cook is Nolan, but I feel that Kregg would easily pick up on it when needed. Conquest would try his best, cuz I feel he would get something out of creating instead of destroying. Thragg doesn't cook. 

All four of them love a good backrub. You can't actually massage them or work out the kinks in their backs, because of viltrumite muscle and all that, but they love it anyways. 

I feel all of them would love if you grew a moustache too. It's not a necessity, but they would find you extra handsome with one. 

Speaking of moustaches and beards, you end up with a lot of beard burn, anywhere and everywhere. I can see Conquest as the type to rub his face against you like a big cat, where Kregg, Thragg, and Nolan are more obvious with their affection.  

Thragg is the kind to nip at your chin and neck as he bares his teeth, playfully growling. Only when you guys are alone though, he will not show weakness like that around anyone else. 

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The GDA scrambles to recoup losses. Relationships begin and end- badly.  [Invincible Variants x reader]

TW: I dunno. It's! Uhm! Ref, you shouldn't say that!

[Part one]  [4]  [Ao3] [6]

5 * Godspeed, Kid [8k]

"You broke my heart, 

I hope you die,

Emptier than how I feel inside,

And when you lay your head to rest at night I hope that you,

Never fall asleep when you think of all the things you do."

Plate Glass Apology - Apes of the State

        "He's not even gonna see it." Your nosy co-worker says. 

        "It's the principle." You say, pouring the milk slower, getting to the bottom of the pitcher where the thick foam sat. "Can't work up the guts to say something so," your words ebb as you delicately shake the pitcher, letting a glob of foam sit atop the caramel latte, "I'll do this until he notices." With a flick of the wrist, you strike the glob through. Leaving a heart of milk foam you hide under a white lid. 

        "Black Americano, London fog, and a caramel latte for Nolan." You push the drinks out all at once. A teenage boy slides off a tall chair at the center table in the lobby. You avert your gaze as he grabs the order, muttering thanks. You watch him walk away, feeling heat in your cheeks and butterflies in your belly. 

        He slides into the chair, passing out drinks. Not taking the lid off the cup, not noticing again. It's whatever, you're too scared to say what you want. Too shy. What were the chances anyway? Cute boy and a yearning barista? 

        His brick wall of a father catches your eye. Mustache twitching up at you before he turned to his son. He speaks low, so low you can't hear.  "I think that girl likes you, Mark." 

        Mark stiffens, going bright red. "T-there's no way you know that."

        Nolan sips his Americano. Nothing close as good to the real thing, but passable for a peaceful morning with his family. "Oh, I know."

        His mother laughs into her palm. The order printer spits out a ticket, you get back to work. 

        At some point, your manager sets you behind the register. The Saturday mid-morning rush is killing you. Understaffed, flooded with orders. The customers keep coming with no end in sight. You're the only cashier, and the people are getting impatient. 

        You can feel the waves of contempt wafting off everyone behind your current customer. Some middle-aged nobody who was currently driving you insane. "I want something hot, no, cold, wait, mmm, maybe hot." You make recommendations. "It has to be keto. Are any of your syrups gluten-free? What's the calorie count per squirt of syrup? Do you have sugar-free milk?" You try and try to steer her in the right direction but she won't listen. The line is growing and honestly, you want it to move so you can talk to the boy in line. Holding his cup, blushing, looking at his feet, then at his parents for moral support. 

        You shouldn't do it. Using your powers in public was a terrible idea, it always was. People don't much like mind-fuckers. You'd been demure using them. Controlling people wasn't right, it felt icky. You were determined to be good and very, very normal. 

        But you have no choice. She's not shutting her fat lip and you wanted to flirt. 

        You lean forward past the register, whispering, "You're gonna get a black coffee. Gonna love it so much you'll tip me twenty bucks. Then you're never coming back."

        Her eyes glazed. "One black coffee, please."

        "Coming right up!"

        He's two customers behind. You get them out of the way. Lean on the register, like you're too cool for fast food- or is it fast coffee? 

        He sets the cup down, looking anywhere but at you, "Tell me if I'm being weird or crazy or whatever but uhm..." He lifts the lid. The heart had melted into the latte. Oh, he hadn't seen it, had you just forgotten the caramel syrup? He didn't actually want to talk to you. 

        Across the cafe, his father loudly cleared his throat. 

        Mark forced himself to make eye contact. "Uh. I just wanted to say this is like, the best latte I've ever had and I uhm- wanted to give you something." He fumbled with a scrap in his back pocket. Pushing it into the tip jar. You see numbers hastily written on the back of his dad's receipt. Then he's flipping open his thin wallet, "I'm also gonna actually tip too don't worry, I'm not that full of myself."

        Your fingers fish the number out the jar. "This is more than enough for me." The words hit him like a mallet. He almost jumps out his shoes. Horrified a girl actually flirted with him.

        And that's how it started. A nudge from Nolan turned into texting late at night about shitty minimum wage jobs. Turned into his mom driving you to the theaters, to a first kiss for you both, after seeing a terrible adaptation of a comic book. Turned into wanting to go to college together, you'd never even thought about college before. Turned into him saying he'd help you figure out the money situation. You lived alone as a teenager, circumstances, life and powers you didn't tell him about. Turned into a single job for Machine Head, offering enough money for tuition.

        The funny thing was, Mark gave you his number the same day you caught Machine Head's camera eye. Hell, in the same five minutes. He'd been right behind the lady you'd hypnotized. Came up to the counter when the rush died two hours later. Long after he'd left, come back just to give you a sleek business card. His number, the address of his high rise suite.

        "If you ever wanna actually do something with your life." He'd said. And with him and Mark, you actually started to consider it. 

        ***

        He's leaned over her body, bandaged and still. Pulse slow but strong. Leg in a sling hung off the ceiling. His new mask resting on the edge of her bed. Not looking up when Cecil walked in, followed by you. 

        "I already told you, I'm not leaving her." He says. Back moving as he speaks. So much wider than when you knew it. Voice deeper, matured, and so tired. 

        "Yeah, yeah, they could come busting down the door any minute to kill her to get at you." Cecil says, "But I just hit them with all I've got and they're fine, Mark. So please, turn around and talk to us."

        "No."

        Cecil turns to you, jutting his jaw toward Mark. Telling you to talk. You already know your powers won't work on him. You were still weak from Narcan. Exhausted from being passed around and almost dying. So God forgive you if you don't speak with good faith.

        "You're pathetic."

        At that, he whips around. Brows twisting. "Who-" He stares, taking seconds to process, too long. You're almost unrecognizable. No light in your eyes. No teenage awkwardness. No smile. "If you're bringing her out to convince me, the answer's still no." He turns back to Eve. You're not important enough to look at longer than twenty seconds. There was none of the barely contained want you saw in the alternate Marks, no immediate recognition. 

        Your fists ball. You were just a chess piece of Cecil's to him? 

        "He almost fucking vaporized me with nukes and they're fine." You would play the role of pawn just fine. Your anger at the situation was genuine, leading you right into Cecil's trap. "If that won't work, nothing will. The planet needs you."

        "Then Eve needs me more than ever." He says hollowly.

        You want to vomit. All over him and his puppy-dog eyes. All over her and her pretty face, and altruistic personality- always thrown in your face on the news. 

        It had nothing to do with the current happenstance but it comes ripping out of you.

        "Do you even care that you ruined my life?" He doesn't respond. You want to hit something. Break someone's bones. You remember Seventeen falling to the ground dead. The swirl of emotions you felt. You think if you did it again, there'd only be one emotion. 

        You go on, watching for a reaction. A shoulder slump, a sigh, anything. "I owed Machine Head after the job because I didn't deliver. You threw me in jail. He protected me. I owed him more, and if I didn't pay up, he'd kill me. Do you even know what I had to do? Did you ever think about it? I never even got to finish High School, Mark!"

        He doesn't flinch. Braced for a lashing. You realize then and there. He'd must've known you'd gone back. He worked for the GDA long enough for someone to fill him in. Flew over the city all the time. Knew people who knew people. He'd have heard it through the grapevine at some point. He'd only come looking the once. Maybe thinking to himself in his stupid puppy brain that you were better off without him. That you could make your way in the world. That you didn't want to see him and weren't totally drowning and in such desperate need of saving.

        "Look at me." You try to grasp for power that doesn't come, you could make him, but you can't. Your lips wobble. Cheeks burning with humiliation. Not only because he wouldn't look at you but Cecil was there, witnessing the whole thing. You turn your mind to something more pressing, another thing that makes you so angry you want to rip off heads. "If you're gonna fuck the planet over, have the decency to look at me and tell me you're not helping."

        His head dips. Leaning closer into Eve's orbit. "No. The answer's no. I can't leave her."

        He won't look at you. You're nothing but an unimportant memory. Something in you breaks. The onslaught of Marks you didn't even know cared about you more. But what had you been expecting from him? Hope for a romance re-lit? Hope to have the balls to kill him? You don't know.

        You hold back tears. Force your quavering lip into a hard line. "Fine. You won't do shit? I will." Cecil looks at you, brow raised as if he wasn't wanting for one of you to step up.

        "I'll figure it out." You tell him as you storm out the room. Unable to hold the tears any longer. 

        ***

        You're gone. Gone. Blasted to dust. Dead, again.

        He knew the trap was coming, but he couldn't stop it and save you at the same time. He thought he could be stronger, faster, but that damn noise got him. Made his ears pulse and bleed even with the noise cancellation device in his suit. Hell, part of him hoped since the others seemed to care so much, maybe they'd stop the bombs.

        Now he's in the pit that used to be an island. Ocean water roaring down the ledge. Looking for pieces of you. But there is nothing but water and rock.

        He checks his tracker, coming to his senses after minutes of reeling. Your dot doesn't appear. Your vitals no longer showing in the corner of his lenses. 

        He wants Angstrom to appear. Wants to rip that engorged brain off his scalp. He should've known it was a ruse, a sick joke because you were dead everywhere but here, and no way in hell would he- or any of them- be so lucky as to hold you again. 

        Angstrom doesn't come. Nor do anymore bombs. The planet is out of defenses. 

        One by one the Marks give up. Speeding off the to nearest city to level or person to kill. Blaming this world for false hope. Leveling it more than it already had been. Suppose that's what Angstrom was planning. For that, he'd kill the bastard whenever it was time to meet at the rendezvous.

        ***

        There is nothing to do but wait. Cecil withheld the remaining heroes in safe houses across the globe. The ones that didn't listen, the ones that thought letting the Invincible's scourge the planet was stupid, never came back. Cecil's plan was simple, wait for it to be over. He'd tried taking them down one by one, tried en masse, tried everything but only a handful fell. The remaining were too much for any defense the planet had and the real Invincible wasn't lifting a finger to help. 

        So Cecil made every other hero follow suit. Biding his time. Waiting to launch the rescue missions rather than offense. 

        He did things where he could. Trying to contain. Remotely launching tear gas specially compounded to fuck up a supe, but of course it did nothing to Viltruimtes. Playing that awful sound that made Mark weak. Except most speakers on the planet couldn't play it at the correct pitch, so the most it did was cause a minor annoyance before the speaker was smashed.

      Psycopomp watched as you avoided everybody. As you went unpunished for your crimes, many of the same things she'd done, but shit. Making people do as you said was just immoral. At least with the dead, they couldn't feel or even know what was happening. 

        Cecil wanted Psychopomp to help. To zap her into areas under attack for her to raise the re-dead re-animen. She refused because he let you walk free. 

        Then he'd laid it on her like this, "There's only a handful of people on the planet left with a chance of killing any of the alternate Mark Graysons. She took one out single-handedly, that's not for nothing. Listen, if you help us we can think about opening an investigation on (Y/n) but as long as this lasts, we need her." 

        Psychopomp agreed. Glazing over the word think. She was sent into the field, one disaster after another raising the dead undead. Watching them get killed again and again. Being zapped back to the GDA just to be sent somewhere else in the next five minutes, rinse, repeat. 

        Day one was bad, day two was worse, and on the dawn of three the destruction started to lull. Cecil lost more employees than he'd thought possible. The hospital wing keeping Eve alive was down to three staffers working round the clock. They'd drop of exhaustion any moment and they'd all be fucked because Mark, the real Mark, would be so angry he'd finish the destroying the planet before his alternates could.

        Then there was you. 

        Hovering around the remains of the GDA headquarters like a ghost. Useless because you didn't understand military strategy. Petty gangwar bullshit didn't apply anywhere here. Nowhere else to go because there's nowhere to go, as if Cecil would let you leave anyway. Keeping you around as a last resort, plans tumbling around in his balding head. Nothing solid enough. 

        So he let you wander, let you have time alone in the one working bathroom, washing your body with hand soap and mineral thick water. Didn't bat an eye when you pulled the armor off a guard's corpse. Even down to the white tank top undershirt and shorts he wore under. Least you had the decency the put the guy's hands over his dick.

        Cecil wasn't blind or stupid. You dressing yourself in the black and green armor of a GDA solider was no coincidence. There were plenty of dead lab techs to take normal clothes off. 

        You looked for nearly an entire day for a pulse rifle that was fully loaded and still shot. Most of the dead guards fought for their lives before being cut down. You could shoot, but had no idea how tech this advanced was reloaded. Hell, just holding the rifle felt awkward compared to your six-shooter. It wouldn't be enough and you knew it. But you didn't know what else you could do. 

        You practiced firing, using guns with less ammo. It was the only thing that felt useful to do. The only thing that felt right, because marching into the hospital wing and shooting Mark wasn't an option.

        The last of the engineering staff reverse-engineered the remnants of the cuff they'd broken off your ankle. Barely. The signal was spotty, and his location was never exact but they had an estimate of where one of them was at all times. 

        It rose alarms when his signal was stopped above the Grayson household. Cecil cut to the closest working cameras he had, which happened to be real close since he had dozens of eyes on the Grayson's since Nolan went rogue. 

        The tracked one wasn't alone. Hovering over his childhood home was Mark, Mark, Mark, and Mark, and a handful more Mark's. They were speaking so far from the nearest micro-mic the sensor could barely pick up the words.

        "--s taking him so lon-"

        "How is he late? He--  -teleport."

        "Stop whini--"

        You push off the wall. You'd been waiting. Watching. Hoping a handful of them would group up again and you could kill Mark over and over and over. All you could think about these last two days was Mark. His back toward you. How long it'd taken him to recognize you. The memory of meeting at your shitty job. The anger boiled you alive. Made you stupid enough to stay with the GDA and not move into a safe house. Though Cecil never suggested you did. Part of him hoped you could do something.

        Their conversation carried on. You moved to Cecil's side, pulling the dead guard's helmet over your head. "I'm going." Your tone leaves no room for argument.

        He should argue. You're barely a real adult. So much to live for. So easy to kill in a Viltrumite's hands. But he doesn't, because he knows you killed one of them, you could kill more. Rest and rage have fueled you with diesel and you're ready to light the match. 

        "Are you sure?" Donald turns from the screen, monitoring the Marks. "There's no guarantee we can get you out once we send you in." The teleporter was fixed for a few hours, but sending in all those re-animen for the bombing? Fucked it over again. The first few times they sent out Psychopomp, she was fine, but the last trip went bad. You vaguely heard she refused to go back out into the field. That the teleporter didn't work when it was supposed to, that she got hurt by one of them.

       But at least she found Caligula while running for her life. Fuzzball came bounding up to her, happy to run beside her. She was smug when she'd come back despite shaking and being paler than an eggshell. Caligula sometimes came to you for love, but it wasn't enough to heal the chasm that'd opened in your chest. You shooed him away, no love to give. Psychopomp took the role of mommy dearest.

        Fine by you. 

        You weren't actively suicidal, just angry. Spiteful. In your wildest dreams, you thought of people praising you for bravery. Cash prizes and a penthouse. Everyone knowing Mark didn't go to the final confrontation, but you had. He let you go alone so he could be sad at his girlfriend's bedside. 

        Then again, you didn't give two horse shits about saving the planet. You knew you wouldn't live to see glory and that was fine. You wouldn't know how to live with glory. To uphold a shiny new hero status. You were bad and couldn't conceive of any other way you could be. 

        "I'm sure." You tilt your head toward the teleporter, "Are you going to let me go or not?" 

        Cecil's scarred lip twitched. "It's a death sentence." His words weren't meant to convince you away. They were a warning label slapped down for legal reasons.

        "I know." You made your way to the teleporter. The men trailing behind you. 

        You look back at the screen. The Marks chatter on. You let the rifle rest on your knee while your hand goes to your pocket.

        "You should know drugs like that don't actually enhance powers." Cecil nods to your soldier pants where you'd stuff the last two bottles of codeine atop your phone, wallet, keys, other odds and ends. As if you'd need them where you were going. Old habits, they say.

        "They do for me." Your foot hovers over the teleporter edge.       

        "We've done extensive testing on drugs combined with powers. Enhancements are always from a placebo." Donald says, robo jaw clinking. 

         You don't want to believe him, but you do. Because the 'power-up' was never consistent. You drop the bottle back into your pocket. Just another thing you had hoped for that wasn't true. "Well, thanks for ruining the placebo."

        "Doesn't help anyone if you overdose," Cecil says gruffly.

        A wry smile ticks your lip under the gray-tinted visor. "You saying you believe in me?"

        "You're the last chance we've got, so I have to." He can't see but you roll your eyes.

        Your foot comes down on the teleporter platform. You turn to the tech running the thing, "Get me close enough to shoot but not close enough to immediately die." They nod. 

        "Hey!" Her voice cuts the room, the finality of the moment. Psychopomp weaves around Cecil and the techies. Right side of her supersuit torn away. Banadages wrapped tight around the stump that came a few inches off her shoulder. Entire arm gone. You hadn't noticed, so lost in your own head.

        "You said there'd be an investigation." She says before Cecil tells her to go lay down. The medical staff barely saved her life yesterday. 

        "I said I'd think about it." Cecil says, waving to a tech to get started on powering up the teleporter. 

        She snarls, rearing on you. "So what? You're just gonna leave on some suicide mission before telling me where my brother is? Like it'll make up for all the shit you've done? You a hero now?"

        You blink slowly at her. Unbothered because so much worse had happened these last days you couldn't bring yourself to care. Around you, the machine rattles and glows. 

        "Tell me!" She snaps. 

        "If he wasn't dead before, he's dead now." Not an admission, by any means, but enough for her to put the puzzle pieces together.

        Just before you're zapped away to your early grave, Cecil says, "Godspeed, kid."

        The light around you apexes. You can't see anymore. "Fuck you."

        You hear her voice, not letting you get the last word in, "No!"

        You're shoved backwards. A hand on your arm. Then you're both gone. Leaving Cecil to care for the cat, already winding around his legs.

        ***

        Back-first, you hit the pavement. Head cracking against the ground. Armor absorbing the blow. 

        Psychopomp peeled herself up wobbily on her one arm. Shoddy supersuit no match for the unpaved road.

        She's going to scream questions about her brother. Going to call their attention to you. You do what needs to be done-  crack the side of her head with the rifle's butt before she can even open her mouth. Her eyes roll back as she goes limp on top of you. You look to the sky and find nothing. Carefully, you slide out from under her and begin to walk that painfully memorable trip to the Grayson household.

        You'd recognized it immediately on the GDA screens. Remembered making out on Mark's bed. Dinner with his family. Texting him while you were in the same room, giggling about it.

        The world around you is ashes. Most of the fires already gone out, all the houses eaten up. You withhold a, "Jesus Christ." Keeping the gun's muzzle tight to your body. You wonder from where Cecil watches. 

        You peak around the corner of LeBolt Street and Green Drive. Sure enough, the last house on the left stands on its last white legs. Car gone from its driveway, making you remember Debbie. You liked her, hoped she wasn't dead even though her son was a prick. 

        Above the ruin, they wait. You can't hear their conversation. You count, one, two, three... eleven. Fucking eleven. You took down one because the others were distracted, but distracting ten to remove one? Seemed impossible. 

        You were afraid, not in the traditional 'oh shit I'm going to die' sense, because you had felt like that for the better part of five years and it was easy to tune out. The feeling that filled you was more final, a righteous 'I need to kill at least half these people before I go to hell'. You figured it was best to start small, experimental. You hide in charcoal rubble and fire a single blast into the curbside in front of your hiding spot. 

        "Oh great, somebody left a survivor." Mohawk bitched, "No wonder he won't come, he's too afraid someone else is gonna see his fucked up head."

        Some of them snicker, most don't.

        "I've got it." A voice says, "Gotta work out the kinks in my back still, think that kid actually knocked a disc loose."

        "Who cares, just do it." Someone snaps.

        He's at the curb in a flash. Falling on his haunches, flicking at the still smoking debris. His swim-capped head gleaming from the distant sun's glow. "Alright guy, come out. I've got worlds to take over and I really-"

       You dare not speak for fear of being heard even at a whisper. Your arm comes out, fingers beckoning. He'd been looking in your direction. Lazy smile playing on his lips before the control sunk it's claws in.

        He hobbles over and crouches in front of your hiding spot.

        Before, you'd have drunk codeine and given it the credit but now? Credit was given to the rage this place brought you. Walking around this very block, talking about nothing and everything. Hope for the future. Mark's back to you. 

        You point through the charcoal of the shuddered window you'd been hiding behind. His eyes follow, landing on Scars. Your finger goes to your throat, crossing it in a slow, deliberate line. Kill him.

        You wish there was a universal gesture for 'come back when you're done so I can tell you to murder these other freaks'  but there wasn't. Unless he knew ASL, which you highly doubted.        

        He blasts off the ground. The shudder falls and you barely duck out of the way before it could pin you to the ground. You find another hiding spot to watch from.

        Someone already murmuring, "Took you long enough," at his return.

        Knowing these freaks, they'd jump on Swimcap the second he attacked. He'd be the one who wound up dead. Sex offense poster boy would be a nice bonus. Then they'd come, searching for what drove Swimcap kill crazy. You'd use them to kill each other. Make the last one standing snap his own neck- if you got that far, if your power didn't drain.

        Scars opened his mouth, "I didn't hear a scr-" His teeth clacked shut on his tongue. Blood filling his mouth as he's shot a mile into the sky. You watch Swimcap shoot up after him. Your puppet got above Scars head before he could regain his bearings and balled his fists over his own head before bringing them down on Scars' chest. He came back down to Earth like a meteor, smashing the remnants of the house. Sending shockwaves through the busted neighborhood.

        Swimcap flew down, feet extended, aiming to sever Scars head from his neck. Scars catches him by the ankles, rolls, and slams Swimcap  facedown into the foundation of the house. "Fuck's wrong with you?" He doesn't wait for reply, climbing atop the other version of himself, letting fists rule. 

        The others lower in the sky, curious. 

        "You can't double cross me, I was going to double cross you." Scars snaps between blows.

        Swimcap finally regains his bearings, catching one fist then the other. Four teeth knocked out of his mouth, blood vessels burst in his eyes, the lenses of his cap broken. Scars catches the look in his eye, the glaze of control before a knee slams into his dick. Swimcap gets on top.

        You lean forward. Smiling like it was the best movie you'd ever seen.  

        A fist is raised. Then grabbed by a red glove.

        "We're supposed to be working together, not killing each other." Omni-Mark says. 

        Scars sneers, "Like we weren't going to turn on each other at some point."

        Swimcap brings his free fist down. Snapping Scars head to the side. 

        "Stop it." Omni-Mark says, "Or I'll be forced to act on the aggressor."

        "I can handle this myself!" Scars hands come up to either side of Swimcap's head. "He just surprised me!" The muscles in his arms bulge, veins on his hands pulsing as he presses and presses and presses. Swimcap's jaw ticks, goes unnaturally to the side, eyes go redder, bleeding tears before they pop out, dangling on his cheeks. Then the top of his head pops up, brains squirting up in a pressurized blast. Chunks landing on the front of Omni-Mark's suit, much to his distaste.

       Scars shoves the body off, not minding the blood. Omni-Mark lets his limp wrist fall, holds out his newly freed hand to help Scars up. He slaps it away. "Didn't need your fucking help."

        "Really?" Mohawk's scratchy voice calls down, "Cuz it sure looked like you needed it to me!"

        "Shut up." Scars says.

        Together, the landed pair rejoin the group in the air. 

        "Any idea why he did that?" One of them asks.

        Looks and shrugs are shared. "Guy blew his load too early, I guess." Mohawk says. A minute passes. He speaks again, "Seriously, what's taking that guy so long?"

        "This would pass a lot faster if you'd shut up," Emperor says.

        "He knows he can't deliver on his promises anymore." The bald one looks from version of himself to version of himself. "He's scared shitless."

        "No way he can't deliver me more universes." Scars spits. 

        "Don't act like you weren't losing your shit when she died." Mohawk jerks in the air. Tense all over. Waiting for someone to come at him so he could hit something hard as he could.

        "I think it was fitting." Scars tone is all confident sarcasm, but he won't look at anybody. "Bitch deserved it."

        Two of them look at each other. A Mark in his old blue-yellow uniform, no mask. The other in what looked like a tracksuit with a fluttering mask covering his face. Puzzlement crossed between them.

        Mohawk was on him, fists twisted in the bottom of Scars mask. "I was gonna kill you eventually, but I think now's a great fuckin' t-"

        "Dregs! Dregs, you bitch! Where the fuck are you!?" Screeches through the neighborhood's exposed bones. So many of them go rigor mortis stiff. Then the sound comes again, "(Y/n)! I know you're here!"

        You peek out of your hiding spot. See Psychopomp shambling down the street where you'd popped into existence. Blood streaked down her pallid forehead. A snarl on her thin lips. 

        She's stupid. You think. She's suicidal. You think. She wants to get me killed.

        She throws her head back, "Come out!"

        Phantom is the first on top of her. Grappling her hard by the shoulder and stub. "(Y/n)? You said (Y/n)? You said (Y/n) is here?" Desperation pierces through the modulator. That of someone teetering on the edge of an endless chasm. 

        "Who-" She tries to slap his hands off and finds she can't. She switches gears, fighting not an option. She'd already seen what happened back in New York with the other contingencies. Remembered just who had ripped her arms off before Mercy healed them. Her voice held a quiver, "Yes, did you see her?" 

        "Obviously not." Emperor lands beside her. "You said she's present?"

        "We came together." Psychopomp breathes out. A nervous sweat shone on her cheeks, like she finally realized what she was doing. "Knocked me out and left."

        Jesus Christ, she'd switch sides if it meant getting at you.

        Lensless is next to touch down. "Uh, I saw those bombs go off like, right in her face. She's dead. You just know you can't escape without us catching you. I mean, shit, I'd do the same thing but-"

        In goes a breath, out comes a hateful scream, "Dregs!"

        You don't budge. She ruined everything on purpose. Most of the Marks had come from above the house to swarm around her. Only three remain above the house, impassively watching. The maskless one, the tracksuit wearer, the white-clad warrior. Eyes in the sky. If you even put a finger out of your hiding spot, they'd see. It was best to stay put, make her look crazy, let her die, then resume the plan.

        Except Phantom had sensors in his lenses. A sensor he used to scan the area, quickly picking out the outline of your crouched form behind a wall. He was on you. Tearing off the GDA helmet before you could attempt to shove him off. 

        It was you. Oh God, it was really you.

        The helmet falls out of his hands. He hugs you quick, almost imperceptibly so, before the other versions of himself round the corner with Psychopomp in tow. 

        "Stay where you are." The command is for them, not her, as if it'd work anyway. You had no idea how long they'd hold. You're not coming off Narcan so probably more than a millisecond. No longer than forty-five seconds at best.

         You dip down, snatching the helmet, pulling it back on over your head. But they'd all seen. The helmet was a matter of protection and anonymity of emotion. Protection that'd do little against them but still, it was something.

        The collective paused. Marks stiff, most of them anyway. A few seem unaffected, just waiting to see what would happen. Blood is already starting to pool at the top of your nasal passage.

         Psychopomp prowls closer, stopping when she sees a gun the size of her thigh cradled in your arms.

        "Where is Digby?" She demands. Ah, the whereabouts of her heroine skinny brother. That old chestnut.

        You watch the Marks for signs of a cracking hold. Look at Psycopomp, pale with yesterday's bloodloss. And run. 

        You can't deal with all of them at once. This was a one-by-one operation. You needed, "Cecil!" To get you the fuck out of dodge. You needed to regroup. Come back later. Not have Psychopomp fucking ruin everything.

        But the teleporter light doesn't consume you. You are not saved.

        You are grabbed from behind almost soon as your legs started pumping. Arms tight around your midsection. Pulpy eyehole pressing to the side of your visor.

        "Jeez, you're slow." Lensless says.

        "Let go."

        He does. But your control on the others had gone. They could converge on you whenever they wanted and "Cecil, God damn it," won't, "help me!"

        Help doesn't come. Rescue doesn't come. 

        Scars laughs, wiping bloodstains off his suit to little avail, "You're on your own. He never comes if it means his own neck." Just like Cecil had warned.

        Psychopomp moves through their ranks. Not accepted in, but so insignificant there'd be no point in killing her. They all had to wait for Angstrom anyways. 

        "Where is he, Dregs?"

        You're on your own unless you convince her to work with you. "Last our guys saw, he fell into the lava pits when Invincible fought Doc Seismic." You lie through your teeth. The first thing you could think of while tying in Invincible. 

        "Bullshit!" She calls. The Marks frame her back. Watching. Curious about you, your life, your enemies, your petty human squabbles. "He couldn't be in Washington, he couldn't drive."

        Crossed arms tensed over a red-white chest. "Keep speaking to my wife like that and your other arm is gone." 

        Psychopomp looks. Visabily shaking at the Omni-Man impersonator's presence. 

        You ignore him. "Machine Head sent him to do mule work there to pay off his debts." You go on, rolling with the story. "Best not to tell you so you couldn't bail him out again." 

        Her eye twitched. "I was the last person who saw him alive in New York, Dregs. Don't lie after you said that cryptic shit at the GDA. Don't I deserve to know- don't you still care about me a little bit?"

        No, but you don't say that. Instead, you pivot, "If those motherfuckers behind you don't die right now there'll be no justice system to help you find out what happened."

        Mohawk cackles, "Hah! That's so code for she killed that guy!"

        "Is it?" Psycopomp asks. 

        "Don't listen to them." You insist, fingers tightening around the pulse rifle. "They destroyed the planet, Psych. Don't be stupid. Work with me here."

         "If the planet's already destroyed, how is she going to take you to court? 'S better if you just get revenge right now." Scars grins. Knowing exactly what buttons he's pushing. 

        You have to tell the truth. Make her so blind with hatred that waiting years for supe-prisons to be rebuilt just for you to rot didn't even seem like an option.

        "Alright, fine." Your breaths come short and humid under the visitor. You're not sure you should be saying this. Before it'd definitely get you killed for sharing confidential business information, but Machine Head was out of the picture so who was going to punish you- God? "Digby's somewhere in the Colorado River." At that, her face falls, a single tear slipping hot down her cheek. His death had always been a suspicion, no evidence, no confirmation. No CCTV. Nothing. All set up by Machine Head's men. But now it was confirmed, after two years of searching, wondering. 

        "So he's..."

        "Dead, yes."

        "And you..."

        The sorrow is morphing, unstable, but in a state so fresh and raw you could mold it to your advantage. The only card you had left to play. "I had to. You know how our line of work is. If you want to kill me, I get it but if you want the actual privilege of doing me in yourself- help me deal with these assholes first." You knew the undead civilians would do nothing to them, but a minor distraction was the best thing you could pull out of this situation she'd forced you both into.

        She blinked. Tears coming faster, faster. "You..."

        You see one of their fingers twitch, wondering when he should step in. 

        "You can't kill me if they do first, Michelle." Her name is a slap to the face. Only passed about in private, such as your apartment air mattress. Anger reddens her. She's shaking her head, mentally trying to ward off your manipulation. Hands are flexing now. 

        "Kill you? What? No, babe, I'm here to take you home." Mohawk says loud and clear for all to hear. Taking a mallet to your plans.

        "He's lying." You say. "You saw that one," you nod toward Emperor Shoulder Pads, "had me by the throat. He's trying to trick you." Except you didn't think he was. 

        "You made me do it." Shoulder Pads replies. "But I wasn't going to k-"

        "Shut your mouth." You turn back to Psychopomp, desperate, "These people are not our allies or enemies of an enemy. They are going to finish the job and kill us both if you don't do something." 

        And Psychopomp saw right through your flimsy manipulation. "You're scared of what I'm going to do to you."

        She wasn't listening. You had to go in, hard, unnecessarily brutally honest. Full-on nuclear blast.

        "I didn't have to tell him to kneel." You say, telling the truth to her for once, "He knew he was screwed. You knew how deep in debt he was to Machine Head, but you just kept letting him use. Telling yourself he'd quit before he overdosed. He knew he'd never be able pay and never be able to stop." Her hands come up and start to glow. You hoped those zombies would be pointed anywhere but at you. "He wanted to die. He knew he couldn't give his daughter a good life and knew Shelly was too religious to abort."

        "Shelly-" She says, dimly remembering his brother's girlfriend. Remembering she hadn't seen her in years. The last time she saw her was with Digby. For awhile she blamed Shelly, then there was you. Machine Head. A tip from a friend. "-Was pregnant?"

        "Oh shit." One of them says. You don't look to see who.

        "Five months." You supply. "She didn't want to die but she walked in, couldn't be helped."

        "You killed my niece?" It was more a question than a statement.

        "Machine Head would've killed me if I hadn't, Michelle."

        "You killed my brother!" Her fingers curl, as if sucked in by the light vortexes of power in her palm. "My family!" The only she had left.

        Mouths twist into smiles and horrified frowns at your cruelty. 

        You don't know where to aim the pulse rifle. At them or her. "You can kill me when this is over. Fuck, throw me in the slammer even."

        "I don't give a shit about justice!" The houses around you stir with dead residents coming to life, "I'm going to fucking kill you- now!"

        "Listen!" You were losing control of the situation. Once the action started, you weren't sure you'd be able to escape. 

        "No! Jail isn't enough! I've seen what you can do. I've been there to see the kinda shit you make people do. There is something wrong with you, and you just need to die." She can't stop crying.

        The first of the undead shamble out of their broken homes. They aren't slow. On you in what feels like moments. You're forced to turn to fire green blasts into their heads. Stepping out of the way of their still reaching hands when they fall. 

        "God- Jesus- Damn it." You elbow, pistol whip, kick, and shoot at the growing horde but it's too much. You'll be overwhelmed soon. "Stop being stupid. They'll kill you." 

        They look like they will. Phantom surges forward to save you but is grabbed by the ankle by Scars.

        "I want to see this." He says.

        Phantom forces himself still. He must not reveal how deeply you'd infected him. So he watches, waiting for things to be dire enough to actually justify jumping in. As do the others, who felt that tickle of desire to play hero. 

        Some, Mohawk, Scars, Lesnless, watch because it's so nice seeing you kill. There were other approving glances, but so quiet and unnoticeable you didn't catch them in your panic.

        "I don't care! I don't fucking care!" The buzzed hair atop her scalp seems to bristle at the sight of you still living. Her palm glows brighter, extending her reach much as she can with the bloodloss. "Die! Just die!"

        No amount of coaxing will do it. You made a bet and lost. You had to take whatever winnings you could still scrap.

        You let decrepit hands hit the body armor. Forcing yourself through the crowd of gored families. Whacking heads and shoulders to make a clear lane for you to aim- and fire. The first shot is taken by a women with no eyes. She goes down. More zombies surge to block your shots. 

        The Marks twitch with nervous energy. Thinking of jumping in, but uneasy to show their weakness for you in front of the others. Deciding if you're not out in ten more seconds, they'll do something.

        You take a breath, steadying as your line of sight crowded with the dead. Their teeth gnawing at your arms and ankles. Weak fists at your back. And shot, once, twice, thrice through the bodies until the fourth blast goes through Michelle's head. Spitting her face from the top of her lip to her buzzcut. 

        Michelle hits the ground. Brains splattering on the pavement. Her minion's grip and teeth loosen. 

        Arms scoop under your knees, support your back faster than you can breathe. Taking off before you can think to scream. Shooting toward the clouds. The rifle falling out of your hands.

        He couldn't take it anymore. Seeing you covered in blood. Seeing you holding that weapon. You weren't supposed to be like that. Supposed to look like that.

        "I thought I lost you." You feel the rumble of his chest. Black and blue carbon fiber suit rubbing against your body armor. You have to force your head up against the sudden G-force. Mask covering all but the horror and relief in his tone. You can see the shell of your mask reflected back in those blue lenses. 

        You don't think just speak, "Let me go."

        He does. Involuntarily. Mortified that he did. Unmoving, waiting for your next command but you drop so fast, scream so loud, it never comes. He watches as you plummet five-thousand feet.

        "Catch me! Catch me now!" No one could hear you over the whistling of the wind. 

        All that fighting. Days of angsting, building up their deaths in your head. Only to kill one, then yourself on accident. Way to go, idiot.

        You see a white flash. Feel yourself stop. Your body jerks against the suddenness. Head snapping back, whacking against a solid arm. You are gone, nothing but black swimming unconsciousness. 

        "She's fine." You hear him say, Mark for sure, but in a tone you hadn't come to know. "To my understanding, humans can not withstand sudden changes in atmosphere."

        "Let me see! I wanna see if she's still breathing." Mohawk, definitely. "Hey, dickhead! You almost fuckin' killed her! You happy up there!? Yeah, you better stay away from me, pussy."

        "She is." The new Mark says evenly. 

        Another comes to volley. "We should get back to the rendezvous." 

        Green light penetrates past your closed eyes. Making them twitch and flutter open just in time to see him step into existence. Red lights screwed into his supermassive brain. Metal welded to his body. Power pooling at his feet, sustaining himself in the air. "No need." Eyes, one brown, the other milky with blindness, slide to you, "The location doesn't so much matter, as long as we have the guest of honor."

[gl1tchr]

It’s interesting that Nolan is called the Great and Conquest is only called Conquest. Nolan is often looked at with high respect by other Viltrumites to the point parents tells their kids about how great Nolan was when it came to conquering. In the comics Nolan was given an award for his work in conquering planets, it’s really interesting that Nolan and Conquest are seen differently.

On another note would Thragg give up the throne if Nolan never betrayed the Viltrumites and he found out Nolan is the son of the former emperor?

I definitely think Nolan's praise comes from his incredible job at suppressing his emotions. He's the ideal, clinical, stoic Viltrumite who does his duty with honor. Conquest shows *too much* emotion. It doesn't matter that he's never failed to assimilate a planet or lost a fight, he's too *obvious* about the fact he's hurting. The way he makes it a point to be so intimate with the people he fights, talking to them so frankly and acting like they're *friends*, it's off-putting to other Viltrumites because that shows some form of *affection*. He GENUINELY loves doing this because it allows him the catharsis of being around others and basically forcing people to talk to him, which he can't do in his own Empire because there *are* social norms within the Empire, it's not just a free-for-all, there's decorum.

VVVTHE REST HAS SPOILERS!!!!VVV

And that's a GREATTT question. Because iirc, Thragg for a *split second* actually starts considering Nolan to be a genuinely good leader, but he sees his affection towards humans and it comes flooding back to him that (in his mind) if they allow human culture and even other cultures to blend with Viltrumites, he'll lose EVERYTHING he's ever cared about, being Viltrum heritage and culture. Thragg clearly had a lot of admiration for Argall, he speaks to his skull for council and comfort, it's one of the only "people" he confides in. I think Nolan could have even been a great friend to Thragg, and he even has a chance when Nolan exiles him to reach out in that way, seeing all the other Viltrumites fall behind Nolan could've been a wake-up call that Viltrum isn't crumbling, it's entering a new, better era of peace and unity. But by that point, he was too convinced Nolan would be a damage to the Empire. I don't know if *Nolan* could've done anything other than what he did. In fact, I think if Thragg had said "ykw you're right, this is better for the Empire, I literally allowed my people to breed with humans for the purpose of replenishing our numbers so there really isn't an issue with you being leader, you haven't done anything I haven't explicitly allowed the rest of my people to do", I FIRMLY, TRULY believe Nolan would've been like "Alright cool you're Emperor congrats. I'm tired, I don't want this position, and I just want to be with my family". If Thragg hadn't been so blinded by his self-isolation, emotional bottling, and fear, I genuinely think Nolan would've given him the proper throne of Emperor because he would see that Thragg truly DID want what was best for his Empire, he was just misguided as to what that was. He'd trust Thragg at that point to lead with peace. That's my couple cents!

[iloveladybuglucy]

HIIII this is birdssong and I'm here to gather lore for the collab... can you tell me about melee mark's personality + his lore so I can make my part as accurate as it can get ? Thank you :3 /nf

quick warm-up edit of Melee :P

YES im so happy to infodump ab himmmm

Mark Grayson, aka Melee Mark/Meleevincible, is a complicated creature. He got his powers at 17 after breaking a brick to get his second-degree black belt, which he was naturally excited about. Gaining his powers not only meant newfound freedom, but also gave him a chance to prove himself to his father.

Being that he's a "superhero", Nolan wasn't around much at all during Mark's childhood. This left Mark feeling the constant need to fight for his father's attention, additionally making him very insecure and anxious he was failing his father for not having powers throughout his childhood. Mark has major separation anxiety (and is just,,,an anxious person in general) which unfortunately seeps into his future friendships and relationships.

Mark didn’t have many friends growing up, partially because of Nolan’s absence and the pressure of being the “son of Omni-Man.” He was often left alone while Debbie worked, leaving him a lonely, curious kid who tried to fill the void with martial arts, comic books, and training. This planted the seeds for his discipline—but also his desperate need for approval and connection.

Mark got into martial arts young, not to fight, but because it gave him structure, control, and a sense of pride. He wasn’t super strong at age 7, but he was very determined. His instructors became his first true mentors—people who recognized his efforts without conditions.

In terms of his relationship with Debbie, Mark loves her fiercely. Mark’s relationship with his mother is one of the most stabilizing forces in his life. While Nolan was frequently absent under the guise of “hero work,” Debbie was the one who raised Mark, taught him empathy, and fought to preserve his sense of right and wrong. She’s sharp, resilient, and deeply perceptive—traits that made her suspicious of Nolan’s increasingly cold and authoritarian parenting once Mark gained powers. Though Mark struggles to speak up for himself, Debbie’s presence plants seeds of doubt in Nolan’s methods, and reminds Mark of his own values. Her belief in his goodness often clashes with the version of strength Nolan tries to instill in him, creating tension but also giving Mark a moral compass he clings to—even when things get...complicated, to say the least.

Afte gaining his powers, Mark starts to shadow his father a lot more and copies Nolan's every move, regardless of how questionably moral it may seem. When he first gets his powers, Mark is elated. He finally feels like he matters—but this feeling is fragile. Every time he’s praised by Nolan, he’s euphoric. Every time Nolan disapproves, it wrecks him for days. Mark imitates his father’s tactics without fully understanding them—like using excessive force or intimidation. This leads to a few public moments where he goes too far, and afterward, he isolates himself, riddled with guilt.

I imagine there'd eventually be a breaking point for Mark where he finally decides he needs to stick up for not just the innocent lives, but himself too. Nolan puts Mark through brutal, emotionally detached training. It's under the guise of preparing him for “real threats,” but in truth, it’s also a test of Mark’s obedience and potential loyalty to the Empire. Deep down, Mark knows he’s being conditioned to normalize harm and moral compromise...he just doesn't want to believe that the image of his father that he's internalized since childhood is fake.

Everything finally comes to a head during what would be episode 8 if this were adapted into a series. Nolan ends up going too far—ordering Mark to hurt or kill innocents. Mark hesitates, but after hearing how Nolan talks about the humans and how they're beneath him, even Debbie, he disobeys and tries to save them. That’s when everything starts to unravel: it's his first real rebellion, and shit it does not feel good in the moment. Nolan and Mark fight, Mark being a bit stronger than his prime counterpart bc of his 10+ years of martial arts training, but still gets a brutal beating before Nolan abandons his post.

[venomvalley]

RIPE FOR THE PICKING (II)

pairing: ID!leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: Your fake marriage is going strong and plans are set in motion. But things are never peaceful for long, and an attack from Umbrella leaves you scrambling amidst the unknown.

words: 7.6k

warnings: body horror/corpses, blood and injury mention, smut at the end so this one’s 18+!!

notes: this chapter was a beast and idk if i managed to pull off what i was trying to set up but im just here for the ride besties!!!! same as u!!! themes are hard!!!

>> PART ONE

Phase Two of your plan:

Well. Not that simple, now that you think about it.

Contact HQ. Link Carl Voerman to dealings in America. Acquire Carina’s information. Find Nolan Reed.

But you have an outline, a plan to move things forward. Namely, Carl’s emails. Provided to you in black-and-white ink, paper-clipped neatly inside a manila folder. Courtesy of his wife.

She joins you for a dinner of take-out and fancy, bitter wine—the kind of shit that rich people only pretend to enjoy. But it does the job well. Severs the anxious edge, allows you to relax.

Tonight is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen her. Stripped down to barren bones, ripped of her high-class façade. Dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, sneakers she left at the entryway. No need for on-guard mind games when you share a common goal.

“Carl’s out on one of his escapades tonight,” she says, accent more casual, each vowel elongated. Her natural voice, you presume. “Won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”

“Were you a spy before or after you decided to marry?” Leon asks, stealing a piece of steak from your take-out container. Snarky in tone, half-assed in care, and you cut him a warning look.

“After, actually.” She chances a quick glance up before ducking her head. “I loved him, once upon a time. Before I knew what he was.”

You lean forward on an elbow, food moved aside to enable Leon’s indulgence. “And now?”

“Before this is over, I want him either dead or in jail.”

Neither you nor Leon say a goddamn word.

Amongst his emails, you find a link to various companies trading information, private dealings with CEOs, but he’s done well to cover his tracks. Simple names, most spoken in code, much like what you personally found on his computer.

Nolan Reed haunts you.

“A fake name, as you assumed. But I’ve seen his face.” Now sat on the couch, your spine straightens. Beside you, her eyes darken to fire-fanned pits. “You give me what I need, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

From the entryway, Leon scoffs. “Trust me, we’re trying.”

“And I know you’ll succeed.”

She has you by the balls. Twists a little for good measure. And now that you aren’t coerced into agreeing (an arguable oopsie on your part), you understand just how anti-bigger-picture her goal is. But you know better. Umbrella is every bit a hydra: cut off the head and three more grow back, branch off with their chaos.

It never fucking ends. Gotta sever the limbs, too, it seems. Carina might just have the solution to the problem, but there’s a bigger issue at play. Injure an animal and it scurries away to hide. To heal.

You’re gonna need one very tactical, very large rock. Kill it all at once.

~

You wake in the middle of the night to the blaring ring of a phone, your burner cell sat on the nightstand. Too early for whoever decided to chat. Leon jolts from a deep sleep, cusses a groggy mangle of words just as you roll over to answer.

Before you can even speak, Hunnigan begins. “Hope the two of you had a nice sleep. We need you alert and ready in twenty minutes.”

That wakes you.

“What’s going on?”

“An agent from Global Operations will be there shortly to debrief you.”

Global Operations? What the fuck are they doing all the way out here?

The line goes dead, then you jump from the bed sheets and sprint for the dresser. Leon quickly follows, spouting off questions as you remove the false backing and find your gear.

“Hunnigan said that Global Operations is in town.”

“They planning something?” he asks, grabbing the clothes you toss his way.

“Apparently. I’m guessing they need our intel.”

“For what?”

You’ve seen each other stripped down before. This is nothing new. Still, you can’t help the burst of modesty that digs into your nape. He’s seen you before. It should be fine.

Should be. These circumstances provide you with a new set of challenges, fresh hoops to jump through. Shit, when was the last time you got laid? Way before this whole mess, and now you’re stuck. Hypothetically, if you decided to jump into someone’s bed—maybe a cute stranger with a smart mouth—it wouldn’t be cheating, but yes it absolutely would.

Okay… Okay, yeah. So maybe this means something after all.

After a trip to the bathroom and a quick dressing, Leon comes to adjust the straps that pattern a criss-cross over your thighs. “Jesus—how did you tangle these so bad?”

Large fingers slot between jean and leather, and you lose a bit of your sanity during his process of twisting the straps. The most intimate he’s ever touched you, and the contact remains brain-melting.

With a resigned huff, he admits defeat.

“Leon, it’s fine. I’ll fix ‘em on the way.” With a sharp grin, your eyes lock onto the breadth of his shoulder. “But your holster isn’t any better.”

“I’ll fix it on the way,” said with raised brows, almost mocking in tone.

He stands to his full height, stretches his mouth into a perfect mirror of your own expression, and you have a decision to make. A very important, very time-sensitive one.

Fuck it. You slant your lips over his, curl a hand around the back of his neck, muss up the soft hair you find there.

And then it’s over. You step away to sheathe your knife, then holster your gun, and he scoffs from over your shoulder. “Was that one practice, too?”

You turn around to shoot him a sickly-sweet smile. “Of course, my dear. You never know who’s watching.”

He doesn’t believe it, and you don’t expect him to.

~

The agent sits tall enough inside the unmarked car that his hair would no doubt touch the ceiling—if he had any. A soldier sits on either side of him, armed to the teeth with weaponry.

“I bet a summer breeze feels amazing with… ya know,” Leon motions to his head. “Like when you stand on a balcony without underwear.”

The entire car of people turn to look at him, and he clears his throat, shimmies a bit closer into your side.

Agent Moriando replies with a blink before settling back into the conversation. “Anyway,” he says, voice a raking gravel, “here’s what we’re working with.”

“It was a compliment,” Leon mutters into your ear, and you comfort him with a pat to the back of his hand.

“I know, honey.”

Moriando hands over a set of well-worn papers, and you wonder how many hands they’ve passed through. The edges creased, dog-eared, ripped at one corner. Probably a hundred at this point.

The contents, however…

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me,” you breathe.

Two days ago, a town nearby experienced an isolated attack, approximated at five thousand civilians affected—either already succumbed or anticipated to be. Method of infection: waterfall via helitanker. A first. You gotta give them credit for creativity and discretion.

But here’s the kicker: the helicopter was U.S. owned. Who signed off on the distribution remains a mystery.

“Your new Umbrella friends are suspected to be responsible.” You and Leon share a look, and Moriando gives a single chuckle. “What the hell’s taking so long, by the way? It’s been five months and you’ve found nothing.”

“No, we have. But apparently,” Leon leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest, “STRATCOM didn’t think you were important enough to know about it.”

At the agent’s glare, you dive head-first into damage control. “What my partner means is: our mission is highly classified.”

“So what is this important information you’ve been sitting on?”

Leon decides to remain silent, and turns to you for answer.

“We found evidence that Carl Voerman, a wealthy exec, is involved in a secret Umbrella project. He also has experience working alongside B.O.W.s.”

“Do you think that’s our guy?”

“No. He’s just financing it. One of many others, most likely.”

“But you have leads, I’m guessing.”

Both you and Leon nod, and you say, “We’re playing the long game, sir. A mission like this requires patience and hyper-vigilance.”

“Those bastards are ruthless,” Moriando says. “I can’t say I don’t admire your loyalty to the cause.”

“Thank you, sir, but people’s lives depend on our success. We don’t really have another option.”

No pressure. No pressure at all.

~

The aftermath is worse on the ground. Bodies of all ages litter the streets, some curled in on themselves, some face-down, and the worst—flat on their back, more decay than matter, flaking flesh, missing lips and noses and eyelids.

The streets have been cordoned off, tents spread out as makeshift treatment centers—a guise for strapdown-style quarantines. The BSAA, local police, and military all gather together in small groups, sharing animated discussions and moments of silence and whispered gossip. They wave you through each blockade you encounter.

You swallow down rising bile, choke back a gag, and Leon comforts you with a squeak of his gloves between your shoulder blades. Says, “You never really get used it,” beneath his full-face respirator.

“Thanks for the reassurance.”

“Where Umbrella’s concerned, there is none.”

There it is. Within the ocean-tide of his eyes, a glimpse into the past. A bone-deep exhaustion ten years in the making.

Given what he’s witnessed, what he’s personally survived, you don’t know how the man goes on. How he still stands on two feet. But maybe that’s it, right? He’s seen Umbrella’s injustice firsthand, escaped the decimation of Ground Zero. How could you not keep fighting?

But maybe there’s more to the story, hidden within the blacked-out sentences of his personnel file.

You wish to know it all. Everything.

A team from the BSAA touches down shortly after you scope out the damage. With them, a leading expert in virology—a direct recommendation from the Commander himself.

Doctor Abernathy as he introduces himself, an older man, squirrely by nature, loud and fast-talking beneath his own mask.

“For this strain of virus, there are two methods of infection: skin absorption and respiration via water droplets.” He leads you through the town in the direction of his new outpost while two soldiers flank each side. Both you and Leon follow behind. “The first few hundred civilians were infected via the former, but we suspect the death toll to rise toward a thousand by morning.”

“They’re dying?” Leon asks, supporting your nauseous form with a hand wrapped tight about your bicep.

You’ve seen death before, but your dealings with Umbrella involved the living—the people catalyzing the destruction. Never fared well around gore.

“Dropping like flies, almost a domino effect. It seems that Umbrella had reason to choose such an isolated area.”

“Because they weren’t trying to start an outbreak,” Leon snaps. A quick conclusion that leaves you staring. “It was a test to see how well their virus is progressing.”

His knowledge on this subject far surpasses yours, and something akin to pride soars through you. A match made in USSTRATCOM heaven, like Hunnigan had said. **

But this affects him on a molecular level. All the death and the decay and the helplessness. The fingers around your arm tighten.

He’s seen enough. Too much.

Up ahead, Abernathy nods. “Those were my thoughts, too. Which means that someone is likely keeping an eye on the area.”

“You think they’re still in town?” you ask, glancing between the two men.

“Where they can’t be traced or become infected themselves.”

“Underground,” Leon answers easily, before shooting you a weary look. “Trust me, it’s always underground.”

Your eyes crinkle at the edges, a laugh teasing on the end of your tongue. “Like rats.”

“Exactly.”

After a long walk, Abernathy welcomes you to the outpost—and you immediately ask for something to wretch into.

The doctor exhales a sigh. Says, “You eventually get used to it,” over the sound of your coughing.

“You should never have to,” Leon whispers to you, kneeled at your side, a palm patting soft at your back.

Eventually, the nausea dissipates. A surprising feat, given the smell of metallic decay that seeps through the tent’s thick walls. Abernathy takes the stool near the opposite wall, facing two desks—one for a mountain of paperwork and the other for a laptop and a microscope and various medical instruments. You don’t inspect the setup closely. Too busy trying to reign in the hammering of your skull.

Leon helps you to your feet, and a soldier forces a bottle of water into your hand. You thank him with a tired huff.

“This is outsourced, right?” Leon asks, eyeing the condensation that drips from your palm.

The soldier nods, expression hidden behind his full-face mask. “Of course. There’s no way we’d risk drinking anything within fifty miles of this place.”

“Good.”

A long guzzle of water later, and Abernathy waves you out, citing his need to work in peace. One of his soldiers leads you to another tent, larger than the last, already busy with the herd of people pouring in and out.

“This is the man you wanna talk to. He can give you a better debrief on suspects.” The man turns on his heel and strolls back the way you came.

Inside, everything’s a mess. Discussions of containment, detainment, shifting blame, delegating responsibilities. Leon shares with you a wide-eyed glance behind the plastic screen of his respirator.

A voice bellows out, calls for order. You’ve never heard a group fall silent so quickly.

Beside you, Leon exhales a laugh. Mutters, “Things just got interesting.”

You know Chris Redfield when you see him, and the dispersing crowd provides a perfect view. Head Honcho, Countermeasures Expert, Day One Umbrella Enemy. A legend in his field. Shit, a legend in everybody’s.

Who can blame you for being a bit starstruck?

When you approach his desk—paperwork seems a common enemy amongst personnel—he nods in greeting. “If it isn’t Leon Kennedy.”

Leon shakes the hand he offers. “In the flesh.”

Then the Captain turns to you. “And you are…?”

Chris Redfield is intimidating close up. Tall and bulky, fit with a permanent scowl that seems more personal than it probably is. You wonder what he’s had to witness, too.

“This is Birdie,” Leon says. Curls an arm over your shoulders, edges you forward with a flourish of pride.

“It’s Nightingale.” You shoot Chris a weary look. “Please don’t listen to him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard the stories.”

“From your sister no doubt.”

Chris pauses a moment, imperceptible to any other eye, but you witness the softness that overwhelms his features. His love makes you a little soft, too. “Amongst others.”

Beside you, Leon bristles. Regarding Chris’s comment, nothing significant stands out, which means there’s a history here. One you’re wholly ignorant to.

As such, it’s none of your business.

“Anyway,” you say, nodding plainly to the papers scattered about his desk, ���what do we know about the people behind this?”

“This has Umbrella written all over it, that we’re sure of. As for specifics, we have a few individuals in mind.” Behind his own mask, his eyes crinkle at the corners. You think he might be smiling. “All thanks to your intel.”

Ah, hero worship. What a beautiful, embarrassing thing. You can never admit to anyone the sunny smile his words create.

“Ya know, I originally wanted to stay in the military, but they thought my talents could be used elsewhere. I liked to flatter more than fight, they said.”

Chris huffs out a laugh. “Were you the one who got a squad to surrender after ten minutes and a pot of coffee?”

“It was more like thirty, but yes. That was me.”

“Then they made the right choice.”

Ah, hero worship. A rosy blossom of warmth, rudely interrupted by the reintroduction of Leon into your basking bubble.

He sidles up next to you, ghosts a hand down your spine before remembering himself and pulling away. “Well, this has been fun, but we should probably talk strategy.”

You miss his touch, and the skin sears from where he pulls away—a phantom pain.

The strategy: you and Leon go in first. A bigger group would draw attention, scare away your little rat hiding in the tunnels. Chris and his team give you thirty minutes before they storm in after you. Long enough to find the suspect.

It’s a good plan. Redfield knows what he’s doing, and so does Leon. You’ll be fine.

During the hour-long trek to the sewers, Leon strays a fair distance on the opposite side of the empty, cragged road. You reign him in again, and again, and again, but akin to magnetic likepoles, you continue to repel each other.

Maybe it was the thing Redfield said. Maybe you pissed him off somewhere along the way. Maybe he’s just too deep in his own head.

Regardless, you trail after him. Catch him by the arm. “You’re moping.”

“I’ve never moped a day in my life.”

“You don’t gotta lie to me, ya know.”

His mouth pinches at the corners, brow furrowing. “Death likes to follow me. Been that way since I was little.”

“I’m guessing the Captain reminded you of that.”

At the sewer entrance, he stops. Turns to look at you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

A bit of you melts at the statement, confounded by its sincerity. You wonder how many people he’s lost in this fight, how many souls he’s sent off. How many funerals he’s attended. In the grand scheme of things, the rotting bodies he once called friends and colleagues and even family are just a drop in the ocean to the scale of Umbrella’s destruction. Maybe that’s what haunts him the most.

Regardless, you understand the weight of death. How well it siphons, sings, sinks to some unkempt pit where the good ones always end up—dewdrop memories that always, inevitably fade over time.

He can’t see your impish smile, but you paint it on anyway. Hope that he hears the jest in your voice, that you could never blame him. “If I get hurt, it’ll be of my own volition, thank you very much.”

A stubborn grunt from the back of his throat. “Glad to hear it.”

The sewer blisters with darkness the deeper you travel, despite the reprieve of both flashlights, but your mask thankfully dulls the smell. Something lurks just beneath the water, knee-deep and murky. Teases gooseflesh on the back of your neck. Each drip of the stone ceiling jolts you. Not even the comfort of your gun in hand quells the intrusive haunt of your presence.

Whatever lives in here wants you out.

“I’ve never done well with the unknown,” you say, barely a whisper within the looming walls. Rounded much like an archway, as long and desolate and maze-like as a catacomb.

Okay. You’re freaking out a bit. A lot, actually.

“Ever been in a sewer before?”

“Never.”

“Luckily for you, I’m a fantastic tour guide.”

Up ahead, the water splashes. Nowhere to go but a small lip of land on each side, barely wide enough to plant your feet. Nowhere to go at all, then.

Leon braves the danger first, form relaxed as he sidesteps his way toward the surfacing bubbles. As if he’s done this, been here a thousand times. Because he has.

He glances over his shoulder, holds a hand toward you as the water wells and wanes—

then silence.

An overwhelming, eerie calm.

Leon keeps his gun raised, poised toward the waterway’s intersection.

Silence then chaos. You blink and he’s gone, instead a splashing path carved out by a large, scaled tail.

You chase down the trail through the maze-like labyrinth and thank the BSAA gods for the protective gear. Would’ve been infected long ago with the way you trip and splash through the thickened sludge.

But who are you kidding? You would risk it for him anyway. A scary thought, that. One you have no time to dwell on given the circumstances—he’s probably already drowned somewhere, and you’ve delved far enough into the sewer that bodies crunch underfoot. Rotted hands float on the surface of jelly-esque water. Each step like sloshing through mud.

The trail ends at a ramp of sorts, leads into a clawing darkness that not even your flashlight penetrates. On the back of your neck, gooseflesh rises. The water tugs you forward, down, into the gaping maw of whatever awaits.

What would Leon do? **Shit, he would brave the unknown, slide headfirst into its depths. But you aren’t that fearless. Harbor opposing skill sets for a reason. You talk your way out of confrontation, have only seen mutations and B.O.W.s through the lens of fake credentials and test tubes.

But he’s your partner, and he’d do it for you.

Sliding down the ramp is a surprisingly dangerous journey, what with the pot hole that catches your foot and sends you flying asshole over elbow. At the bottom, your side smacks into the grating, and all the breath expels from your lungs in one heaving cough.

As you rise to your knees, pain a searing ache throughout your torso, a mourning wail echoes from somewhere out of sight. Inhuman, a slight growl to its edges.

Get up. The pain hasn’t set in yet.

Get up. You’re okay.

The wall keeps you upright as your feet follow the one-way path laid out before you. Down here, you find no streams of water but puddles fed a continuous drip from cracks in the stone above. They land on your mask and you clear the condensation with a wipe of your glove.

The longer you walk, the louder the cries become. Your adrenaline stays spiked, stays a choking heartbeat as you stroll along. Nothing hurts yet, but there’s anticipation for both beginning and end.

You pass by a break in the wall, large enough for you to fit through, and past that: a white-coat man, tall and dark-haired and young in the face, pacing beneath a collapsed ceiling. Beside him stands a lithe creature, half-reptilian for all its scales and large tail, stalactite hackles rising upon your notice. And behind them you spot Leon, suit dripping wet, face bloody beneath it, sat in a folding chair.

Against the wall, you spot a desk with two separate laptops: one with a clear view of the streets above via security cameras, and the other with a set of three different graphs, though you fail to read the small text.

Huh. Leon was right.

You think you might be in shock. Taking the whole your partner was kidnapped by The Enemy and a monstrous creature thing way too well.

“Here to save your husband, I suppose?” asks the man, face stretched into an expression you can’t quite place. Almost hospitable, if you can believe it.

“I was hoping to.”

He laughs, and Leon leans forward to rest his elbows on shaking knees, no doubt chilled to the bone. But the sight of him alive renews your energy, makes you stand a little straighter.

A part of you wishes to impress him, and you blame it on the adrenaline. The fish-out-of-water situation you’ve found yourself in.

“Carl said you were a spitfire. I can see why.” At your broken sigh, he nods to you, angles his head in question. “That was quite a nasty fall. Would you like to take a seat?”

“I’d like to get out of here, actually.”

Then, the pout of a lip. “I’m hurt. You don’t want to woo me first? Maybe talk me over to the good side?”

The creature circles behind you, nudges you forward with a sharpened muzzle, and you obey until you’re a few feet away from where Leon sits and the man stands beside him.

Already, the man’s face has begun to change, deep red burns peeling away to decay at his hairline. The runoff has made its way down here, and breathing all that infected air in. Well. You’re surprised he still remains intact.

Behind him, the cameras onscreen trigger movement. Chris and his team breaching the sewer entrance. Something the scientist fails to notice, enraptured as he is by you. But this is good. You can use his preconceptions to your advantage.

A wave of calm washes over you, a familiarity that soothes chattering bones. Keep him busy, get him talking. This is what you’re good at.

“How are you still so unaffected? By the virus, I mean?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually. I’m quite interested in how Umbrella operates these things.”

He takes a moment to answer, but eventually motions around the room. “This is how. Testing. Testing viruses, testing antidotes, testing our little friends.” He then waves to the creature still stood at your side, a strange clicking sound swelling its throat. “I think he likes you.”

“What a coincidence. I’ve always wanted a bioweapon as a pet.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, and the scientist’s expression shifts. Not exactly anger—disappointment, you suppose.

“He’s quite a good boy, actually. He follows commands well.”

“Why didn’t he take me, then?” you ask.

“Because I knew you would follow.”

A valid point. If he’s heard of you through Carl, then he knows the nature of your relationship. Or more accurately, he thinks he does.

“So why haven’t you killed us?”

“Maybe I miss having company. Maybe I wanted to meet the two people my boss has talked so much about.”

There it is. He realizes his mistake the same time you do. Get people talking long enough, ask nonsensical questions, and they always slip up.

“Carl’s your boss.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He stares at you a long moment, eyes wide, jaw tense beneath the skin. But the damage is already done. Carina’s information—Nolan Reed—is within reach.

In another life, you think he would’ve been a better person. Charismatic enough to do good and do it well. Any outcome but this, left to rot inside some catacomb of filth. Umbrella never planned for him to make it out alive.

“Listen,” you say, stepping closer to him, and the creature hisses in defense. “You obviously have a conscience, and that’s something we can’t afford to lose.”

“Apologies, but my loyalties lie elsewhere.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I think you know that they never planned for you to leave this place alive.” You glance over to Leon, slowly blinking behind his mask. Something toxic wells up the back of your throat, seeks to comfort him with clawing fingers. But you cast the urge aside, need to focus. “There’s a much better place for you. A place where you can finally do good.”

“Where I can be a slave to the government?” From the corner of your eye, Leon lowers his head. “No thank you.”

“As if Umbrella’s any better? At least we aren’t hurting people.”

“You hurt more than you think.”

“We aren’t the ones killing thousands with man-made viruses.”

“Neither am I. But are we not products of the same system? Doing our higher-ups’ bidding?”

You remain silent. He’s right. Undeniably. Not everyone associated with the Umbrella symbol is bad, the same way not everyone representing the government or the BSAA or the military are good. Just cogs in one very broken, very unfair machine. You had a choice—a lot of people don't receive the same luxury.

“No. You’re right.”

In response, he nods his head, and there it is. The adrenaline crash. The pain that lances up your side, that shallows your breath.

The scientist will die soon, and the poor creature along with him. Victims in two very different ways, yet the same. Is he catalyst or scapegoat? Which would be easier to accept? That he damned thousands of innocents, or that he, too, fell prey to honeyed words and galaxy-sized dreams. Like Mary or Carina or the other spouses.

You don’t know.

Redfield’s team bursts in, and the creature is downed before you can seek solace beneath the table. The scientist is taken out in handcuffs. Leon stays seated.

You can’t help it. You fix his hair with a soft hand, spread your lips into a comforting smile. The man is hauled off, taken in for questioning. The hard part—the who—will soon be over. You can breathe for a moment.

“You okay?” you ask, eyeing the swath of blood smeared across his temple and congealed in his hair.

He heaves a shrug, post-adrenaline in the way exhaustion bears prominence behind his eyes. “Head wounds bleed. A lot. I’m more concerned about you and that fall you took.”

He soothes gentle fingers down your side, and your breath catches on a hiss when he hits a spot rife with tenderness. “Cracked ribs at the worst. Not much I can do besides rest.”

Just outside of town, Doctor Abernathy sends you into quarantine. A harsh hosing down, a change of clothes, a checklist of symptoms to run through. Leon leaves with a diagnosis of a minor concussion, and you with three cracked ribs. Both of you require tried and true rest. The best medicine in the book.

On the drive home, a long four hours later, both of you remain silent. Sunrise threatens the horizon, peaks of gold behind sawed-off mountains and spotty trees. The start of autumn a few weeks out.

Six months on Saturday. Almost an anniversary at this point, less a celebration than a reigning of reality. You’re alone again. Thrown to the wolves, a little lamb on unsteady feet.

You wonder how old the scientist was. If he was even a scientist at all.

In the seat beside you, Leon stirs awake. Wipes his eyes with the heel of a palm, winces when he catches the medical tape holding the gauze in place just above his eye.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help back there,” you say. The words just come out, because you look at him and his bruised arms and his injured head and you see failure. “I might’ve made things worse, actually.”

You were scared. Terrified. If you had been faster, then maybe… fuck, you don’t know anymore.

He takes a moment to look at you, and then he smiles, and you know what’s coming. “I’m not used to playing the damsel in distress. It was kinda fun.”

“Did you really think I was gonna come rescue you?”

“Never doubted it.” He stretches best he can in the small space then turns back to face you. “The flips were a nice touch, by the way. But you should probably work on your landing.”

You breath slow through your nose to suppress a laugh, and the clench of your stomach aggravates sensitive bones. “I will never step foot in another sewer again. You can handle the fighting next time.”

“Not so much fighting as I was drowning.”

“Yeah. I thought you died.” His face softens, and you reach over to pat him on the knee. “Glad you’re still with me.”

“That’s sappy, even for you.”

“I am not sappy.”

“No, I like it. The other agents I’ve worked with have these big sticks up their asses. It’s nice to work with someone who still remembers how to be human.”

Oh. Huh. That’s… well. Sweet. Tooth-rotting, actually. The nicest thing he’s ever said to you, you think. And you aren’t sure how to respond.

Regardless, the silence that follows is comfortable.

You’re back home by late morning. Dead on your feet, impossibly sore, but alive. After a quick change of clothes, the two of you pass out in bed then wake sometime after dark.

He meets you in the kitchen, nursing a pack of sliced turkey and a glass of water. The snack of winners, you suppose.

“I was thinking earlier, and I’m honestly surprised,” he says. “You sure know how to sweet-talk.”

You take a seat on the couch nearby, reality still rosy at the edges from your long nap. “It’s my job, remember?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to be so good at it. Almost charmed the pants right off me and I was just a witness.”

“I can be charming when I want to.”

“That makes two of us.”

He pulls a fifth of whiskey from the shelf and two glasses from the cabinet and you know your night’s done for. You’ll be drinking half the bottle.

“Leon, you can’t drink with a concussion.”

“Well, the ibuprofen in the cabinet isn’t cutting it, so this is the next best thing.”

You think to argue but then remember the hellish day he just had. Fuck everything, both of you deserve it. Just this once.

Leon collapses onto the couch beside you, head lolling against the cushion. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you. What is there to say? Just another trauma piled atop so many others. You’ve heard and said it all before. He’s exhausted and so are you.

The first two glasses go down easy, desperation clouding the bitter burn that steals your breath and settles deep within your chest.

He stares as you fill your glass a third time, eyes a drilling pressure. Curious yet tentative.

“Just say it,” you whisper, and a warm palm rises to rest heavy on your knee.

“I just.” He exhales a sigh. “It’s always hard the first time, so if you need to talk…”

“You’re here?”

You look to him with a weakened smile, lidded eyes, and he nods. Says, “Yeah.”

You can blame it on the alcohol tomorrow, but a gnawing yearn nicks at the base of your skull.

Fuck it. Just this once.

You fall into his side, and he wraps steady arms around you, and he presses a kiss to your temple, and your tears stain the fabric of his shirt—but it means nothing.

At least he’s here. Who else but him do you have? Can you trust?

Nobody.

“Can I admit something?” you ask, a hand spread over his ribs, each inhale grounding. A perfect guide, a pathway to calm. The whiskey’s done its job with dulling the pain, and you sag in relief. Relax a little heavier into him.

He nods, the scruff at his chin prickly against your forehead.

“I am so unbelievably lonely. I mean, I have you, but we can only trust each other and it’s… it’s wearing on me.” You pull away to regard him: exhaustion sallowing his features, eyes carved-out and hollow, a bruise formed along his cheekbone, the gauze sat just above his eyebrow. Your thumb ghosts over his bottom lip. “I just wanna go home.”

Home home. Not this false life you grow more comfortable with each time you wake. With Leon at your side. Cuddled against you, sharing breakfast, kissing away your anxieties.

I’m here. If nobody else cares for you, I do.

And it’s so easy to believe. Easy as thought, as your beating heart, as hunger or thirst. But this life you’ve made, the lies you spin—they mean nothing.

Still. Still, you succumb. To the thought that maybe the mission affects him just as much as you. That somewhere within, feelings bud and grow and nurture and sometimes they make it so fucking hard to simply breathe.

You’ll return home and Leon will resume his workplace attitude and that thought should not hurt as badly as it does.

But it’s the alcohol talking. It has to be.

Why does that hurt the most?

“We shouldn’t be here much longer,” he says. “Not with Carina’s help.”

You fall silent. Tuck your brow against the curve of his neck.

At least you’ve stopped crying.

“I should not have drank tonight,” you say, little more than a whinging grumble. “I’m being too honest.”

His chest jolts with a huffing laugh, and your lips spread into a smile against his shoulder. He replies, “What’s that saying? A drunken mouth speaks sober thoughts?”

Late into the night, he sleeps soundly beside you. Shirtless as usual, an arm cradling the pillow beneath his head, turned toward the window. Away from where you curl up beneath the sheets.

He prefers for you to hold him. Never says it, but he sleeps more soundly with you pressed against his back, an arm slung over his waist. The nightmares fail to reach him here, like this.

You find a deep scratch neighboring the knots of his spine, and a deep-down part of you aches for him. His suffering. Those blacked-out lines in his file.

You trace along the bright pink edge with a thumb, his skin sleep-warm to the touch, peppered with freckles, and he never stirs.

The next morning, he kisses you over a cup of coffee. Lingers at your side for the better part of two hours as you make breakfast then eat then clean up the mess.

He wishes to say something, works up the nerve. You know him well enough by now.

“Do you regret coming here?” A question you expected. “With me?” His addition, however…

You pause mid-cup-wash at the sink. The water heaves as you drop both items in your hands then turn to face him. To give him your full, unwavering attention.

A conversation, months in the making, has to take place.

“Of course I don’t. Why would you think that?”

He offers no answer at first. Simply stares off toward the floor, arms a thick shield across his chest.

You remember everything from yesterday despite the haze you witness your words through. And then it hits you.

“If it’s about anything I said yesterday, please don’t listen to me. I’m a dumbass when I’ve been drinking.”

“It’s not just that. It’s…” His words trail off and you see in his eyes the shutdown.

“Leon, I don’t know how I could’ve done this without you.” His shoulders sag, and you reach for the dish towel beside the sink to dry off your hands. “Did somebody say something?”

“Nobody had to. But it doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” You hold up your left hand with a wide grin, and the ring gleams beneath the window’s morning sunstream. “Married, remember?”

It’s a good cover-up until you can figure out where he stands in all this. Feelings and such. They love to ruin perfectly good things.

He tosses his head as if speared by irritation, and you wish to snatch those words from the air and swallow them down. When he removes his ring, turns it between thumb and forefinger—forever yours—you deflate.

“We’re fighting a losing battle. You know that, right?”

You’re no stranger to the heart of disillusion. In a field such as yours, it bears prominence. Flays people alive. So much bad in the world, and you’re only one person. Can’t possibly snuff out all of it. So you understand his point. He’s fought long enough—too long.

But you like to believe that there’s a cathartic ending to this, whenever and wherever that may be. If not, then why fight at all?

“We still gotta try,” you say. “I’m tired of Umbrella turning people into victims. Aren’t you?”

A little close to home, but you need to reign him in. Can’t risk losing sight of the goal. Not when you’re this close to the finish line.

He closes his eyes, fingers curling around the ring, and his face pinches a moment before he relaxes, almost resigned. “You already know my answer.”

~

The house lay quiet this late at night, and you could almost find serenity in the dim-lit hallways and creaking pipes if not for the paperwork you search through, passed off by hands belonging to Carina’s second-in-command.

Captain Redfield’s findings. A link between Carl Voerman and the United States, as testified by the captured “scientist” who, you come to find out, joined the organization to follow in his father’s footsteps. Always a cycle to be continued, and never a chance to break away until it’s too late.

He was nineteen.

But you digress. Can’t think on it too hard.

Part one of phase two: complete.

Leon passes by the dining table an hour into your reading. Grabs a glass of ice water, takes the seat to your left. He lands heavy in the chair, blows out a breath. Readies himself for conversation. Something darkens his eyes, leaves his hands restless against the chilled glass.

“What you said a few nights ago. About being lonely.”

A pull of your lips, barely there. Nostalgia, in the way only whiskey-forgotten memories can be. “Leon, I was drunk.”

“But did you mean it?”

You fingers pause amongst the papers, and you look up at him. Hope and pray that you hide the severity of your longing. “Yeah.”

He nods. Leans both elbows on the table with a resigned sigh. “So am I.”

Something settles between you then. A tension not unlike the lead-up to a first kiss, or the moments before a heartfelt confession. A shift that pockmarks change.

You’re holding your breath.

“Maybe we can figure something out,” he says, eyes tracing the edges of each paper you hold.

“Well. Marriage is about compromise, after all.”

He breathes out a laugh through his nose. “That it is.”

There’s not really a compromise at all. Instead, an unspoken agreement that leads you to your shared bedroom. A frenzy that strips you naked and lays you upon the sheets and fuck—he kisses you like he actually loves you.

You ask to ride him. It’s been a while, and you’ve never minded a stretch, but you prefer to control the pace. You also don’t think his head would appreciate all the exertion.

The eye contact happens and then it doesn’t. Over and over again. The bounce of your hips is slow, and everything is slick and tight, and his fingers brush against your waist only to remind himself of where he is, who you are. Nothing but letting off some steam: that’s what this should be.

You refuse to hide your pleasure. No sense in it when you were dripping for him before he even touched you. His breathing staccatos each time you swallow him up, and you couldn’t fight the clutch of your insides if you tried.

“This okay?” you pant, pace quickening. Maybe it’s been too long, maybe you’re too goddamn sensitive, but the drag of his cock lights a fire at the base of your spine. Your eyes threaten to roll back into your head.

“Yeah.” His jaw clenches as you work him over with a grinding roll of your hips, and his palms soothe over the top of your thighs—the cold metal of his wedding ring scorches your skin. His eyes glue to the sight, to the pinpoint of his pleasure. “Feels good.”

You swallow down a sighing moan and try not to collapse atop him. It’s been so long, and his eyes roam your body like he wants you, and he looks so good like this: red-faced and focused and messy-haired. The intimacy seeks to flay you alive, break you open, rip you to pieces.

He meets your gaze and you almost wish to cry when he doesn’t look away. You feel tender. Mushed by mallet. He whispers your name and you shatter into fractals of fractals. “Very good.”

Someone kisses first, and you cross a threshold of no return. Indelible nothingness. A hand rises to the nape of your neck and you moan pitifully into his mouth and he meets your hips thrust-for-thrust. Carnal need in its purest form. Lust.

This means nothing.

He feels amazing, perfect, you could die like this—but it means nothing.

The next morning, when the smoke’s cleared and the hormones have balanced out, you sneak glances at each other from across the kitchen table. Neither of you mention the sex, but you don’t have to. A bruised blotch of skin sits proud on the curve of his neck. You walk with a slight limp. There’s an air of pride to the room.

The aftermath should be awkward, but it isn’t. You’re married. You’re a married couple who now fucks. Maybe now, people will stop questioning your authenticity.

He can bend you over the goddamn banquet table if they want proof.

[trashisstillhere]

You know what? Fuck you.

*uninja’s your ninja team*

Seth and his friends in their normal/civilian forms!

Expect all their clothes still need to be worked on too, I don’t really like them egh. They’re kinda meant to match with their ninja suits colors in a way. Might add a little bit more to them and maybe even a few little changes later on… But so far, they look aight I guess. We’ll see.

They still need last names and stuff as well…. Eh, I’ll worry about that later.

Anyyywayyy… for now, how about I’ll give you guys a few more facts about each of these guys? Mm? :)

——————

- some of the ninjas in the team actually knew each other wayyy before even becoming ninjas! Like for example: Karina and Nolan. Both of them were actually childhood friends!

That’s right. These two knew each other since they were children!! Heck, they didn’t even live in Norrisville back then! They used to live in another town.

They were pretty close. A little boy with a wild imagination involving superhero’s with tons of action and a little girl who loved dancing and musicals with such pretty dresses, especially ballerinas.. yup, just your typical stereotypical boy and girl duo. Yet Even though they have different interests, they still enjoyed hanging out with each other!

Little Nolan even supported little Karina’s big dream of becoming a true ballerina one day! How sweet,,,

They would always hang out with each other whenever they had the chance, up until they became like 13… then suddenly one day, Karina’s family decided to move out of the town. It was a sad day for the poor little duo…

before saying their final goodbyes, they promised themselves one thing: that they would never forget each other no matter what.. and to make fully sure of that, they would forever keep their friendship bracelets.

And with one last big hug, little Karina and her family left town…. And soon moved into a new town that she would live in for the rest of her life and get to finally try achieve her ballerina dreams…Norrisville!

Yup, Karina would grow up in that town… yet sadly not get to become the ballerina she wanted to be thanks to the awful humiliation she had to face…

I didn’t mention it back in the ninja team post but Karina’s parents weren’t really happy about the whole humiliation thing.

They were afraid that it would only get worse from there so they decided to force their daughter to have a new hobby, one that wasn’t so ‘girly’….. she didn’t want it but had no choice at the time…

That new hobby was…. Karate.

Yeah. The new hobby she ended up having just so happens to be the one thing she would already be doing now in the present as the pink ninja. Both looking like a ballerina and doing karate chops and shit. Lmao.

(This part here was a idea for her backstory thought up by @artistic-harlom-world >:33)

Speaking of being the pink Ninja, once she became that and a part of the ninja team, she ended up meeting a certain blue ninja… At first, she didn’t think much of it, just thought it was a new member like her… but once she got a closer look at the blue ninja, she then realised…. It was NOLAN!! Her childhood friend!!

They were both shocked to not only the fact that they were meeting again after so long but also the fact that they were in the same exact team..

“””””

Karina: NOLAN!?

Nolan: KARINA!?

Both: IS THAT REALLY YOU!?

Seth: hold up! You guys actually know each other!?

“”””””

They had a lot to catch up on after that..

And in the future, they may or may not end up being a couple.

two other members who kinda knew each other before the whole ninja team thing were Asher and Ataru. Tho their story isn’t really like the childhood friends… instead, they were just two strangers that saw each other one day. (And it was before Asher got his burn mark btw, when he was 17 and Ataru was 16)

it happened at a cake shop, one that Asher’s aunt, yes, his aunt (who I do not have an name and design for yet ;-;) worked at and he was there too to help her with the customers. That’s where he kinda met Ataru, who just walked right in to check out the cake shop one day.

“””””

Ataru: hmm, I’d like some cheese cake! Oh and for the drink, some coffee!

Asher: uh…aren’t you a bit too young to be having coffee?

Ataru: aren’t you a bit too young to be a high school dropout?

Asher:

Asher: how did you know-

“”””””

Eheh… yeah…. Just happened like that and never really got each other’s names or anything even after Ataru left the shop after eating there… they only saw each other again once they both got to the ninja team. (And Ataru was now at his current age, 17, at this time)

“”””

Asher: wait a minute….have we met before?

Ataru: hmmm….have we?…wait- *gasp* YOU’RE THAT HIGH SCHOOL DROPOUT I MET AT THAT CAKE SHOP!!

Nolan: the what?!

Asher: ….did you really had to say that out loud-

“”””

Seth and Berri are the only ones who’s never met any of them or each other before becoming ninjas.

- yes. Asher is, in fact, a high school dropout. (Reason for that is unknown) Thankfully, his aunt was there for him and lets him stay at her house, he helps her with her cake shop in return and still does now. Unfortunately, his ninja job can kinda get in the way now..

- Ataru was a gifted child. This led to his family always having high expectations for him which of course, ended up with him completely burned out… fortunately, his family goes easy on him later on but that doesn’t change the fact that they literally put him to hell and back during it all.

- Berri has been and still is in the metal shop class sometimes! Meaning that they do know…. S.Ward Smith…and Brent… :)

Yes, Berri and Brent know each other! Of course, he does not know anything about them being the yellow ninja and part of the ninja team, S.Ward Smith is aware tho.. but yeah, Berri and Brent met during metal shop class while they were new to it at the time! hehehe,, since then, they became acquaintances! Berri likes Brent’s company while he doesn’t really mind them either, finding their kind personality kinda endearing.

Will they become closer than that later on? Will Brent actually get to know about Berri’s ninja secret? Who knows!

- Seth is adopted! His real parents currently unknown as they put him up to adoption when he was a toddler a long time ago… now, he lives together with his adopted father, a southern man… that sure does look like a cowboy lol. (He doesn’t really have a name and design yet either oof...) But he is a very nice guy, chill and does genuinely care about Seth! He respects his boundaries, his fashion style and everything.

And even though he doesn’t quite admit it, Seth is glad to have this man as his adopted parent…

But…he wishes that back at the adoption center he was in years ago, he wasn’t separated from his baby sister… that’s right, Seth has a biological baby sister who was also put into adoption! Her name being Rosey! (Might change it) Sadly, she was taken by another family without him way before he ended up being adopted himself…

Till this day, he can’t help but wonder where she is now and really hope she’s okay. He also dreams about finally finding her again one day, with or without the ninja suit on..

———

And that’s about it! Maybe I will finally get their last names done and more like each of their families and such one day! No promises tho lol.

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Wednesday lovely Fandom/readers :) I cannot believe we are in the final 3 episodes. If it think on it too much makes me sad. So let's not dwell on that. lol This episode did not disappoint in the least. End to end it was so good. Said this time and time again but it's a theme this year. So proud of this show for returning to it's roots. What I mean by that is the entire show being so damn good along with Chenford SL's. The ensemble side of it is running on all cylinders. Not an easy thing to do 7 seasons in.

I'm not saying I didn't enjoy or the last couple years years. I adored them to no end. Don't get me wrong. Was in absolute Chenford heaven and some non ones I loved too. But it's nice to have the show as a whole be fantastic. Week in and week out for the most part again. Each SL having purpose and keeping me engaged. Writers just brought it this year and then some. Continue to see why this is Eric's fav season yet.

It's become mine as well. Seth's return was as impactful and good as I was expecting it to be. Can't explain enough how proud I am of this show. Makes me emotional tbh. Day one girl over here so it just hits me sometimes, how excited I am to see us thrive. The giving season continues to give with the goodies we get in this one. So let us begin.

7x16 The Return

Seth is back....Of course he threw his corrupt oncologist under the bus to get back in. That’s low. I mean I expect nothing less from him. tbh. They could’ve at least sent him to another station… He picked the perfect time to pick on the LAPD I will say. What Wade’s saying is frustrating but unfortunately, he’s right. Letting them know they need someone to train him. I mean piss-pants wouldn’t last two seconds with Tim…But that isn't the plan. Nor would that be fair to Miles.

Poor Lucy’s PTSD is screaming out how much she doesn’t want him. Ugh my heart. Kudos to Melissa in this moment. We watch as she unclenches as Nolan is tapped for this instead. Not excited in the least but willing to take it on. Good man. I have enjoyed Nolan so much more this year than I have in ages. Grey letting him know he's going to have to watch his every move. Document everything this kid does. Ooof been there Nolan. It suckkkssss.

I had someone on my team at my old job like this. Played the system and was a walking law suit just like Seth. They didn’t deserve to be there and that's hard to deal with. I learned the hard way to record literally every detail in order to 'Wash' them out so to speak. It’s not easy to fire a legal liability. Especially when they have the system on their side. All I could think was he’s gonna have to bounce him for the slightest FTO infraction. To have that piled against many other documented offenses. What I had to do. Not an easy feat. Commend Nolan for taking it on.

Lucy so excited to see Tamara. It's precious. Her love for the people in her life is so genuine and pure. Oh my lord. Their hug made me so happy. Didn't get a chance to fit it in but maybe in my in-depth this summer I can haha I had a feeling this would be for Seth though…. Not to see her. Even though that's a bonus for them both. She is there to support this turd of a human being. *sigh* Wanting Lucy to be his friend.

Channeling some 2x06 Tim in telling Tamara she's his training officer not his friend. I mean we all know it was a lie for Tim but very very true for Lucy in this instance. Lucy can see she is losing Tamara to her Tim-like rant and stops. It's here Tamara asks the world of Lucy. By saying she wants to have dinner tonight with her. For her to meet the 'real' Seth. If she only knew how ironic that sentence was...

He has her wrapped out his conniving little finger. I hate it so much. I wanna say how could she be so blind? But I’ve been emotionally manipulated by a man before. It sucks when you come out the other side of it. It happens sadly more often than it should. Ugh the damage this will cause…Lucy being the amazing pseudo mom she is says yes. Wanting to maintain her relationship with her. Not to lose it to Seth and his lies. Other than Tim she is the one person she would do anything for.

Ice cold reception… ooof. You are gonna fail my man. One might ask why come back to this station? Well manipulative narcissists love attention. Even if it’s negative. They thrive off it really. Also they ALWAYS have someone sympathetic to their cause to fuel the sympathy card. In this case it's Tamara. I hate it. Giving me my own ptsd concerning a person like this. I do love Nolan telling him they're skipping roll call get the shop ready. Smart move....

Awesome that his previous errors follow him into his return. No re-do for you. John laying that out right away. Might actually love you in his episode good sir. Seth immediately defending his lie and Nolan is over him already. if you really wanna do this stfu Seth. Only hurting your cause the more you speak.

God Nolan is channeling some Feral Tim here and I’m about it. Get em John! You hurt this station, you hurt Lucy and you dishonored the badge you putz. Nolan is a honorable as they come. Yes that was a compliment lol. And you spat in the face of everything he holds dear about this career. Also you hurt his friend. You are toast my son. Or as Nolan puts it. His nightmare T.O. He crushes Seth with his idc speech.

About how he was raised by someone like him. Grew up with a woman who only used the truth to serve herself. *Mic drop* If that isn’t Seth in a nutshell. Can’t say ever been attracted to Nolan on this show like ever. But hot damn this is a Nolan I can get on board with. lmao I’m enjoying the show. *eats popcorn* Tearing down any preconceived notions this will be easy or he will believe him. Well done John actually really proud of him for this scene. Good job writers.

When Celina tries to see the best about Seth with Lucy all I could do was shake my head. Thinking 'Oh Celina don’t defend him.' That’s the worst thing you could do in this moment. He is not a 'see the best in people kind of guy.' You are talking to the Queen of that and she is over it. He took advantage of her empathy and used it to gain traction in a program he didn’t belong in. As I said earlier he’s doing it for the attention like the lying manipulative narcissist he is. Holy cow this episode is igniting my Sicilian rage with him lol

It brings us to the dinner and how Lucy doesn't have the room to host such an event. So what does she do? Calls her person of course and enlists his help in this. All I could think as she dialed was, OMG Lucy Chen, you’re asking Tim, who’ll go absolutely feral not just for you but for Tamara too, to host this kid in his house for dinner? It's a good thing this man is gone for you. That is quite the ask my girl haha Enticing him with a free home cooked meal at first.

Did make me cackle her eye roll when he said his plans were COD. LOL You love your reclusive little gaming nerd madam. Don't lie. Will say my Feral Tim senses were tingling at the prospect of this. Miles seems so hurt Lucy is cooking for him though. Oh honey, it’s not like that....It's written all over his upset puppy face when it's mentioned. Wanna give him a hug.

The way she says ‘I’ll owe you.’ Dripping with innuendo. Flirt more Lucy my god woman. No shame in her game. Knowing she is being seductive af in her approach. Celina catches on and Lucy has to put up a finger to stop her from saying a word. Knowing exactly what Lucy is throwing down here. Of course he gives in. For a couple reasons. One because Lucy has him wrapped around her finger and she knows it LOL This man would do anything for her. That was the case before he was in love with her. But after? When she has potential sexy times to dangle in front of him? Whew lord. Has him hook, line, and sinker.

Two. He gets nervous with her being so brazen with Miles there. So he answers quickly with an 'Ok.' It's the way his eye dart over to Texas as he delivers his answer that kills me. heh. He can't get too excited with the prospect of her 'owing' him with his rookie in the car lmao I didn't have Lucy seducing Tim with the 'owing' him in on shift on my bingo card. But so glad it happened.

Giving season continues to give. Sweet lord. Celina is all but beaming when Lucy hangs up on him. She is our on-screen shipper this season and I'm here for it. Doesn't waste a second giving her shit about it. She is red af when she tells Celina to shut up haha Lucy is giddy as hell and flying high off that convo and it's adorable to watch. Look at her as red as a tomato once it's said and done. I love it.

There is something so wonderful about how Miles immediately vents his frustration to Tim. This relationship has come so very far. Their scenes just continue to get better as the season goes along. I totally understand his anger. He’s done everything right and yet it’s the bad ones that get the passes. The legs up in life by being dishonest. I could not understand this more if I tried. Twas me in my last job.

His anger is well founded. He’s getting his job back, back pay of 10k, Miles passed up money in 7x13 to do the right thing, and Seth doesn’t and gets all this. 10K in his lap just like that. I get it. Frustrating as hell to watch the bad people of the world have it easier. All I could think was his day will come Texas I promise you.

Karma thou art a cold and relenting bitch. She’s coming for him. He’s racking up bad karma points like he’s collecting carnival tickets. Thing is when he cashes them in all that is waiting is one giant karmic smackdown. Tim tells him exactly that in his statement more or less. For Miles to put him out of his mind. Mark his words *yum* He will wash out again. What ran through my mind after that was your lips to Gods ears Timothy.

Seth comes in wanting more pity. Miles ignores him as first. Holding firm like Tim told him to. Then he gets under his skin about his past. A wound not close to healing and he snaps....As much as he deserves that beating it wasn't the way to go my dear. Tim and Nolan hear the commotion and find them after they've parted.

Tim is less than impressed with their explanation. He looks so disappointed in Miles. That look wasn't enough though. Tim telling Texas straight. His moral compass has me fanning myself. Crushing exactly why he needs to keep his cool. To not let him infect him like he has. Because now look at him. Becoming no better than he is with lying. *sad sigh* He’s not worth it Miles I promise you that. They never are.

Lucy asking where his salad forks are? Lmao. You practically lived with this man. You should know he has no salad forks sweets. lol His fridge full of just beer is such a bachelor thing. I mean that alone should've answered her question really. lol I love him so much. Also could they be more together without being together? His smile when she asked. *happy sigh* I’m on the floor. Just a happy puddle. Leave me here. TIm isn't even pretending he doesn't want to do this with her. He is so happy to have her in his home.

I'm happy to be here as well. Tim's place has become one of my fav spots to be now. They act as married as two people can be that aren't together..... Very s4 of them with the added layer of already knowing they're in love with each other. She legit touches him on her way back into the kitchen. Just watch her while Celina speaks. Her arm touches him with a happy smile before checking on dinner.

I'm dying. Melissa and Eric kill me with their add on's. You know that was intentionally done. They love to make us squee with the smallest things. Just to see if we're looking. I was looking don't you worry. You gotta be looking for this instance but it's there. *screams into a pillow* It's so domestic I'm losing my damn mind. Like her picking lint off his uniform like she did in 5x12. It's second nature this natural touch of hers and it comes through as such. I'm a happy girl.

I love Tim putting his hand up when they hear the doorbell. Shielding her from having to let them in. Wanting to give her that extra time to mentally prep herself for this evening. Such a small but massive gesture. Showing Lucy he's got her back through and through. It makes me so damn happy. He's going to do whatever for her tonight. To do his damndest to help her get through this unscathed.

It's tense as hell from the moment Tim opens the door. They can all feel it. Another reason Tim takes the lead here. His face when he takes their coats....Feral Tim is lurking beneath the surface but keeps him at bay. Loves Lucy so very much to welcome this incredibly unwelcome guest into his home for her. It's as painfully awkward as expected when they come greet Lucy. We see her be genuine in her affections for Tamara and how reserved she is with Seth.

The train wreck of convo continues when he changes course and says 'We-we got you flowers.' Sensing her not caring he got her the flowers. She is trying SO hard to keep it together. Barely squeaks out a thank you before heading back toward the kitchen. ‘What are the chances he took these off a grave?’ Celina Juarez I love you. I was laughing so damn hard at this. Lucy groans and heads back in.

The dinner starts out positive. We find out Tamara is volunteering with a wonderful organization. One that helps homeless people. That they focus on building trust with the mentally ill. Which is utter perfection for her. Honestly that is a *chefs kiss* career trajectory for her. Seems like she is on the right path in every way except for Seth..... Lucy seems so excited and proud of her for it. It does gets slightly tainted with her saying she is going to get Seth involved one day.

Rodge puts his foot in his mouth by speaking in Spanish to Celina about him. Sorry the captions ran over each other. Hulu is a turd lol Saying he's not sure building trust is his thing lol. Gotta give it to him on that one. First time I've liked this dude. Also will give it to them it's cute they communicate in Spanish to each other as a secret language. Still think she could do better but this is cute.

Unfortunately Seth can speak it.....Rodge has to backtrack immediately saying he was just joking. We watch Tim check in on Lucy right away. The way he shifts back in his seat and he keeps his eyes squarely on her. His main concern at this table is her and only her. He did this dinner for her and is ready to be her emotional support should the need arise. Lucy looks ready to burst before this next section happens. It's why Tim is watching her like a hawk.

I will say I loved the looks shared over the table during this whole thing. Oh my lord. The silent communication always a fav of mine. They check in with each other from across the table. Also just the way Tim watches Lucy too. Gauges the whole table but mainly keeps a beat on her. Waiting for a signal to jump in or not. He reads her the entire dinner. I love it. Knowing if she needs him she will signal him. He's just waiting for that sign to tag in or not.

We watch as her ring gets exposed....All I could think was sweet lord no Tamara. You’re so much smarter than this. Seth stumbling saying it's not what it looks like. That it's a promise ring. Rodge coming in with another solid point. Saying that's exactly what a engagement ring is....For a habitual liar he's so very bad at it. It's unreal. Also Celina pulling on her ear like crazy being ignored by all at the table lol We are far past that now though.

I knew the ring was gonna set her off. Hell it set me off. I had to pause and reprimand her myself. This is Lucy's tipping point. Especially after Seth says he had extra money lying around. Poor choice of words to use my dude. I love the way Tim's eyes shift over to Lucy when she says 'You had extra money?' angrily. He knows when his girl is ready to go off on one. But she is off to the races before he can do anything about it.

He wasn't stopping this one. Instead he just sit backs and watches her let it rip. Knowing she needs to get this out of her system. Lucy lets out all she’s had pent up. He is PTSD in walking form for her. Not only that but he's infecting someone very dear to her. So I get it. It’s already a tough pill for her to swallow with just him at work. But with Tamara and her future? Being so nonchalant bout the ring and how he got it. She can't handle it any longer.

Sadly no one hears anger clearly when they’re already on the defensive. Especially if it’s about someone they’re protecting. Which is Tamara in this moment. Even though Lucy is in the right it's not well received. It's why Tim doesn't jump in. I was expecting some Feral Tim but this was the smarter play for him. Even if it wasn't the right move to lose it he didn't need interfere. It would just pour fuel on Lucy’s fire and do nothing to ease the tension. We watch Tamara take off with Seth as a result and it's not easy to stomach.

We see Tim showing up like a god damn snack the following morning. Hell not just a snack but a whole god damn meal. Scruffy in a leather jacket and henley.*fans self* Not only that but he has arrived to support her before his shift. I’m dead. I’m posting from the grave. If you've been looking for his small doses all year. This is a glaringly sweet one. My god look at how excited he looks to just share a ride and prep with her. Doing his Lucy smile in front of other people. OTHER PEOPLE. Transparent Tim you are a wonder.

I’m dying of happiness right now. She is giving heart eyes right back at him. Truly touched by his thoughtfulness to show up before work and make the time for this. Make time for her. Forever floored by the changed man in front of her. After the mess that was last night, this was exactly what she needed and her reaction says it all. Legit flirting in front of Celina and Rodge too. They don’t even care. Tim doesn't care. Which is mind blowing.

He is sunshine from the moment he steps into that apartment. Yes, that's right I said Tim Bradford and sunshine in the same sentence. And I'm not referring to Lucy in this regard. He is so damn happy to just be there for her and its radiating off him in waves. So much so he is flirting with her in front of people. Pre-therapy Tim never would've. He's grown so much in his openness I could cry. He is a puppy dog in love and doesn't care who see's it. It's written all over his demeanor from the moment he walks in the door.

'What was that?' LMAO You think you can get shit past his cop eyes? Foolish fools lol But also babe, you were a shining beacon of 'I’m in love with Lucy' from the moment you walked in the door. Even a laymen like Rodge could see it….You guys aren't known for your subtlety either haha But you were on blast from the moment you came in. Just like he has been all season long. Also doesn't help his case Lucy was just as flirtatious in return. Fueling his flames. I love him trying to sell the whole ‘we’re just friends’ thing.

Like showing up for her, heart practically on his sleeve, is just some casual act of support. You two couldn’t do casual if your lives depended on it.. He's so god damn cute trying to defend himself though. I cannot. While we know he is there to support her. Truly he is. There is zero doubt about that. The man is ecstatic to help her cross the finish line of this. Especially since the detective one was such a disaster. But the other half is damn near giddy about the implications of her passing this test. We all know what those are. I don't even to type that up.

To say he is excited about the prospect is an understatement. I love his defeated ‘OK'. Hahahaha Eric's inflection killing me and has me rolling so much. Knows he is in a losing battle with these two and just gives up lol Also I wouldn't be me if I didn't comment on how sinfully delicious he looks. Holy fuck he is looking all kinds of fine. It's criminal how attractive this man is. Scruffy, in a leather jacket and a tight shirt? God damn the man is a feast for the eyes. He is sex on two legs walking. Sweet lord he is exuding illegal levels of attractiveness. It's almost unfair. Also seeing him so happy and free is insanely sexy in its own right I have to say. *phew* Ok I'm done. I might need some ice water though. lmao

Tim doesn’t waste a second on the drive to her test—he jumps straight into firing off questions. Or he's been firing them off for awhile at this point, with the way they drift off topic. Either way look at the blatant heart eyes and smile as Tim quizzes her. Just look at her. Oh my lord. It's bringing her back Tim doing this for her. Also for how much this last minute prep means to her. They didn't get to do this with the detectives exam.

Always blows my mind how much these two both convey with just their eyes. Be more in love with him Lucy. I dare you. You're just as transparent as your counterpart. My goodness. If he looked over long enough he would see her gushing at him. She is in full on swoon mode over this man right now. Also sorry the gif gets blurry for a second.

My phone did a thing and I was too lazy to re-make it not gonna lie lmao Tim's reply of 'Very good.' has Lucy buzzing. He asks if she feels ready? Lucy feeling as ready as a person can be for such a test. Tim's satisfied smile is the sweetest as he accepts this answer. Happy she is a in a good space before all of this.

We can see Lucy psyching herself up to say something to Tim. Knowing this last minute prep is more than just that. Trying to pull it out of him the real reason WHY he’s doing this. Needing to hear it. She starts off with thanking him for the ride. Tim being chill saying it's no problem. Lucy tries again with thanking him for helping her study. She is beating around the bush here and he is not picking up what she is throwing down right now haha Which is a rarity for them.

I truly think he feels he was returning the favor for her. Genuine in his reply. Another one of his small doses in action. To repay her kindness to him. For helping him out all those years ago when he went for it. To support her the way she did for him in s2. I think he genuinely wanted to make a meaningful difference this time. Carrying the weight of her failed Detectives exam on his shoulders a bit.

Knowing what an absolute disaster that was. Wanting this one to go so much better than the first time he helped her out. Lucy isn't getting the reaction she wants though. Clearly she is wanting to talk about what happens if she passes. In this moment, that future suddenly holds a lot of appeal to her. Especially after all he's done for her with this exam. This ride of their's being the cherry on the top of it all.

This is my favorite part of this scene. The banter alone is glorious holy shit. We are so lucky to have Eric and Melissa helming this couple. Displaying that lightning in a bottle only they have. No one does it better than our ship at verbal sparring. Lucy can't take it any longer and finally just says what's on her mind. She asks if part of the reason he's doing this has anything to do with the promise she made? One of 'physical intimacy' if she makes Sergeant. Such a Lucy way to approach this without saying anything about a relationship. lol The promise of that is part of it of it for sure. Not gonna lie. But we know that is not all of it.

It's a damn good by-product of her passing though lol I love him saying not if but when she makes Sergeant. My man still building her up even when she's giving him shit. Her smile says it all though. Just soaking in his praise. He continues on saying that this is what friends do for each other. It's his sassy comment following this that gets me the most. I was dying with his tone and absolute snark while delivering it. Facial expressions and all. Tim throwing back her words at her had me cackling. Not only that but adding his own spin. 'Without thinking of The joys of physical intimacy.' I'm dying. Now hers is a more refined version of ‘naked time’ moment imo. It's what it reminds me of. LOL I love it sfm.

Tim doesn't let her get away with it either in his reply. The flirting is on another level here. Holy hell. The verbal sparring is foreplay x1000 for these two. Lucy knows he is mocking her and calls him on it. Asking if he really thinks this the best path forward? She is smiling the entire time btw. Tim doesn't hesitate with his dazzling Lucy smile and reply. 'Yeah absolutely.' You know she loves this. Has missed this rapport with him. It's an intimacy she has longed to have back. This kind of banter is at their very core. It’s so cute and light and fun. I’m dizzy with delight we've returned to this place. If you were wondering if they're back. Truly back. This moment is proof of that. Seamless flirty banter at it's finest. Healing this old shipper heart of mine.

Tim follows that up by saying that, once she has passed the test, they won't have that pesky rank issue anymore. First off love his certainty she's going to crush this. Just like detective there is no doubt in his mind she's got this. Second Tim is once again throwing down they could be together after she passes. Tried and true this year in his steadfastness with that. Letting her know on every level how much he wants to be with her.

Hasn't been shy or reserved in the least regarding that. It’s up to Lucy to decide if she wants that when they get there though. He respects her boundaries about this. Something he's been so damn good at this entire season. He ends their convo telling her 'Not that either of them are reading into that though.' Yeah not at all.... Not what this entire convo was centered around... Tim once more as he has all year is leaving it up to her.

Laying it at her feet to do with it what she will. Giving Lucy her agency back a little bit more each time he does this. Building her up, showing his interest and desire to be with her. BUT ultimately leaving it up to her to decide their fate. It has to be Lucy to be one the decide she wants to do this again. It’s very clear Tim does. But he won’t make a move unless she does. Respecting her boundaries as he’s done since their chat during their stakeout in 6x10.

Was happy to See Tamara there when Lucy arrived home from her test. It's a little tense at first when she asks about the test. Lucy giving best answer she can. Letting Tamara lead this conversation. Doesn't take her long to apologize. To show her how much she doesn't want to lose her friendship with her over it all. Lucy having the best reply she can in this moment.

Telling her that's not possible and giving the sweetest hug. The relief on Tamara's face is everything. Her relationship with Lucy means everything to her. Glad she was able to tap back into that and come apologize. That Seth hadn't clouded her that much. Their sweet reconciliation is interrupted by news about Seth.

Oh my, I LOVE the Tim and miles scene here. Miles being the good soul he is feels immense guilt. For fighting with him and being resentful. For lashing out on him like he did. Now that he's hurt he is feeling like a complete ass. I adore how Tim is here for him in this moment. Knowing it's complex what he is feeling right now. That he feels stupid for not listening to Tim. For letting his emotions win out. Tim can see all this churning inside him.

So he steps up to help him through it. His advice is perfection here. First off let me say how proud I am of Tim for telling Miles his feelings are valid. That Seth has earned that anger and resentment out of him. Doesn't shame him for feeling this way at all. That it's ok he feels this. Regardless of what's going on right now in this moment with him. Letting him know yeah he's a bad guy. A bad guy who did a heroic and selfless thing. So yeah it's going to be murky on how to feel. That it's complicated to say the least.

To me personally this doesn't erase all he did. It was heroic and selfless that much is sure. Did I want this fate for him? Of course not. I wanted him to go out on his job performance not this. They all did. I just love Tim seeing the guilt Miles is carrying and tries to assuage him of it a little. Might not be able alleviate it all but Tim validating him is everything. This such a lovely scene between them. They've come so far and this scene is a wonderful reflection of that.

John Nolan had some excellent scenes with Seth in this episode. Seriously if they wrote him more like they have this season, my respect would come back. He handled this entire things like a pro. Didn't let Seth shake or deter him in anyway. This scene right here was so so good. Kudos to Patrick and his performance here. It's phenomenal. This was karma in all it's glory happening right here. The one time he’s actually selfless and heroic, it destroys the career he so fiercely protected with his web of lies.

It's poetic justice at it absolute finest I will say. John's words here are so full of sage and true wisdom. This kid is getting a huge lesson and it's up to him to decide what to do with it. Up him to him to chart a course back to being a good person. First time Seth has been honest since he arrived. Telling John he doesn't know if he can maintain that road of honesty. He's not sure he can take another road in this crossroads. Will he continue at the station or any station in a diminished capacity? I don't think so. That would require serious work on himself and being ok with the fact he can't have career he wants to anymore. To not have excuses.

Nolan already called him out about shortcuts. While this may have earned him some good will. I don't see him putting in that effort to stick around the station in this capacity. John doesn't get to finish this with him though. Let's Tamara have time with him. He tells her everything (finally) and of course she breaks it off. Saying Lucy warned her. She sure did sweets.....This is what being a manipulating habitual liar gets you. Someday you run out of people to support you. Now he has to go through this leg trauma alone. That's rough. Like I said not a fate I would've wished on him. But definitely one he earned...

Look at them meeting up at the end of the day. Discussing Tamara. My heart. Tamara googling how to join a nunnery. lol Oh my word. I do not blame her. Poor thing I can't even. It’s gonna take her some time to get past this. That is for sure. Learning to trust people again is knowing you could be hurt again. That is an unfortunate fact of life sadly. Tim’s reply made me cackle though. I love him. Lucy saying it’ll pass. It will. Like a kidney stone but it will…. I love him immediately moving onto how she’s doing? The soft way he asks her is everything. Be still my heart.

Look at where we are everyone. Just look. Last time they were at this table they were physically together. But emotionally? Miles and miles apart from where they are now. They’ve come so far to be in this moment right now. With Lucy leaning on him emotionally like this. Very couple like thing to do. Get a meal after work and discuss their day together. Adore her venting out her anxieties to him. Wondering how she really did on that test.

Been a slow climb back to the top. But a gloriously beautiful one. We haven't hit the summit yet but we're getting there. It's on the horizon Fandom. Don't these moments feel like they just hit more with having built up to it? They do for me. Like we earned them. That Tim has earned this time with her. Getting to see and share in this side of her again. It's so glorious. I mean we haven't even gotten to reconciliation yet and I'm on a ship high. I can't even imagine how rewarding that'll feel when we arrive there. It'll feel hard-won and all the more satisfying I know that.

Tim being s7 is perfection in his reply. Doing what he's done so well all year. Build her up. Not letting her have an ounce of doubt. Saying there is no way to know but let’s assume she aced it. Positive thinking can’t hurt tbh. Look at Tim being positive for her. Not letting any self doubt creep in. Man believes in her so much it’s unreal. Lucy kicking into flirting mode. Saying what should they do based off that assumption? Wondering where he is going with this. I mean she has to know a little. But is trying to confirm.

Tim leaning forward all sexy and seductive just says ‘Celebrate?’ This man could not want her more if he tried. He’s always a billboard but my goodness he is forward with his question. I’m here for it. Chomping at the bit to be with her again. Shows in his body language and telling reply. I will commend Lucy for her self control here. My good look at him.

If Tim Bradford leaned forward looking like that. All flirty and staring at me like he is at Lucy and said 'Celebrate?' With his cute puppy dog in love face. I would drag him to the nearest dark corner and have my way with him. LOL But I understand Lucy's hesitation below. I truly do. If this doesn't work out like they want and she gives in. All it'll cause is for the water between them to get murkier and they'll just be miserable for it. Because at the end of the day nothing would've changed for them at work. She just can't risk it till it's a sure thing.

I love her resetting his expectations here as well. Holding true to that emotional boundary she set in 7x12. Nothing physical past midnight on April Fool's. Also it’s is VERY important he knows she didn’t take this test for him. To put her foot down about it. All flirting aside this is first time she's felt any stability in her career in a long time. Or joy for the future because she now has a goal in mind. S6 wrecked her in so many ways. Her remaining damage about that is showing in this moment IMO. Because last time she did anything in her career for him it blew up on her. Epically. As we all painfully know. Very important to her that distinction is being made here.

This is for her. For her to have career clarity. Her PTSD shining through in this moment I will say. She is desperate to have a different outcome this time. This moment reminds me of her setting the expectations back in 5x10. Where Tim was ready for some naked time and Lucy had to guide him to where she’s at. Beautiful thing is Tim just like he did then is going to honor what she wants. He may be ready to go right now but Lucy isn’t. It's why he poses 'celebrating' as a question to her. Wants to test the waters but also wants to continuously meet her where she is at. He respects the boundary she just laid out. And for him to understand why she did this.

Tim understands completely. Saying Of course. That it was a smart career move. And it is. He’ll always champion her having a successful career. Always. It reflects in his reply back to her. Sitting back and physically respecting the boundary as well. Lucy continues on saying she hasn’t passed yet. That things haven’t changed between them before that. He’s still currently her boss. Also feel like there may be just one more chat ahead of us. I could be wrong. But that ‘things haven’t changed between us' felt loaded. There was some charged anger in that ‘I didn’t take this test for you.’ There is probably more here I can't discern just yet. Have to wait till the end of the season but feel solid my initial analysis of this.

After Lucy says her piece we are right back to flirty hopefulness. They’re drawn to it like a moth to a flame, especially as we get closer to this reconciliation. Tim rests back in his seat knowing there will be no celebrating here tonight. He shot his shot and was denied. He respects it immediately. But stay’s steady in his hope there will be in the future. Saying next week we will know. With this knowing smile that Lucy mirrors right back at him. Smiling back with her own heart eyes and in love smile. Saying 'Yes we will.’ Oooh lord we close fandom we are so close. Look at how much these two just love each other.

The smiles saying more than words ever could. Especially Lucy's. That is the smile of a woman who is ready for this next chapter with Tim. For this next chapter of her career. If it comes with the love of her life on top of it. That is just a delicious addition to it all. They’re legit having eye sex at the food truck park. My god. I'll be intrigued to see what happens when she passes. She's forgiven him. He knows as such. The test has been this barrier to true reconciliation for awhile. What will happen when that barrier is truly gone? How Lucy reacts when there is nothing left standing in their way anymore?

Will the second confession she almost made in 7x15 get its conclusion? Idk and that's the fun part. I know I am excited to see how this season wraps up. This season has been a wonderful wild card in the best way. Could not be more pleased with their development this year. The slow burn and delayed gratification has been beyond amazing to watch unfold. Thank you to every single reader who likes, comments ( these are so fun), and reblog these impressions. Had a blast this year. You all are the reason for that. See you all in 7x17 :)

~~~

Side notes-non Chenford

Love the boys getting ready. Talking sports. Miles coming in Texas Af LOL It was such a cute way to start the episode.

‘Where’s Darwinism when you need it?’ I love this man so much it’s insane. Never change my love never change. Was excited I got to fit this in.

Nolan got some damn good dialogue in this one. I have to say. Him asking where that man's fandom was that helped them? Solid John. Very Solid.

Those social media kids drove me insane. I must be getting old LOL

I love how Lucy handled that idiotic crowd for Angela. My blood was boiling. Handled it like a damn champ.

Can’t say next weeks excites me. Because I can’t stand Skip tracer Randy tbh. Hopefully it’ll be good regardless of him being there and we get some follow-up for Chenford and the Sergeant exam. But my guess is that’ll be more of a finale thing? I don't do spoilers so I don't actually want an answer haha We shall see either way.

[nolan-chance-fortnite]

You just lost the game

You're so goddamn right i lost and what a way to do it! i'm not touching this game EVER again 😭😭😭

[letterstodixon]

oldies station (pt. III)

modern au!

summary: Daryl finally took courage and decided to visit you, finding himself with a not very pleasant surprise. Still, he decides to stay.

pairing: daryl dixon x f!reader

word count: 1898

warnings: i think it has no warnings. barely proofread.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

a/n: aaand i'm officially back! It took me a while to finish this and it's still not my proudest work. i wanted to put this out because i think these two deserved kind of a happy ending while sticking to reality lol, and it's the last part (for now). if you have any ideas, please send them to me! i hope you enjoy <3

taglist: @vaniniweenie

People often use the phrase “time stopped” to refer to something happening to them, as if everything was moving in slow motion, and that was exactly what was happening to Daryl.

“What are you doing here?” He heard before turning around, feeling his stomach drop to the floor. Whoever had asked that didn’t exactly have a feminine voice. Turning around, he confirmed that it wasn’t a woman. Standing beside you, by the door frame, was the gym coach himself. Hell was his name? Nolan? Regan? Megan?

“None of yer business, sunshine.” He answered, standing up, already defensive. Before Negan could speak, you stepped between them, raising your hands in each of the men's directions, but your gaze fixed on Daryl.

"Negan was just leaving, Daryl. You can make yourself at home." You told him, nodding for him to enter the house, but he wouldn't move until the other man did too. Narrowing his eyes, Daryl kept his gaze on that sly smile that he had.

"Damn right, doll, I was just leaving. But let me ask you something..."

That phrase alone reminded Daryl of someone else he used to dispise, making his stomach churn at the thought.

"Nope, not again. You had your chance, go home. We'll talk later." You interrupted him, your gaze fixed on your own hand, still held in the air in an attempt to stop him from getting too close. When you finished speaking, you looked up, noticing that he was nodding his head.

Pfff, later, Daryl thought.

"Alright. I'll talk to you later, sweetheart. Nice to see you again, Daryl." He said, that smile on his face as he walked down the stairs of the house, heading to the other side of the street, where his car was parked. Daryl couldn't help but follow him with his gaze, before feeling a gentle pat on his shoulder, calling him. Only then did he turn around, looking down at you.

"I was making coffee, come on in." You indicated, entering your home as he followed you, closing the door behind him. A wave of memories invaded him, without being able to place himself in any specific one. He could see you on the couch trying to study, or maybe both of you, sitting by the window on a rainy day while painting each other on an empty canvas, or you going down the stairs in a dress your mom picked out for the dance. He could also see you coming out of the kitchen with a tray of junk food so you could spend the night watching movies. The house was still almost as he remembered it, just more decorated and with more pictures or works of art hanging on the walls.

"You can sit, Dar. I won't charge you." You joked, appearing with two completely different cups of coffee. Only when you spoke again did Daryl notice that he hadn't moved from his spot. Nodding slightly, he followed you to the couch, sitting carefully, almost on the edge. He couldn't remember if his pants were dirty and he didn't want to ruin any of the order you had in the house.

"I'm sorry about that earlier, I—"

"What was that asshole doin' 'ere?" Daryl interrupted, not wanting to hear you apologize for that man ever again. His hand did nothing but take the coffee cup by the edges, to rest it on the table in front of him. He was afraid that, for some reason, it would slip or fall to the floor and you wouldn't be able to replace it.

Sighing after taking a sip of coffee, you nodded, holding the cup in your hands. Daryl could attest to how cold they were at any time of the year, and that you needed a source of heat even in the middle of summer. "He's going through a hard time with his wife and I'm trying to be understanding at his outbursts, but sometimes he gets me on my nerves."

Daryl only uttered a small mhm before speaking. "Poor wife, bein' with an asshole like that." That sentence made you burst out laughing, shaking your head as he watched you. He wasn't sure what he had said to make you laugh like that. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's just that I missed that kind of comments from you. I see you're still funny."

He scoffed. "Ain't funny, just tellin' the truth."

Your laughter ceased, turning into just a ghost of a smile, as you leaned over to set your cup down next to his. Daryl couldn't help but glance at that movement, almost like a reflex, but he was even more surprised when he noticed your hand was on the couch, palm up, like a signal for him to take it. Shifting uncomfortably, he looked between your hand and your face, not daring to take it yet. What if he had misinterpreted your intention?

"The truth might be that I missed you, in general. And your snarky comments too." You said, without moving your hand from where it was, the smile back on your face, this time, more sincere, more gentle. More like you.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You don't have to be sorry, Daryl. I don't know what happened... I mean, I have an idea," you said and then sighed, your eyes meeting his, making him feel that pressure in his chest that he hadn't felt since the last day he saw you, "and I respect it. But it doesn't change the fact that I missed my best friend."

He felt the world crash down on him and a weight lift off his shoulders altogether. He wasn't good with words, and he wished he could even try to explain a small part of everything that had happened to him in those years, the way he almost instantly regretted walking away from you that day, or rather, letting Merle get so deep into his head that he'd convinced him of the atrocity of leaving you.

Not knowing how to respond at that moment, and almost regretting how odd it seemed to him that he hesitated for a millisecond, he carefully reached out and took yours. His, stained with some faint mark of grease, yours with dots and grazes of different paints. His eyes settled on your face for a moment, before looking back down. He couldn't do this.

"And you know what? There's a boy in one of my classes that reminds me of you." You told him, giving his hand a light squeeze. Even though he wasn't looking at you, he could feel the smile in your tone, but he couldn't quite understand why.

"Must give you a hard time, then." He commented, trying to joke, after a few minutes of not letting his voice be heard. Looking up, he was met with the same calm and smiling expression you had before, while you shook your head.

"He's one of a kind, just like you are. He skips lots of classes because no one seems to understand him, but somehow, he's always at my classes. He even came here a few times." He listened to you explain attentively, still not fully understanding where your story was going. "And I know I'm not the perfect teacher, but I think I gave him a safe space and he took it as an opportunity to escape."

"Escape from what?"

"Only he knows. Well, him and maybe the girl he got behind him 24/7." You said as you let out a small laugh, making him almost smile. Finally, he could visualize where the conversation was going, and instead of trying to imagine those two teenagers you were describing to him, he thought of the two of you a few years ago. "Point is, I know I'm not perfect, but I got so mad when you dropped out of school. Not because of you, you weren't guilty, but I was mad at school for not creating that safe space for you, you know? And I got so mad at myself for not trying any harder too, and—"

"Ain't your fault, t'was only mine. I let Merle talk shit and believed 'im." He said with complete confidence, even though he was interrupting you. He needed to let you know in any way, that you were not responsible for the things he did wrong.

"You were just a kid, Daryl. Merle didn't know what to do with his life either. You needed someone to understand you. We always need someone to have our backs and I wish I was that person for you, but I know I wasn't and I'm sorry."

"I wasn't there either, I just..."

"Vanished?"

"You could say that." He replied, making a face that made you smile. It was at that very moment, with that smile, that he knew he didn't want to have you away ever again.

"That's that Dixon power." You joked, grabbing the coffee cup in your hands again.

The afternoon passed between anecdotes and questions, as if they were getting to know each other again, but at the same time, time seemed to have stood still. It was clear that you had talked more than him, but it didn't bother him at all. Everything reminded him of that version of you that he loved when he was young, and that perhaps he still loved now. Before he knew it, he was sitting with too comfortably on your couch, and the sun had almost completely set. Looking out the window, he stood up carefully, wiping the sweat from his hands on his pants. Yes, he was calmer knowing that you didn't hate him despite all those years apart, but he never stopped being nervous around you.

"I better be leavin', Merle must be wonderin' where am I." He murmured, watching you nod but say nothing about it. Standing up after him, you made a gesture with your hand along with an after you under your breath. Walking towards the door, he turned to look at you, giving you a barely visible smile.

"T'was good to see ya again."

"I'm glad we're back, Dar." You replied, opening the door, but he didn't come out. Closing the distance between you, he wrapped you in a short but warm hug, pulling away before you could fully reciprocate. Your confused expression caused his cheeks to burn even more than before, mentally kicking himself for how awkward that hug must have felt.

Stupid little shit, why you gotta be so awkard?

Muttering a small see ya, he quickly turned to walk down the stairs of your house, thinking about quickly getting on the bike and leaving, but he heard your voice calling out to him before he could continue. Turning around, he watched you curiously. You were nibbling on your bottom lip, a habit you'd never been able to stop, while looking somewhat hesitant.

"Would you... Uh, would you like to stay?" You asked, holding the door with one of your hands. "I mean, for dinner. Or as long as you'd like."

The proposal took him by surprise, but after thinking about it for a few seconds, he nodded.

"Sure, I'd love that."

And with that, he met your excited smile, as he climbed the stairs of your house to return, for a moment, to one of the few places where he was genuinely happy.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 27

To the 🔱 anon I SAW YOUR ASK I'M WORKING ON IT I PROMISEEEE (I like the idea very much, thank you for putting it into my head)

My mother(and family doctor) has decided she wants to make me go see multiple doctors for various reasons- so that's why I've been late, and will be late for a bit. Nothing life-threatening, but it's been a lot of testing and running from here to there and I'll cry if I have to take another blood test🥹 Ch 28 may get another draft before it gets published, it's quite short but we'll see ig 🫠

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 27 >>next

“The Jokerized Fries are the only good thing that came from the fu- ugh…” Your eyes met Oliver’s doe orbs. “… clown…” Jason snorted, kicking your shin under the table. “Nice save.” You just kicked his shin right back, which started an under-the-table fight. “Kids, please stop it.” Nolan grumbled as he fed the toddler.

The man was stuck at the kiddie table with you, Jason, and Mark. Nolan would say it’s because he wanted to give Debbie and April a break from Oliver, but really, he was excommunicated as soon as the Sirens showed up. “Take care of your kids, actually take care of them.” Were Ivy’s words before Harley and Selina nudged Debbie and April to the closest table.

“Why was he given so many chances anyway? Why not lock him and throw away the key?” Jason’s muscles tensed at Mark’s question- the clown was still a sensitive subject. Your eyes met Jason’s before you turned to your other brother. “I wish it were that simple. But the prison gets a breakout at least once a month, no matter how much the security raises, it's really out of anybody's hands. Batman was there when The Joker, well, became The Joker. Bats thought he was the original Red Hood, so when the clown was cornered against a railing, it broke and he fell into a vat of chemical solutions.”

Jason continued where you left off. “B has been feeling guilty about it since. He won’t say so, but the way he just let the clown get away with shit when he’d otherwise be more strict had guilt written all over it.” The crime lord huffed. “Batman likes to think he’s logical. That he’s a good detective because he doesn’t let emotions sway him, but he’s only lying to himself. He is all emotions. And most of the time, he doesn’t know when to act on those emotions, so he deludes himself into thinking that it’s the logical part of his brain speaking.”

“It’s why he fucked up with me, and it’s why he puts on the Brucie persona with you.” Jason looked at you. “Everybody likes Brucie. It’s a fact. So, you must like Brucie too, even though you know that’s not him. He’s impulsive about it, thinking that just because he’s sweet now, what he did, or didn’t do, will be forgotten.”

“That’s- surprisingly sound of you, Jay.” You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, I’m going to therapy.” He smiled, and Mark looked back at you. “Maybe you should try it.” Your head slowly turned to the young man. “I’ll go. If you go for the trauma Nolan gave you.” The named man looked at his son, eyes remorseful and ashamed. Mark looked back at his meal. “These fries are really good-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Wayne Enterprise was losing stockholders, he should have put out a statement. Or whatever Lucius said. Bruce wasn’t really listening, he wasn’t really doing much of anything since you actually punched him. Dick would call it depression, and maybe he was, but he was also planning… What he wasn’t sure of. Whatever he came up with ended up being erratic, theoretical, fantasies of finally getting you back, and fixing what he nurtured into destruction.

It was delusion, and some part of him knew. He wasn’t completely crazy… not yet. But that was a part he was deliberately burying. After all, there must be a way- you were still his kid, you wanted his attention. The six to seven years old version of you did, at least. At that time, you had found a camera that the chubby-cheeked version of you had used to film childish recreations of fairy tales, he couldn’t even tell if they were your favorites, or if those were just the ones you had similar enough clothes for. Ileana Simziana, Alice in Wonderland, Little Red Riding Hood.

All because you wanted him to see what your mom did, because he missed those, and he liked going to Dick’s school recitals. They were terrible, stuttering and fumbling with the change of clothes was most of the play- and yet, at the end of it all, you were all smiles and hopeful eyes. And then it stopped, picking up again about two years later, not with videos, but photos.

He tried to rack his brain for any information on this, trying to find a memory of you shyly approaching him to show these. He couldn’t find any. Bruce didn’t know what hurt more, the possibility that you gave up on even trying or that you did try, and he simply didn’t care enough to remember it. Either way, something made you stop from even touching the camera.

The photo right after the last video wasn’t done by you, it was actually of you. Of you specifically on Harvey’s shoulders, both sides of his dual-toned hair braided, and you putting sparkly hair clips in a random pattern as both faces of the man seemed to smile unbothered. Most photos were similar, you and a rogue doing something he should have done with you- The Penguin and you having tea parties, Killer Croc looking dead as he napped with you on top of his chest, Harley doing your nails as her hyenas tried to eat your forgotten sandwich, Selina smushing your face as she pressed a kiss to your cheek, face riddled with her lip marks even Music Meister seemed to have had time for you, the photo being of you two doing some sort of karaoke to some musical.

And yet the first photo of you, looking straight at the camera for once, all he saw was… saddening. You were giving a strained smile, eyes full of confusion about why whoever was behind the camera would want a photo of you. You weren’t used to those who you deemed family wanting photos of you, that was clear the more he carried on. Bruce remembers taking photos of Dick. Of Jason and Tim, of everyone. Alfred was the same. Every time he could, he would take a photo of the kids' achievements. There were no photos of you taken by either one, and you weren’t in any family group photos. Not theirs anyway. The rogues seemed to have taken more than enough of them.

It all angered him, the guilt only fueled the emotion. His fear of pulling you into the vigilante life, of suffocating you, his want to lock you away like a precious stone, was what threw you right into heroism, and not only that, it also tricked his mind into thinking that whatever drops of attention he gave were enough. You didn’t need your anger redirected, you didn’t crave to be the next Robin, you just wanted a dad. And he couldn’t give you that because he fooled himself that you didn’t need a father when you just lost a mother.

But you needed that. You always talked about your mom, you missed her, you wanted him to act like a dad, to be there for you, to console and love you, but all he saw was himself, and when he lost his parents, all he wanted was to be alone. You weren’t him. You weren’t like him. You needed support and affection, and he didn’t see it. “But Nolan Grayson did,” something hissed at the back of his head.

Bruce’s hands clenched as his blank stare was replaced by a deep frown. The rogues saw it. Nolan Grayson saw it. Nolan fucking Grayson. The man who beat the shit out of his son, ran away and had a whole another kid with a bug alien. You deemed him a better father. That hurt more than your punch.

He got up from his office chair, his direction set in his mind like it was the only answer, the family library. He hasn’t been near it in quite a while, his paranoia and guilt were playing tricks on his mind, he was sure of it.

The family portraits in there, since you left, had felt like they’ve been staring at him, following his every move. Books kept falling at his feet, furniture kept moving and hitting him, making him trip- all, he was sure, was his subconscious fumbling the distance in space from things due to stress and a pushed sense that one of his birds was missing.

Bruce folded the round carpet that was in the middle of the room, revealing a demon trap etched into the ground. He stepped into the middle of it, and as he bent down, his lip couldn’t help but twitch. You two were more similar than either of you thought. His nails caught onto a loose plank, and lifting it up moved several others.

His hand grabbed book after book. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was sure these books will have the answer he’s looking for. The answer he wants.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The Sirens insisted on having some girl time, and when Roy showed up with Lian, it was set in stone. So, they pulled you, Debbie, April, and the unsuspecting girl to your room, insisting on doing some self-care and pampering, which ended up with you braiding Lian’s hair while Selina braids yours. Pamela, April, and your mom were doing an avocado mask, and Harley was happily humming as she painted Lian’s nails. “Isn’t this too many colors?” Harley laughed at the teen's question as she switched to the sixth bottle of nail polish. “There ain’t ever too many colors, honey.”

“Art would argue with that.” You huffed, tying the final French braid. “I don’t know,” Debbie muses, “Mark’s costume is… something.” Selina giggled at that. “The robin costumes are worse.” And she was immediately followed by an agreement from Harley and a snort from you.

Lian looked at the women all giggling at the pantless robin specifically, the girl smiling softly and leaning into your touch as you gently ran a hand across her back. This was nice. She loved when her dad did her hair, and with time, he has gotten better, but she wanted that with her mom. She knows Jade loves her, in her own way- and many would say that’s her only redeemable quality, not willing to give her the grace they give others- but her priorities lie somewhere else.

“Are you really not dating Deathstroke and Luthor?” Lian couldn’t help but ask for confirmation, relaxing completely when you smiled at her. “I’m not dating them, they’re just doing me a favor because Jason and I thought it’ll make the bats go crazy- which it did.”  Your smile grew into a prideful smirk, remembering the stories of Dick completely breaking down. “You say that, but you should see the way those two look at you when you’re not paying attention.” Debbie teased.

“Oh, so, every time?” Ivy couldn’t help but join. “Hey now- I pay attention-“ Selina raises an eyebrow as she quickly cuts in. “You almost walked into a pole because you saw a cat in a handbag.” Your mouth closed, argument dying in your throat as your cheeks flushed with heat. “Dad’s a real nice guy.” At Lian’s offhand comment, you turned your attention back on her, your finger gently pinching at her cheek. “I’m sure he is a great guy who doesn’t need his stellar daughter to wingman for him.”

“I said he’s a nice guy… he’s kind of hopeless when it comes to romance.” The teen’s comment got a laugh out of the older women. “Aren’t they all?” Harley jests. “Our sorceress is kind of hopeless to it too, isn’t she?” April spoke up, teasing smile on her lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about-“ You sniff. “She’s right, gals, we’re starting to bully her-“ Selina purred. “Oh, by the way, my beloved kit, how is your crush on Wonder Woman going?” Your hand went over your heart as your mouth dropped open. “Just because I have one poster- this is Nolan all over… Lian- back me up here-“

“You’re right, you’re right-“ The teen pats your thigh. “Oh- I always wanted to know more about your relationship with Giganta.” Your other hand went over your heart as Lian just fluttered her eyelashes up at you, the other women starting to snicker. “Traitors… I’m surrounded by traitors.”

A knock at the door made everyone look at it, and when it opened, Two-Face got a mixed reaction of confusion and annoyance. “Switch time, come on, paternal figure and kid time.” He waved his hand for you to follow.

“Switch time? Y’all made a schedule?” You ask while getting up. “Yeah… we’ve learned to be buddies and share and all of that.” Harley rolled her eyes as she finished Lian’s nails. “Don’t worry, we’ll still be here when you get back.” Pamela reassured, redirecting Debbie worried look to the alien plant, asking what it eats.

You took the chance to follow Harvey, hooking your arm with his. He smiled as he led you downstairs to where Nolan and Mark were dressed in their nice suits, and even Oliver had his own little tux on while strapped to your dad’s chest. “Aww, look at my little man all prim and proper. So you're taking us to a nice place?” You cooed as the little guy grabbed at your fingers, nuzzling into your hand.

“Yes. And then we’ll visit Waylon and Bundy since they can’t come.” His eyebrow raised at the green light that engulfed your body and changed the pajamas to a long black dress, one similar to what he’d seen Morticia Addams wear in the many movies you were once obsessed with. “Cobblepot is waiting for us there.”

“We’re going to The Lounge?” Harvey smiled at Mark’s hidden excitement. “No. It’s not a place for babies, maybe we’ll go before you lot have to return.” Mark’s shoulders slumped as he fought a pout. “I’m still mad I can’t come-“ Jason whined, not even trying to hide his pout as Roy snickered. “If you come, the bats will for sure show up. Without you there, we get a fifty-fifty chance they won’t- no I won’t flip a coin for it, have a nice day, we’ll be back late.”

Jason’s frown deepened as he watched Two-Face usher the Graysons to the door. “Please don’t go after them. Do you really want to be blamed if Bruce does show up?” Roy nudged his friend, smiling as Jason groaned out a no.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your laugh filled the otherwise empty restaurant as John Constantine shimmied himself and a chair between you and Nolan, despite having enough space anywhere else at the table. “Can’t believe I wasn’t invited-“ The blond man was cut by Mark’s snort, immediately followed by Nolan’s voice. “You’re more of a drunk uncle who only shows up when he wants something. Cecil has more of a right to your seat.” John just gave the man a look before turning his head back to you. “So- when you get home, there’s a gift waiting for you- no, not a hell hound, I’m not getting you a hell hound- it’s grimoires and other magic books, you’ll enjoy them.”

“And it was a must for you to interrupt our outing-“ John quickly interrupts Oswald, ignoring your whining about how you deserve a hellhound. “Nah, Bruce is about to show up any moment now- want to see the shit show for myself.” As the man stole Harvey’s whiskey, the doors opened, and in walked the bat himself.

“Can’t I take a break-“ You whined, your hand immediately covering your face as your elbows rested on the table. “Bruce-“ Harvey got up from his chair as both his faces showed the displeasure of seeing the bat brought. “I'm not looking for a fight-“ Bruce raised his hands in a surrendering manner before his eyes drifted back to you. “I do just want to talk.” You took the whiskey glass from John and downed it.

Oliver looked between you and Bruce as you slammed the glass down. His eyes remained on the older man’s tired face. Bruce, sensing eyes on him, turns his attention from your whining form to the toddler sitting in his highchair. As the man gives the kid a small smile, Oliver isn’t having any of it, his little face scrunching up as he points at Bruce. “Ugly.”

It takes a while for everyone to process what Oliver called the bat, but when it registers in everyone’s brain, the reactions are immediate. Bruce’s shoulders slump with defeat as you, John, and Mark completely lose it, laughing like hyenas. “Well-“ Whatever little jab Nolan wanted to give was interrupted when Oliver grabbed at his mustache. “Dada ugly too.”

The laughter only got louder. John went down, clutching his stomach while slamming his fist into the ground- you weren’t far behind, the only thing keeping you upwards was Mark shaking you as he laughed soundlessly, his face turning red. “Are you two done?” Nolan’s grumble was met with nonsensical babble, neither of his kids being able to form comprehensible sentences.

Bruce, deciding it’s a good enough time to get a distracted you to listen, gently taps your back, resulting in your hand in his as he gently pulls you away from the table. The men wanted to stop him, but knowing his history of digging his own hole, they let him take you away for a bit. “The mustache is quite ugly.” The Penguin mutters, and as Harvey hides his laugh with a cough, John lets out a sound similar to a dying cat.

You were stumbling, hitting Bruce’s arm with no real bite while your laughter left you lightheaded. “Oh, sweet Gelos-“ You sniffed, hand wiping away tears as you finally let go of the man to rest against a wall, body still shaking with giggles. And Bruce just smiled, the exhaustion fading away the more you mumbled and the more your shoulders shook with cackles and shaky breaths. He just wishes it didn’t take this long to hear you so happy. That you were laughing at something he said.

“I have so many explanations of why I did what I did.” His voice made you take in a sharp breath, any amusement dying down faster than Constantine can smoke a pack of cigarettes. “But that’s not an apology, and it doesn’t matter what I wanted to accomplish when all I did was hurt you.”  Bruce moved closer, and you pressed your back into the wall. “… I am sorry-“

“I don’t believe you.” Your tone was even, face blank, and shoulders tense. “You weren’t sorry back then, you're only sorry now, because the public and JL members found out and it started affecting you.” Bruce didn’t expect this to be easy, to be forgiven on the spot- this isn’t a Disney movie where the toxic grandmother is forgiven with a hug. “I know… And I understand why you’d believe that. But I won’t give up. Whether or not you like it, you’re still my daughter.”

“I may as well have been an orphan. The only good thing you’ve ever done was give me access to your money.” Despite the jab and you walking away, Bruce took this as a small win- after all, he didn’t get punched or cake smashed. Small steps, he was a patient man.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and I definitely wanted to punch him again.” You finished telling Waylon what happened at dinner, your eyes drifting to Bundy, who has been frozen since Oliver decided he wanted the zombie to hold him and cuddle. “You should have,” Two-Face growled. “Have to agree. I don’t like the courage he and his birds are getting.” Nolan grumbled, his arms crossed. “He hasn’t been this sloppy since Jason died.” Waylon’s tail tapped the ground as he spoke, lost in thought.

 John couldn’t agree more, the bug the man tried to plant was the most obvious thing. Too obvious. John frowned as he got up from the old armchair, walking past Mark, who was busy reading a The Walking Dead comic, straight to you. “Sorry, love.” He mumbled as he moved behind you, ignoring the conversation going on, while his hands went for your hair.

His eyes carefully moved down your strands of hair as he muttered spells, down the back of your neck, and stopping where your shoulders started. Two fingers went from the left to the right shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing while his eyes watched the tracking sigil disappear.  Seems like he’ll have to talk to the bat himself.

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[rqgnarok]

did someone say barba/price/reader love triangle?

Rafael isn’t proud of it– he makes slow work of gathering his things to watch you tap your knuckles on Price’s desk from the corner of his eye. Barba grits his teeth when said man makes a pleased sound at the sight of you, brows raised. “If you’re here to ask for a life sentence, forget about it,” Nolan says, though his voice and lopsided smirk are nothing but teasing. “They’re giving out parking tickets right now in the next room, maybe you’ll get some luck there from some poor sucker who just passed the bar.” “Funny, don’t quit your day job,” you quip back. Still, you’re nervous, Barba knows you enough to tell. You’re still tapping your knuckles against the wood, a gentle, senseless rhythm to keep you grounded. “I wanted to thank you, actually. I know the family already did, but still. It was a good thing to do. Brave as hell.” “Stupid, others might say,” Nolan finally looks at you and doesn’t see a hint of a joke in your features, softens. “It was the right thing to do.” “You could’ve said no. Most people would’ve,” a moment, then– “Most people did, actually. You were the first and only crazy enough to even consider it.” “You can go to the part where you thank me, now,” he says.  Your lips stay tugged up into a smile, helpless against his charm. Barba wonders if he can get the guard standing outside to shoot him so he doesn’t have to witness this. “Thank you, Price. It means more than you know. You brought someone’s son home today.” “You gave me the chance,” he turns the tables on you, leaning into you and eyes gazing into yours, terribly honest and enchanting. Barba hears you exhale shakily and crumbles up the papers in his hands without meaning to. “I forget sometimes why I took this job. Thank you for reminding me.” “Alright, well,” you shift in your place, a little overwhelmed with his attention. “Still. If there’s anything I can do for you–” “Have dinner with me,” he interrupts. Rafael finally gazes up, directed by surprise alone. Neither of you notice– you’re speaking in low voices and no one else in the mostly vacated courtroom can hear you– and it’s then he realizes how badly he’s intruding. If Rafael were to speak up he thinks you’d struggle to even remember his name.  “What, now?” Nolan shrugs. “Yeah, now. You got anything else going on?” Barba had been planning on buying the first round at Forlini’s. “No,” you say, sounding far, far away. “No, nothing at all.” “I’m not kidnapping you here, am I?” he asks, suddenly hesitant. “If that’s not where this is going…” “It’s where I’d like it to go,” you admit, suddenly brave, mending Nolan’s heart and breaking Rafael’s all in one swoop.  “Okay, then,” he says, giddy, and he walks you out of the courthouse with a prep in his step Rafael abhors.  He hates it even more that Nolan’s a nice guy– a decent enough lawyer, he’d admitted to Liv earlier, half compliment half complaint. Price was already working for the defense but Barba hadn’t thought this was a field he’d compete in, too. He’s been struggling enough on his own for your affections, what will he be to you now that Nolan’s filling the space he’s always wanted to? Rafael knows this game well. He played it with Yelina and lost. He’s not sure he’d survive losing it again. 

[cassie48]

Falling in love with Charlie Dalton

You were Neil’s twin sister. You grew up with Charlie so it was hard not to be close with him. He was always quite outspoken and robust, and for a long time that bothered you, and you did your best to stay away from him, but he’d follow you around like a lost puppy.

It wasn’t until your father had bribed mr Nolan into letting you attend Welton academy that you actually allowed Charlie to speak with you. To your surprise, when someone actually listened to Charlie, and didn’t just expect him to come out with a joke, the boy had a lot of sentimental thoughts.

He was kind, a genuine person that you hadn’t seen before attending the boarding school. Your brother had seen right through Charlie when you two first met, and had tried making him stay away from you, but when he saw you two at Welton he realised his efforts were futile.

When Mr keating came to teach a year after you had joined, you had come to realise that not all teachers were miserable and unbearable. The man had love what for what he taught, and he passed it on to his whole class. That was where people had began to see the real Charlie.

Neil first realised Charlie was serious about wanting you when he wrote a poem about you, and read it out to the whole class. Mr keating had asked you all to write a poem about something that matters to you greatly. You had blushed through the entire thing, but it did mean a lot of you, Charlie was allowing himself to be teased by all his friends, if it meant you’d give him a chance.

You gained a lot of respect for him that day.

Later that same evening you were walking at the docks near the school, just after feeding some ducks. The sun was beginning to set and so you began to make your way back. You suddenly felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to face Charlie.

“Well, what are you doing here” ?You said with a smile, you were happy to see the boy, you couldn’t deny it, no matter how much you wanted to.

“I’m here to see you” Charlie spoke, both his voice and face holding seriousness, one that you didn’t get off of him a lot.

You had seemed to miss the serious tone and laughed “Is that so, well-“

“Y/N I can’t take it anymore, every inch of my body and soul is attached to you. You control my dreams, my thoughts, everything about me seems to belong to you. So I’m begging you to give me a chance, please, after all these years you must know how much you mean to me” Charlie spoke, a lot of defeat and longing on his face.

You stood still with no expression for a minute. Any of the words that had just left Charlie’s mouth were a shock to you, and to him as well.

When you didn’t say anything, Charlie sighed, thinking you were denying him. He turned but at soon as he did you caught his arm, he turned immediately.

“Alright” You said.

“Alright? Well….alright what exactly?” Charlie asked searching your eyes for an answer.

“Alright, I’ll give you a chance” You said, giving him a small smile.

He was shocked for a second, trying to speak but his words coming out in a mumble.

You just laughed for a moment, rolling your eyes “You’re such a fool sometimes” You joked before leaning down to kiss his lips softly, to make him shut up.

He was too shocked to kiss you back for a second, but soon he did. He melted into it. It was a soft and gentle kiss, slow and meaningful. When you pulled away you had a smile on your face.

“Now, aren’t you gonna escort me back to the dorms?” You asked and he quickly took your hand practically pulling you excitedly.

“Calm down!” You laughed, as the two of you began running back, you hoping mr Nolan worked be there to scold you for being out so close to night.

But you wouldn’t care. Nothing could ruin the high you were on right now.