#comfort. indulgence. escape. either way what hell & what bliss

[chiwhorei]

the folly of man

pairing: e. todoroki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: ~2.6k

tags: the softest!enji there ever was, crybabie!reader, age gap (20ish vs. 50), d/s dynamics, belly bulge, squirting, overstim, daddy kink, size kink, dacryphilia, a spank, breeding kink, creampie, i am dramatic and clinically melancholy so it’s a little angsty but it’s really just unabashed, self-indulgent fluff

a/n: i screamed about soft!enji to @messwriting a few weeks ago, then the other night enji took me to paris and wrecked my shit in my dreams. the result? complete self-indulgence. i will not be taking criticism on my desire to fuck this man, he is a drawing. (the banner image is from the lonely doll by dare wright, if you know this book we probably have very similar issues sksksksksk)

hymn: angel by finneas

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” ~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

He swears it’s your quirk that got him. Grabbed him by the collar, stole his soul from his chest— you swiped it right from his rib cage.

You sit across from him, legs folded under each other and pen pressing against your lips. Is it your lips? Or the way words curl past them?

A siren’s call in the form of a 20-something journalist. He hates the likes— prodding for sound bites and snippets to plaster across front pages. But your figure buckles in on itself, nerves weighing down the fabric of a light pink blouse and tight-yet-tasteful pencil skirt. Your presence is gentle and honeyed, it feels warm where Enji is usually burning hot.

Your fever spreads across his cheeks and nose.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need me to repeat the question?”

Your bottom lip trembles nervously, pulled in between your teeth to gnaw on. Freshly graduated and on your very first assignment, it seemed hilarious to send the newly minted recruit into a white-hot tongue lashing.

“Mr. Number One has chewed the head off of every reporter in Japan, it’s a right of passage.”

The echo of your colleague’s stifled laugh rings in your ear as you stare back, you scan over the small wrinkles by his eyes and the jagged scar across his face. The silvered skin curves around his features like atonement. There’s something about the prolific hero that seems to pull you towards him. You grab the side of your chair so as to not fall forward right into his orbit.

Any attempt at distance was doomed from the beginning.

He shakes his head, eyes darting from either of yours to find the question you asked him. He coughs awkwardly, nodding his head for you to continue. Any desire to snap at you dissolves into the carpet with the very first laugh. You let out a small, tinkling giggle against better judgement that cracks the glassed tension.

“What is your biggest inspiration?”

The question hangs in the air a moment before a rehearsed answer falls from his mouth, something about the citizens of his community and the desire to keep his country safe. Whatever tumbles out is less interesting than how you smile in response.

Every person in the room-- agents, publicists, the poor intern holding a black coffee in his trembling hands-- watch on, collectively agape, at the scene before them.

Flame Hero: Endeavor breaks composure for a moment to send you a docile, lopsided smile.

You decide it’s something you won’t soon get tired of seeing.

“Did you get everything you wanted,” his voice trails off with a hint of uncertainty, one hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head, “I could answer a few more questions over dinner.”

Enji stands in shock at his own behavior, the inferno flickers little more than a candle in your eyeline. Every minute holds sixty seconds of opportunity, and Enji’s hair is graying at the ends. Even if you brush the dusty old hero from your shoulders with guffaw, even if you roll your eyes or kiss his insole with a pointed heel. He can’t afford to waste a moment more.

It has to be your quirk, he decides, reciting like a prayer the only logical answer to his sweating palms and clambering heart. Nothing makes sense but keeping you within arms reach. It must be some kind of hypnosis, maybe a pheromone.

Enji’s penance lies in the soft, supplied skin of a quirkless civilian.

***

There are few places that have felt like home, no matter what four walls build a house around him. He alone is responsible for each one decaying. He deserves a spot in every plane of hell.

Enji leans against the headboard, scanning over pages of John Milton and enjoying the quiet just after dusk. Looking over the top of his glasses, the book in hand falls out of frame, like most everything does.

Pink lace hangs like bated breath from your shoulders and hips. You look on to him for approval, the set your eyes had lingered on in a boutique window now brandishes the swell of your breasts.

“My perfect girl.” His words are filled with wonder, pulling at the ends of his mouth when you twirl, the ends of flowing lace pick up around you like wings.

Winter air creeps from the open balcony to hit your skin, spreading chills down every inch. Enji watches as you shiver, the cool breeze prickles past pick lace with little effort.

“Come here.” Enji tosses his glasses and book to the bedside table and pats his lap.

Nothing feels more like home than when you settle to lie atop his naked chest, cheek pressed firmly against his pulse.

You rest your chin against his sternum, hands crawling up to find warmth from his skin. He feels the thin, golden ring as your touch trails around his neck.

His own hands, calloused and battered, eclipse over your lower back to find purchase against your ass.

Away from the prying eyes of domestic paparazzi and forty minutes outside of Paris— Enji cuts out what feels like a stolen heaven.

Idle chat about the museum he took you to today fills the room comfortably. Your fingertip comes down to trace the lines of marred skin across the bridge of his nose, he hums and smiles as you talk about paintings.

None stood out to him.

He takes your hand in his much bigger one, kissing the band that mimics his own. You tangle your fingers together.

“This feels like a dream,” your voice is barely above a whisper, lest the night air hears the talk of lovers.

“I’m not totally convinced you aren’t a dream.” Enji pulls you to sit back against his legs, in this position you can meet his eyes without straining upward. Strong hands come down to rest at your hips, thumbs rubbing lightly against the lingerie’s fabric.

You scoff, batting at his chest, you laugh his comments off in moments like this. But Enji is convinced one day you will lift straight from the world with nothing left but your shoes keeping the earth weighted down.

Soft lips ghost over his, an invitation he’ll never refuse. Your mouth is against him, small hands coming to either side of Enji’s face. His graying stubble is coarse under your fingers. You inhale deeply, he smells like campfire and expensive cologne. Your tongue slips between his lips. His mouth tastes like the remnants of the bottle of red wine you shared after dinner

The hands around your middle pull your impossibly closer, pressing into your lower back to grind your hips down against the bulge in his sweatpants. Your body moves against him, panties rubbing against your already throbbing clit.

“Daddy.” The title wraps in chords around his vertebrae, the sounds of whimpering hits his ear, and he notices the wet patch rubbing right against his knee.

“What do you want, princess? Tell daddy what you want.” The maneuvering of your hips starts slow, but Enji has you almost bouncing on his leg before you can answer him. Both of your hands wrap around his left wrist, tugging it in between your legs.

“I want you to touch me, please. I- I need it.” You bite the inside of your cheek when the pads of his fingers graze the damp, thin material of your panties, his burning touch sets every blood cell aflame.

“You’re so wet, princess, what’s got you all worked up?” There’s a gleam of humor in his voice, seeing you desperate for him has Enji stiffening beneath you.

“My precious little thing, I’ll take good care of you.” His words write you a promise, it extends far past a night of love in Paris.

You can feel his assurance carved into your heart.

Enji’s hand dips into the front of your underwear, ghosting over your clit and running against your swollen lips. He marvels at your response, the smallest ministrations have your head rolling to the side.

His pointer and middle finger prod against you, inching inside carefully. Even with the utmost care, you wince at the stretch. No matter how many times he’s fucked you open in this whirlwind year,

“You’re tighter than a fucking vise, Christ.”

A long moan escapes you, knees moving to dig into the mattress below you for leverage to buck against his hand. Enji curls his fingers upwards, calloused tips finding the spongy patch of skin that has you squirming. His fingers cross over each other, pumping into you and easing you to relax against the intrusion.

“Daddy, I want your cock. I’m ready, please.” The heat in your core is rising, licking against your nerves like wildfire. Enji tutts in response to your begging, his thumb coming down to rub taught circles into your clit.

“I know, princess, but you remember the rules. Cum on my fingers, and I’ll give you what you want.” Enji picks up the pace of his fingers, his own patience thinning at the edges with each call for your daddy.

“Close, ‘m close,” your voice wobbles, aching legs pushing you against him, chasing desperately for that first release.

Enji feels you clenching tight in finality, a squeal breaching the steamy space around you. You crack in his tight hold, the taste of bliss coats your tongue-- it tastes like tears.

You slump forward against his chest, coming to float back down to earth before he sends you hurdling back towards the sun.

“You’re so beautiful, princess, absolutely perfect.” Enji’s voice is heavy, lined with a certain bitterness you are familiar with. His compliments always sound like apologies.

You lift your head, forehead pressing against his, the stray hair around your face tickling his skin.

There aren’t words that could heal decades. No amount of atonement, no prayers to any gods will fix a life of despair. He shoulders the blame of it all, heavy against bones and muscle.

Moving to kiss him tenderly, lips pulling him back into the world's sweetest direction. You shouldn’t let him use you as his redemption. If Enji were another man, a better man, he would have walked away from you that fateful afternoon under fluorescent light with just the fleeting feeling you dipped his heart in.

He’s not any kind of good in this world, Enji is a foolish bastard.

He’ll keep kissing you, he’ll touch and lick and fuck you until your wings pick up in the wind and fly you away.

“I want to ride your cock, Daddy. Let me make you feel good too.” You beg for him once again, you beg to be a distraction, the sweetest kind of diversion-- hidden snugly in the quiet of a French villa.

Enji is meticulous with stripping you of the dainty lace, brushing off the straps of your bra so the cups fall right under your pert nipples. He moves his hands slowly, snaking up your sides to swipe his thumbs against the pebbled buds. You don’t try to stop the wines falling like prayer, your body still on edge from your first orgasm.

He pulls off your soaked panties, eyes tracing the strings of slick collecting and breaking off from your glistening cunt.

“Such a precious little pussy, and it’s all mine.” Enji frees his cock from his sweats and boxers, the length springing to slap against his abdomen. He pumps his hand a few times before pressing it against your stomach. It’s no surprise that his size is impressive, long and thick in an ever-intimidating way.

Enji admires how his cock presses against you, tip nudging against your belly button. In comparison to your smaller form, it’s a wonder he hasn’t ripped you in half.

You’d let him.

“No more teasing, Daddy. I need it, please.” Desperation sparks against your nerves, igniting with the sharp sound of Enji’s hand against your ass.

“Don’t get mouthy now, princess.” His warning is light, he’s never been good at denying you.

He pulls your hips up, lining himself up so you can sink down onto him. If his fingers make you whimper, the first breach of his shaft makes you wail.

Your hands find his shoulders, digging in to steady yourself with every deliciously unforgiving inch. You’ll never get used to his size, you never want to.

Enji has held composure with white knuckles, but his resolve is rusting with every movement of your descent. His desire to tear into you becomes untamable, his mind swims in with the velveteen grip you suck him in with.

“You’re mine, fuck, you’re mine forever.” He will promise you until he believes it himself.

He’ll believe in forever if forever means you.

The folly of man is nestled at the apex of your thighs, is pleading gasps, is begging for more, is too much and too little.

And Enji is a fool in love.

The gates of heaven open between your quivering legs to let the devil in. He’ll take every moment he can steal.

As your hips settle down finally, the feeling of being so completely full has tears collecting in your lashes to run down your cheeks. It’s depraved, truly, how beautiful your destruction is.

Enji gives you a moment, adjusting to his size and relaxing, his hand comes down to rub against your stomach, tracing against the skin lightly.

“I can feel it,” his breath hitches, the pulsing around him is dizzying, he feels his tip as it moves inside of you, “fuck, I can feel my cock in your tummy.”

Shaky thighs start moving above him, the bounce of fat and flesh atop his hardened body. He can’t help the declarations flying from his mouth, he can’t stop the itching feeling to make you his completely.

“I want to fuck a baby into you, want to fill you so full.” He can feel the way your body reacts to his most perverse desire, “I want you round and swollen with my child.”

Enji grabs your hips, taking control and quickening the pace of his assault on your weeping pussy. You cry out, a string of babbled, “Please, daddy, please fuck me full, s-so full.”

You can feel your second orgasm bubbling up with each stroke of Enji’s cock against your abused pussy. All words are lost, all thoughts fuzzy aside from the man pounding himself into you from below.

“Cum around me, little girl, cum around my cock.” Enji’s words are little more than a growl, head thrown back into the pillows as you constrict around him. His fingers come down against your clit again, rubbing with fervor. He’s adamant on throwing you head-first, body limp and overstimulated in every way.

You feel it in the gnashing of your teeth, the wound chord snapping like floss around Enji. You feel yourself gushing, your cum leaking around him and dripping onto the bed sheets.

Enji cums with one final buck, hips lifting off of the bed as he spills into you. You can feel the thick spurts against your still pulsating walls, filling you to the brim and trickling out even before you separate.

He stays inside of you for a moment, large hands wrapped around your middle, pulling you to crumble into his chest. You collapse against his warm, jagged skin. He lulls you with soft strokes to your hair, behind the flush and sweat on your face, he sees the dizzy, love-drunk expression tugging on your lips.

No matter how many times you disagree, Enji knows it’s true.

The swelling, disorienting feeling of your smile. The visions of a future, of the life he doesn't deserve but wouldn’t give up for any deal the devil could make him. The sight of you, simply and without motive, every day.

It has to be your quirk.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[paddymoonstruck]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬┃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

chapter two

warnings: season 4/manga spoilers, mentions and depictions of death, death, war, cursing, angst, eren being an asshole 

word count: 6,406

notes: PROCEED WITH CAUTION major season four/manga spoilers ahead !!! ALSO — I’ve read the last chapter and bestie lmao — i just wanted to pour the dread I felt by posting this chapter since it is also vv sad!!!!  ENJOY THOUGH !!!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER/S: moodboard/prologue, one 

𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞

A malicious smirk curled upon the lips of a certain brunette, head peaking from the corner of a concrete housing. His bright, turquoise irises scanned the friend group of his intended target, arms linked one after the other, walking towards to door that led to the hallway of the dorms. 

“Eren, is this really necessary?” Armin whispered beside Eren, his voice shook in the slightest as he watched the bunch near the door. 

Eren scoffed, nodding his head firmly, never taking his eyes off of them. “It wouldn’t have to be if she didn’t pour salt on my oatmeal earlier . . .” The frown that decorated his face was fleeting, the scheming glint present again, as anticipation bubbled in his stomach.

Devon Janea stretched her hand out, placing in on the metal knob, she laughed along to what ever Sasha and Nifa were chatting about. Her palm twisted the knob, giving it a light push. A soft clank ticked above her head, followed by the liquid  icy flow that took her awhile to recognize as water. It cascaded from her head down to her boots. 

Both of her companion let out a gasp, pulling the wooden bucket that had fallen on their friend’s head. 

Eren’s smirk, shifted into a series of baffling hysterics, his gaze pointed at the now soaking wet Survey Corps uniform of Devon. Her golden brown locks dampened, turning them a shade darker. 

Despite the numbing sensation of Devon’s body, she managed to catch wind of someone laughing annoyingly loud. Her suspicions were confirmed as her vision landed on an elated piece of shit kneeling on the ground, clutching his stomach a few feet away from them. 

She made eye contact with a pair of ocean eyes as she looked up, which immediately swam in mercy. If she wasn’t freezing to death, she would’ve laughed at the fear on Armin’s face but she was able to comprehend was the desire to crush Eren Yeager’s skull into ash. 

“Oi, Yeager!” She bellowed, unclipping her soiled cape from her back. 

“You’re gonna get it now . . .” Nifa mumbled, earning an enthusiastic giggle from Sasha.

Eren stood from his place, chortling toned down to occasional chuckles, he crossed his arms to his chest, observing Devon’s shaking form as she approach him. 

The exasperated expression that had morphed itself on her face never wavering. Her drenched footwear squelched under the Earth’s pressure. “You have five seconds to tell me why — oh why you did that.” 

Apparently, the seething irritation Devon carried in her tone triggered Eren’s funny-bone because not a second later, stupid laughs poured away from his very much punchable mouth. 

It was short-lived, however — since Devon’s patience had ran thin and next thing everyone knew, her arm swung back, fist colliding painfully against Eren’s abdominal area, producing a clean booming crunch. 

A series of oof’s can be heard behind her which she could’ve guessed were a few people who had came to witness this brawl that occurred quite frequently much to their squad captains’ displeasure.

He had stumbled back a few inches, ass meeting the soil. The agonized groan that escaped his lips were a blessing to Devon’s ears, and her eyes feast at the same suffering that contorted his face. 

Armin instantly came to his side, eyes wide in panic. 

Wringing her moistened hair in both hands, she raised an eyebrow as she saw Armin’s pleading eyes. “Don’t give me that look — “ She scorned, a mocking smile dressed her features. “He’s the idiot that came at me.”

Eren shot her a murdering daggers. “You started it!” 

A child — an immature child —

“Excuse me?” Devon questioned, hands settling on her hips. 

“You ruined my breakfast!” His voice boomed inspite the pain shooting at his stomach.

Devon pondered his words, brows furrowing in thought. Just then, a memory flashed between her eyes, producing an inelegant snort from her mouth.

A hand came to cup her lips instantly, doing little to conceal the blooming grin that had appeared.

“Oh, that.” She affirmed, voice filled with mirth. “In my defense, you kept kicking my leg for no reason— so—”

A foot after the other, she strided towards the boy who had now gotten off the ground, fists clenched at either sides. Regardless of the noticeable difference in their height, Devon stood tall, as she looked up at Eren.

“—technically, you started it . . .” She narrowed her eyes, staring at Eren’s equally annoyed ones.

Almost half a minute passed, the open courtyard remained quiet as both Scouts stared in each other down as if waiting for one of them to disintegrate into nothing but ash.

However, A firm cutting tsk made everyone flinch. Devon and Eren seem to stumbled back onto reality, goosebumps rising on their arms.

Both snapped their heads to the terrifyingly familiar sound and behold— with a deep scowl resting on his usually neutral face, Captain Levi tapped his foot next to the sploch of wetness on the ground.

His sharp glare cutting through the babbling Scouts in the middle of the scene. From the fair amount of distance, they were sure the Captain noticed their shaking figures.

“It wasn—”

“She di—”

The Captain’s raised palm silenced both the excuses that came rushing out their mouths, clamping them shut in a split millisecond.

“Both of you—” He started, teeth gritting as he spoke. “No one gets a speck of lunch until you’ve cleaned this up.”

Resigned huffs and nods were their response, head hung low but burning glare for one another remained.

Her clammy hands clutched the fabric in a tighter vice, closed palms beginning to shake at the emotions that had invaded her mind.

Devon Janea was once again in a position she had promised herself to never indulge in— but as her eyes bore into the green cloth that held the symbol of freedom, her eyes began to sting, teeth in a compacted clench, causing a dull ache to reside in her mouth— an ache she couldn’t dare feel due to the greater torment, the object in her hands brought.

It was her old Scouts cape. She had kept it when they had announced the reinvention of the Survey Corps uniform. The cape meant a great deal to her yet every time she laid her eyes on it, nearly nothing joyful popped in her mind.

She despised the idea of hating this piece fabric— she hated it— but she somehow felt the need to.

All of the things that happened to her– good or bad, her cape hung on her shoulders and bore witness.

It was there— this old thing.

It was there when they went to battle mindless Titan’s outside of the walls. It was there when every stage of fear shot through her system every single time her squad-mates met their cruel demise.

In the times where she cried for her fallen comrades until the sun rose, she had hugged this piece of fabric to her chest, muffling her outmost despair.

It was there when she fell victim to Eren’s pranks and their childish fights. This was present in the time she had felt an outrageous amount of bliss regardless of the situation in the outside world– a time where all she thought about was surviving, with them.

But now— it was . . . gloomy.

A distant call from outside her window caught her attention and she immediately got to her feet, observing the armor that decorated her body. It was far from what they used to wear but nonetheless more efficient for their current predicament.

They were fighting humans now.

She had never thought this day would see the light but assumptions can always be shifted, can’t they?

It was baffling to her how they’d need more advanced and heavier equipment when it came to war against people in comparison to the weapons and wardrobe they utilized with Titans.

Big, scary, man-eating giants.

Her younger self would most probably shudder in fear if she saw her now. She’d ask her all these question in order to make sense of her actions and most likely pretend she understood when in fact, she’s been thinking of ways to turn her over onto a brighter leaf. 

As she tried to imitate a happy smile she used to carry, she could almost see her other self seething at the fabricated action. She gripped the straps of her black uniform, the material fitted like a second skin but very comfortable to move around in. 

With a last shake out of her doubtful thoughts, she grabbed the green cloak from the floor, hooking it across her chest while she ran down and into hell.

Time seemed to pass by quickly — that or Devon has been spacing out now and then as Commander Hange was explaining the plan of action. The parts Devon had caught irked her. 

“We’ll have to cover for Eren as much as we can . . .” Hange’s tired, but firm mutter echoed in the airship that has been prepared by Zeke Yeager and his most gracious disciples. 

“We have to assume that he’ll cause damages and openly declare war,” The commander nodded at them, her gaze flickered from one scout to another that surrounded the table in the middle of the room. “Jean, Connie, Sasha and Floch — watch out for enemies over at the west. Take half of Levi’s squad with you.” 

Devon watched the circle of her comrades as she rested her body on a nearby wall, eyes fleeting to Hange as she caught her gaze. 

“Devon,” The commanding tone in her voice caught Devon’s attention. “You and Mikasa are to find Eren — and once you do, keep close and make sure to have your eyes on him at all times.”

If it wasn’t for Devon’s self-proclamation to shut up and do as she’s told without complaints,, she would’ve jumped out this flying balloon hours ago. But, she matched Hange’s stoic glare, a nod confirming her cooperation was enough for the commander to continue her discussion.

In the corner of her eye, she could spot a figure walking towards her. She kept her gaze forward, clearing her throat once the said figure had stopped beside her.

“If you want to smack Eren, I won’t stop you,”

Be this a normal situation, Devon would no doubt laugh at Levi’s sudden statement. She twisted her neck to face him, she’s met with those steel, cool stare.

“I know.” She affirmed, folding her hands back, hiding the fidgeting of her fingers that had no plan on stopping until they’ve left this depressing island. “Maybe I will slap him later . . .”

She saw Captain Levi nodding along to her words, and despite not exactly saying anything else, Devon appreciated the random interaction that somehow calmed her nerves a little. 

The minutes of Hange talking was the only sound bouncing through the walls were indeed just minutes.

A deafening roar quaked the skies, Devon’s eyes shutting, hands coming up to cup her ears at the loud volume. 

Show time.

She stumbled at the front of the airship, hands finding support of its walls, her head peaked out the scene through the window. 

There he was. 

Or it.

The enormous Titan stood at an intimidating form of 15 meters, baring his muscled back to them. His roars continued to pierce their ear, making them flinch each time it rattled their hearing.

“There’s no time to waste!” Captain Levi’s command came riddling through all the commotion. “To your stations!” 

With that, the scouts saluted, each scrambling to get their equipment together as fast as they can. Devon instantly ran to her gear, hooking it around her waist. Her hands reached to take a hold of approximately ten thunderspears. The supposedly cool metal laid feverish on her palm but decided ignore it and resume to securing the heavy weapons on her shoulder.

Another angry roar and a series of frightened screams rattled her nerves yet she refused to waver at the thought of the situation outside.

“Mikasa,” Devon called, the attention of the raven haired girl turned to her, nodding. “C’mon, let’s finish this.”

Fire — blood — screams — explosions.

The list was dreadfully endless. With Mikasa to her right, they swung above the unfathomable condition of the town. Devon tried to avoid looking below but agonizing wails were impossible to ignore. 

She knew it would be a mistake to succumb to the temptation and just peak downwards. Beyond the apathetic eyes she had been giving nowadays, was that frightened little girl hidden behind Wall Rose. 

Looking down would mean remembering. 

It was unclear whether or not she opposed to it or not. Does she truly want to revisit that horrible time in her life in a crucial time like this?

“Don’t.”

Her thoughts lurched back at Mikasa’s sudden intrusion. Devon felt her eyes burn at the side of her face, urging her to return the gaze. Mikasa had a glint of tenderness in her eyes as she stared at Devon.

“Looking won’t help anyone.” As if she had read Devon’s mind, had her thinking if her conflicted thoughts showed on her face as well. 

“It won’t.” She agreed, exhaling a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. “Stand on that pillar, try to catch Eren’s attention — I’ll do the same on the that building at the left. Be careful not to be noticed by anyone else.”

The order came flying out of her mouth as Eren’s Titan form became more prominent to their vision. Mikasa swung to the direction Devon had ordered, leaving the latter to advance to her position. 

Devon’s boots slid on the worn down roof of a house, fragile bricks now easy to pick apart, resembling a puzzle containing several missing pieces. She stalked towards the edge of the roof, squatting down to uselessly watch the treacherous scene unfold in front of her. 

Eren turned, his eyes skimming through the civilians aimlessly racing away from him. Devon noticed how the large titan spun his head towards the right.

She had to squint to confirm that he did, in fact acknowledge Mikasa’s presence. A sigh of relief escaped her as she was sure of the exchange. 

Past her relief was a gash of radiant light amongst the cauldron dark covered skies. Her eyes could hardly accommodate the brightness that invaded her sights but she could make out a form of a skeleton, slowly evolving with flesh. 

She stumbled back at the thunderous punch the creature caught on its face. The tissues that haven’t fully developed yet squashed against Eren’s gigantic fist. Devon’s resistance to look away increased, with the amount of blows Eren delivered to the primitive titan as it wriggled uselessly below him.

A shot of a rifle snapped her attention away from the ongoing uproar to the source of the sudden gunshot. The thick layers of fog beneath the houses made it difficult to spot anything from where she sat.

At that moment, she hoped that Sasha and the others were able to place signal lights to ensure the clearance of enemies. She swayed her head hoping to catch a glimpse at anything suspicious from that direction but she was met with darkness and smog. 

Devon gasped, hand abruptly clutching at the end of the roof as the ground trembled, followed by a loud groan which brought her attention back to Eren.

Her eyes widened at his state. His stomach now impaled in the center by a large pointy crystal lifting his limp body in the air. The titan seemed to have completed it’s transformation as it now stood, smoke seeping out of its shoulder, waiting for its arms to grow back. 

She had never seen anything quite like it, despite being able to witness numerous unbelievable things in her days. The titan seemed to possess to ability to create structures using hardening, allowing it to make to spike it used to pierce Eren. 

The strength this Titan possessed chilled her blood, instinctively look towards Mikasa. Luckily, she had her eyes on her too. And beyond the disaster, the distress that covered her features relaxed as Mikasa brought her palm up as a symbol to wait.

She turned her head back, fists balling tighter as the Titan grew a hammer on her hand, clutching the long handle. Devon repressed the urge to step in as it barreled the object towards an unmoving Eren, successfully smashing the crystal altogether. 

Devon’s panic simmered down as a slightly smaller version of Eren’s titan emerged amidst the smoke. 

Continuous flashes of light and booms of canons interrupted the fleeting solace Devon felt. Somehow, with all of those heavy weaponry, she was finally able to see the series of soldiers lined up nearly in front of Eren.

She saw his fingertips turn icy, incasing them in Titan hardening as he came up to cup his nape. He growled at his attackers, not noticing how to white fleshed titan swung back its hammer. He turned too late, only being able to provide his arms as a weak protectant. 

Devon’s patience wore thin as she merely continued to watch as Eren was rid of his hands. 

“The War Hammer Titan is a monster!” A joyful screech amongst the gloomy atmosphere pierced her ears.

War Hammer 

“That’s what it’s called . . .” She muttered to herself, scowling at the name. “How corny.”

“It’s really going to finish off!”

Whoever it was, Devon wanted nothing more than to shut them up. Anxiety welled up inside her as the War Hammer Titan raised its weapon again, slowing as a figure — Eren  — resurfaced from his Titan form.

She couldn’t help the feeling of a hefty weight being lifted out from her shoulders as she set eyes on his figure. 

“Usurper, Eren Yeager,” The War Hammer spoke. “Do you have any last words?”

Although she could only see his back, a long inhale propelled her lips. 

“Now or never, Mikasa.”

Loud and clear, Devon waited for it. As signaled, Mikasa’s form came rushing in the scene, almost too fast to be caught by the naked eye. She raised her arms, plowing a hefty sequence of thunderspears in the air and into the War Hammer’s neck, slotting it perfectly. 

The release of the clip prompted its ear-splitting eruptions, blowing off its nape. Mikasa spun her body, eyes spotting Devon’s, an understanding nod between the two was exchanged and that was all it took.

She went off flying towards Eren, her heart pounding louder into her ears as she grew closer to his form. Before she could muster anything to say, Eren spoke.

“You guys actually came. . .” 

Despite the lack of emotion on his face, Devon could hear the faint surprise in his tone. An unknown feeling of displeasure spanned on her chest as she examined the side of Eren’s face.

She noted the few but undeniably noticeable changes in his appearance compared  to the last time she has seen him, reminding her of the many days they have been apart. His hair had grown past his shoulders, little stubbles have made it’s on his upper lip and — she would love to be wrong . . . she hopes she was because if she wasn’t mistaken, the vibrant turquoise hue in his eyes had dimmed into a spiritless pair of orbs.

The frown on her face didn’t falter, choosing to finally respond to him, “They were worried about you.” The admission seemed half-hearted yet she felt the need to tell him that in the moment. 

“Eren,” In other circumstances, the hammering in her chest would absolutely delight her, but the one she was currently having flooded her with outmost dread, eyes piercing in to Eren’s own. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Devon found herself crouching beside him, as if he wouldn’t hear him if she stood. “You’ve murdered all these people —” She had to stop speaking, aiding the ache of her mouth as the words dawned to her. “No amount of reasoning could save you from this." 

The heavy sigh she released helped lightened the tightness on her chest, looking at her feet, the heat of Eren’s Titan flesh seeping through her body. 

“Eren,” The tense exchange was cut short as Mikasa landed beside Devon, calling his attention. “Please, let’s go home . . .”

“It’s not over yet.” At his claim, both girls’ features morphed into confusion.

“What —” Devon’s eyes widened, stopping the query on her tongue. “Motherfucker — “

The ground rumbled along with the rise of the War Hammer Titan.  Slowly, it started getting up, its palm pressing against its head, pushing it back onto the body effortlessly.

“That’s impossible!” The incredulous tone Mikasa expressed was no different from the look that Devon gave to astonishing incident playing before their eyes. “I blew off its nape!”

“And I crushed it with all my strength,” Eren added, his monotone voice unwavering as he studied the titan. 

“Mikasa!” Devon’s body acted before her mind, eyes laying on the sparks blossoming on thee Titan’s hand, a crossbow has come to life. 

As an instinct, she grabbed Eren, a hand coming up to his waist, the other pointing her ODM gear at the first concrete she looked at. She fired the equipment, grapple shooting out. When it hooked on the infrastructure, she wasted no time to tug Eren out of the titan flesh and onto the air with her, just in time before the arrow hit their previous place. 

It had been several minutes since the Scouts retreated back into the airship. Eren was able to devour the War Hammer, nearly getting to the Jaw Titan if it wasn’t for Reiner Braun’s unexpected appearance.

 The loud cheers resonated along the walls, bouncing back outside as they celebrated a mission success.

Devon would be lying if she said she doesn’t feel the uneasiness leaving her chest, as her head weaved through the crowd, eyeing everyone’s condition. 

Thankfully, no one was hurt, perhaps a bit of cuts and scratches but besides that, they were all well. 

A smile slithered it’s way to her lips, watching her comrades. Floch leads the bunch, raising his fist in the air. “It’s a huge victory! The New Eldians Empire ends in victory!” He declared, earning gleeful shouts of affirmation. 

His words, however, stabbed Devon back into a harsh reality, face twisting into a crestfallen frown. Determined to keep her thoughts at bay, glanced to the side, finding Jean, Connie and Sasha huddled close to the open door.

She sauntered to them, resting on her knees to be at their level. “I’m so glad you’re all safe . . .” She muttered, a grateful gleam in her eyes sparkled, throwing her arms around the three. 

Sasha, being at the middle, curled both her hands  around Devon’s waist, the other two doing the same in their respective side. 

Connie, of course, had to clap back at the intimate moment, mumbling against Devon’s shoulder. “You smell like shit, Janea . . .”

They laughed, shoulders shaking. Devon extended her arm to smack Connie behind his head, making the latter flinch but grin as he spotted the glare she sent him. 

“You’re one to talk,” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You look like shit.”

He stuck his tongue out, shaking his head at the brunette. Said brunette merely smirked before standing, landing a soft pat at each of their heads. “Good job, guys . . . I’ll just go check on Eren.” 

They nodded simultaneously, understanding the look on Devon’s face as she turned back towards the hallway but not before hearing Sasha’s enthusiastic yell.

“Let’s celebrate and eat a lot when we get home!”

Devon looked back over her shoulder, flashing her a bright grin and nodded. “I call pork stew!” She laughed, heart warming at Sasha’s beaming smile.

As she went on her way, wooden flooring creaked beneath the weight of her boots, approaching the men contained in the area. Her eyes wandered down, noting how Eren was sat on the floor, a scout pointing a gun at him while Captain Levi glared right through his soul.

“Captain,” She announced her presence, garnering closer to them, inclining her head as a sign of respect

Levi didn’t look away, “Cheer up,” He spat instead, “Everything happened like you wanted,”

Maybe it was her buzzing mind, or the overall exhaustion finally catching up to her. But until she followed their gaze, she didn’t notice Zeke Yeager perched on the wall at the end of the hall, steam leaching out from where his missing limbs were once attached. 

“Jenea,” At Levi’s voice, Devon snapped up to meet his eyes. “Bind him with this,”

Before she could react, Levi had thrust a wheeled rope on her hands, leaving her with no choice but to grip the braided strands. She didn’t get a chance to respond, seeing the Captain and his fellow squad member exit the room.

Suddenly, Devon recalls the short exchange she had with Levi before leaping into battle, The thought caused her to peer down at the same person that was their topic of interest was now at her hostage. 

Eren was already staring back at her, making her eyes narrow the longer she looked into his. The turmoil sprouting at her conscience wasn’t a pleasant indication. Yet, she shut her eyes for a moment hoping to calm her aggression.

When she felt it was enough, she opened them back up, swiveling her head to Eren’s direction. He had his wrists offered to her, beckoning her to get to it. 

Without a word spoken, Devon crouched down and began to swathe his hands together, placing a cloth between his palms to prevent him from slashing himself. 

“I’m not going to turn into a titan in an airship.”

Devon kept her concentration at the knot she was forming, grasped pulling against the binds, further restraining his movements.

“You’ll never know,” She whispered, retaining her hands on his wrist despite accomplishing her task.

The silence was unbearable, yet Devon resisted the impulsive sentences bunching up her mouth. She wanted him to say something— anything that could possibly tame the anger she had for him.

Flickering lights on the hallway continued, baring the stiff aura that pattered heavily upon the narrow space. Devon and Eren very much indulged in their staring contest.

It was akin to glasses at the edge of the table, waiting for one to finally fall and shatter into microscopic pieces.

As aggravating as the soundless room is, Devon’s pride was far too great to break it, eyes boring into the orbs she once adored. She began to think to herself of the things that might have happened for Eren to be brought back to her this lifeless.

The more time she invested looking at him, the wrenched ache in her chest became torturous. She wasn’t entirely aware what came over her, but her hand was already poised up in the air, her palm connecting against Eren’s cheek.

A graciously blaring slap, echoed against the room, probably heard around the whole airship. His head banging into the wall next to him, relishing the strength of the contact

Even being the one to strike, Devon’s hand burned at the impact, making hiss, the other hand shooting up to soothe her stinging palm.

Her eyes were blurry when she looked back to Eren, cheek had started to redden. All the reserved attitude she had been building up the whole day demolished simply by entertaining Eren Yeager’s presence.

She knew it wouldn’t be pleasant but she failed to recognize exactly how distressing it would be. Her chest was heaving, palm clawing at the skin, hoping for the ache to lighten.

“Devon,”

She was wrong. The initial thought of having him talk flew out her mind when she finally heard his voice. In the quite space they stood in, it seemed annoying loud. Despite merely whispering her name, it was like he had yelled in her ear, which made her cover them as she was currently doing.

“No—” Her voice shook, failing to maintain the authority in her tone. “Shut the fuck up, Yegear.”

She spun on her heel, turning her back on him, rolling her head up to gaze at the wooden ceiling. Her breath was still uneven as she exhaled, running a trembling hand along her locks.

“Wha–what did you hope to achieve?” She asked, pouring out frustration at every word. “I really want to understand— just please . . .”

I don’t want to hate you, she wanted to say but decided against it. Deeming the phrase inappropriate for the situation.

Without even having her eyes on him, Eren was well aware of her raging desperation. He knew why she was insistent and what exactly she wanted from him.

But all he had to say was, “It’s for everyone’s safety.”

If Devon was a volcano, she would’ve exploded right then and there. The bubbling vexation coursing through her veins made her head spin.

“Never in my life . . . and I mean never — have I despised a phrase as much!” She chuckled, no humor could be detected in the smile she flashed Eren when she turned around. “Is that it? Does that make all of this— justifiable?” 

The blaze looming up her throat whenever she became a tad mindful of his eyes were indescribable. It infuriated her as she took in the state of the pair. So much that she felt to need to shield them from her vision. 

“I don’t know what else you’re asking of me.” 

At his blunt statement, Devon had difficulties deciphering which of her swirling emotions she wanted to project due to the outrage and melancholy submerging her sane conscience. 

The little energy she had left prompted her to merely gape at his slouched figure, knotted wrists sat patiently at his lap. She lost the ability to make sense of his actions as his glare punctured her soul, sending an uncomfortable twinge in her heart.

“What happened to you?” Her hand slid to her neck, rubbing soothing circles to aid her shuddering tone. “I was angry the night before we came here . . . and even then, I still hoped for your safety— I hated that you left but I continued to believe that you had a good motive,” She willed herself to keep her eyes on him despite the impending urge to do otherwise. “But seeing you now — I’m beginning to doubt your stand in all of this . . .” 

Being honest was something she wanted to do, even if she was in no way prepared for Eren’s response. She had to let him know as much as she needed proper answers to the swarm of questions she had thrown at him. 

She touched her shoulder, wringing out the knot that was starting to form, as she ignored the noticeable tremble of her fingers. “You showed no mercy to anyone in this city — “

“No one deserved mercy — “

“Not even those children?” She was quick to surface the topic again, wide eyed as she awaited his reply. 

It was one that made her heart stop, breath hitched at her throat. 

“We were children too when something similar to this happened, weren’t we?” The way he delivered his question with no anger, but pure confusion halted Devon’s arguments, instead opting to study his expressions.

He spoke of nothing else but truth. They were children when Wall Maria was breached by the Armored Titan. In spite of not being a resident of that town, she was coincidently present when it occurred.

A dangerous chill cascaded along her spine at the memory of her younger sister. The image burned into her skull for eternity, how her little body got brutally smashed by a massive concrete that wiped out every thing in the perimeter she was standing on.

Devon lived with the regret of not being beside her, and letting her run further ahead without knowing it would be the sole cause of her demise. 

“And we weren’t at fault just like those children.” Her resolve quaked in the slightest but she stood her ground. “They didn’t have any idea what was happening — They were just as clueless as us . . .”

Exhaustion was taking over Devon’s sight, far too tired to have a sensible conversation with Eren except the stubborn part of her refused to waver. 

“Will you really no tell me?” Her persistence was starting to sound desperate, as she searched his eyes for the tiniest bit of sparkle she used to admire. Eyes drooped, her hands tugged at the rope on his wrists, pulling him closer as if she’d see what she was seeking in this proximity. 

She nearly smacked herself at how foolish her thoughts had become. Perhaps it came from the perplexing sentiments she had for the brunette, those sleepless nights her mind wandered to him, as she sat on her bed waiting for him to make his way back. 

Devon had buried emotions she deemed improper, and became more secluded when Eren left. She barely opened up to any of her close friends, fixing her face into a defaulted smile at times she felt the most unwell. 

To see Eren give her the look she had been dealing with every time she stared at her reflection shoved her into a state of panic, immediately ambushing him with questions she knew would go unanswered. 

With a deep sigh, she dropped her hand from its place, resting it on her side. “Alright . . . it would be a few hours until we reach Parad — “

A powerful bang startled them, Devon’s heart lurching on her chest as it had dawned to her that it was a gunshot. She stood rigid, unable to function despite the sudden commotion happening just behind the door at her right. 

Fear rippled through her system as the furious yells turned into desperate pleas. Her throat ran dry at the single name a mix of voices shouted.

“SASHA!”

That fear was physically resurfaced as her palms suddenly felt damp, blood turning sickeningly cold. She eventually willed herself to snap out of it, grabbing the doorknob, almost flinching at the freezing kiss on her fingertips.

Too occupied by her thoughts, she hadn’t realized, she had pushed the door open until Connie’s deafening yell broke her cloudy mind.

“DEVON—” Her eyes snapped towards the panicked voice, unable to ignore it. A wish for it all to go away was the first thing that came to her as she eyed the fimilliar head of reddish brown hair that laid unmoving on the floor.

She struggled to react, helplessly trudging towards Sasha. “Sasha—” A shake at the shoulder was her initial response, shock still fresh in her mind. “Hey— Sasha! Hold on, okay? Stay with me—” Devon’s palm snaked to grasp Sasha’s, pressing harder, hoping to transfer some of her warmth to her terrifyingly algid skin.

Devon’s lips came down to where their hands were connected, breathing tepid blows onto Sasha’s palm.

“Nico—”

Hope sparked in Devon’s chest at the sound of Sasha’s hoarse voice, deflating the moment she notcied the severity of her condition.

“Is dinner ready?” The sob Devon released pained her commarades as they watched on, tears falling from their eyes as well.

“Sasha— Sasha . . .” Devon’s pleas grew hopless, as she delivered an impervious squeeze on her palm. “Please— don’t leave me . . .”

Sasha’s name spilled from her lips repeatedly, noticing the delirious swarm in her eyes, knuckles bathed in unceasing downpour of hurt dripping from her green orbs.

An unbelievablely excruciating pang barreled on her chest, as she felt the weak grasp of Sasha’s hand turn limp on her own.

“N— NO! PLEASE . . .” Fright surged on her bones, shaking hands slamming onto Sasha’s shoulders. Devon shook her still form, movements lumbered due to the amount of tears clouding her vision. The headache she had earlier worsened terrible, as it was forced to process the horrific scene laid out in front of her.

The tips of her fingers felt numb, as she caressed Sasha’s freezing skin, index and middle digit crawling up the side of her neck, gently searching for her pulse.

Although hope was wearing thin, she still found the strength to press at the spot, pausing for a second before shaking her head.

Connie’s hand that was applying pressure to the gaping wound on her abdomen loosen, as he drew in a sharp breath.

Jean, still having his ears shielded by his palms, had found the courage to turn around to see a heartbreaking image that will surely be imprinted on his brain for all eternity.

A series of loud cries erupted around her, making her realize that she had stopped weeping. The weight on her chest still unbearable yet she felt far too numb to acknowledge it.

Her eyes drifted to the door she had been in before the tragic accident, disappointment bubbling up her throat, not at Eren but at herself because even then, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him.

A single question hung lax of the fragments of her wits.

Why?

Why did Eren choose to do what he did? Why did Sasha have to be a victim of this monstrosity?

No doubt, this war was to further worsen, Sasha won’t be the last one to suffer the end of this bargain.

The fire of unwavering adherence set ablaze in her remaining morals, determined to unseal Eren’s true motives for his repeated sentiment; for everyone’s safety.

Eren was not an enemy, but he does serve as a threath if he continues to feed them obscure reassurances that might put them in a danger like this. The enemy was the thoughts boiling in his head, caging him alone with those possibly sinister notions.

Devon had a great hunch that Eren gives vague answers because he was hinding something important, a plan he knew they wouldn’t agree on.

Perhaps it was her drained sanity thinking, but Devon have passed the stage of giving a damn as she let the thought worm into her brain.

If she can’t beat the enemy, she would have to join them.

[rookisaknight]

Raf Tanager, meet Hope County

⤘⤘⤘There’s a new Deputy in Town⬽⬽⬽

So as a side benefit of getting into this fandom again with a brand new gender and a brand new vibe: a brand new deputy. Excited to introduce you all to my boy, they were developed for a joint Deputy au with @ophiebot​ (who will do this for their Deputy Elijah Rook if so inclined). Not exactly reinventing any wheels here, but this time its about the indulgence.

FYI, Molly is still extant, but her story I think has been explored in my brainspace as much as it needs to be. 

➷The Basics

1. Give their full name, and describe them or post a picture! (Height, build, hair, eye, and skin color, etc.)

Rafael "Raf" Tanager (birth name REDACTED). 5'4", prone to chub but hardening up with the frequent exercise, solid build. Freckles on cheeks that darken as time goes on. Short hair kept red by some truly obsessive hairdye upkeep, which is harder than you might think. Hazel eyes. Burns and shrapnel scars around the eyes and mouth.

2. How old are they?

24

3. Sexuality and gender?

Bisexual, transmasc genderqueer. She/they/he but a preference for they/he when he doesnt trust the person using them.

➵Pre-Game

1. How did they end up at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department? How long have they worked there?

Raf grew up closer to Missoula, but he’s still a Montana native. They’ve been at this for around 8 months, pretty much right out of graduating college. Even they honestly aren’t sure how they ended up here, just the latest in a series of adrift jobs after graduating, taken primarily to avoid any potential financial dependence on their  family. Probably would have resigned soon were it not for. Everything.

2. Relationship with Pratt, Hudson, and Whitehorse?

Pratt: Used to hate his guts. The teasing felt too much like flirting for their comfort and he was honestly kind of a bully. Now its trickier. He's pathetic in a way that’s hard for them to be around, as awful as that is, because it hits too close to home.

Hudson: Had a massive crush on her for most of their early days that pretty much went out the window post Eden’s Gate. They still try a little too hard to impress her though.

Whitehorse: Intellectually, they resent his passivity since it means a lot of Eden’s Gate ended up falling in their lap and he’s STILL insistent that maybe they should have left it alone when they’ve all had months to realize why that was a bad idea in the first place. Emotionally, well, they’re maybe a little in need of a father figure or two.

Elijah Rook: The former Rookie. They were quietly a little intimidated by him prior to all this and that’s never fully gone away, but they’ve now been able to witness more of his dorky side that makes it a little harder to take him seriously. You try chaperoning this guy from one end of Hope County and considering him at all frightening.

3. Do they have an education?

They have a MASTERS and its never relevant to anything because its a humanities degree, specifically the classics. Part of the reason they’re a little adrift currently, there was no easy dismount out of college. Just a hell of a lot of debt.

4. Where are they from? Did they speak a different language there?

Missoula, or close enough to it. They picked up some Latin and Greek from their degree. The Latin comes in handy more often than you’d think, what with the cult stuff, but the reading material is a real bummer.

5. Is there anyone outside the valley that might have come looking for them?

They’ve never had many friends in college and high school that could outlast physical proximity and they basically ghosted their family since that was easier than coming out to them at a certain point. So no, no one they want to find them is looking.

6. Did they have a religious background of any kind?

His father is a preacher, and while there’s some baggage there they would still describe themselves as broadly religious. Or at the very least superstitious.

➷Inside Hope County

1. What was going through their head when the helicopter went down and during the subsequent chase?

The crash was honestly the easiest part. That was just panic. The chase was the hard part. The helicopter exploding ended up catching them in the face, leaving them with burns and scarring that would remain for the rest of their life. She's lucky she wasn’t blinded. Still, he was forced to stumble out of the woods in intense pain and bleeding out. Had it not been for Elijah they definitely would have been taken then and there.

2. Were they afraid of Joseph and Eden’s Gate? Angry?

Terrified. Not just because of what they’ve done but because Raf knows intuitively that he's susceptible to it. As early as their first encounter they have a hard time breaking the hold Joseph gets on their mind. Even though they’re conscious of HOW they’re being manipulated, its hard to resist it.

3. Did they trust Dutch?

At that point Raf would’ve happily taken literally anyone who seemed to know what they’re doing and wasn’t holding a gun to his head.

4. How did they feel about their team being taken by the cult, did they count them as lost, did they want them back, did they not care?

Absolutely the nightmare scenario: people’s lives depending on them and their ability to be decisive. Had it not been for Elijah they probably would’ve high tailed it out of there and tried to find someone higher up the authority chain to deal with this mess. Still, just abandoning them all didn’t sit right with him either, and by the time they’d liberated Fall’s End even he had to admit he was there by his own choice.

5. How did they take to the idea of being part of, if not leading, the resistance?

Again, Raf doesn’t really do well with people depending on them. Alone. they probably would have found it a lot more miserable, but Elijah significantly helped lighten that load for them in terms of having a direction. They’ve found out they’re accidentally pretty good at working with a variety of people and can even be inspiring without meaning to. Still, in their ideal world they would’ve been left alone, or at least remained a foot soldier.

6. Which companions did they recruit, and who did they travel with the most?

All guns for hire were recruited, but Sharky and Nick were their go-to’s, Sharky for personal reasons and Nick for air support. Grace was usually the adult supervision when Nick couldn’t make it but. To be frank Raf's aim isn’t great and it drives Grace a little nuts on prolonged missions. She’s tried teaching them but it never really seems to stick.

7. Did they have time to find romance amidst the chaos? How did they do it?

Sharky. That relationship was a bit of a cold opener  (and don’t bother, Sharky already beat you to that joke). After getting their face fucked up during the escape they’ve had a pretty healthy aversion to fire and explosives, making his recruitment a little harrowing. Still, Sharky's sweet in his way, makes them laugh and breathe a little easier when the pressure gets to them, and operates on a pretty similar brainwave. They’ve been joined at the hip since their first few months in Holland Valley. They’re both a little on the codependent side, but really, who are they to complain.

8. Feelings about Joseph?

Joseph taps into a lot of vulnerabilities inside of Raf intuitively. The absence of a strong support system, the loneliness, the fear, the directionlessness, the relationship with their own spirituality, it all provides him a unique entryway into their psyche that he is exactly the kind of person to exploit. As a result, he tends to fixate on them over Elijah, usually to their detriment. Still, that connection can sometimes go both ways, and there are things about Joseph that Raf understands which even his brothers never fully do.

9. Feelings about the other Seeds?

John: They have a unique capacity for antagonizing him. Probably because as an oldest child themselves they know exactly how to jab at the youngest child insecurities. Still, that relationship didn’t stem any deeper and he focused his energies a little more on Elijah. Still, they have him to thank for the Sloth scars on their arm, thanks for that. They’re starting to run out of unmarked skin.

Faith: Faith, meanwhile, was a little more directly focused on Raf, partly because her region was the first time they had to operate a little more on their own. For personal reasons, Elijah wasn’t particularly able to engage with the Bliss. Meaning if Burke was ever going to get saved Raf had to be the one to go in there, again and again. Faith, like Joseph, can tap a lot of that loneliness that Raf has, as well as some gender and sexuality stuff Joseph can’t touch. Suffice to say Sharky had a pretty good reason for being as overbearing as he was during those months, even though he was eventually able to do the job. As a side note, they haven’t had access to their ADHD meds for MONTHS and it doesn’t help when the cult drug is the first thing to make your head feel clear in a while.

Jacob: Jacob was utterly uninterested in Raf and the feeling was mostly mutual. He doesn’t really get him or what he’s about, just knows that the county would be better off when he was put down. Transition goals, though (don’t tell Staci they said that).

10. How did they handle having to kill animals and other humans? Had they done it before?

Animals yeah, you don’t live in Montana as long as they did without hunting occasionally. People....well. You can get used to it.

11. Which canon ending did they choose in-game, and would you have changed the ending at all?

Resist. I wouldn’t. Raf might.

➷Personal

1. Favorite weapon(s)?

They usually prefer to show up to spots early and lay traps, try to minimize the direct combat involvement. When it can’t be avoided though, their pistol isn’t ever far and neither is a hunting knife.

2. Stealth or firepower?

Stealth, one hundred percent. Sharky and Eli are here to do the firepower.

3. How did they spend their time, when not fighting peggies?

A lot of bad movies with the boyfriend and a LOT of poker, one of their more unknown talents. Resistance isn’t gonna fund itself.

4. Where did they live during the events of the game?

Wherever there was a bed they could fall into. Their little trailer they’d been living in prior to all this got absolutely decimated while they were healing up on Dutch’s island.

5. Any other facts you want to share about your Deputy!

He’s got almost supernatural luck to the point that a couple of their guns for hire have gotten superstitious about bringing him to certain events. Including fishing. The catch just always seems somehow a little better. Also he’s privately obsessed with the 1998 recording of Cats and is terrified of anyone finding out.

[sugoi-writes]

A Needed Escape (Hawks x Reader)

Just note that this is... a bit self-indulgent??? Not overwhelmingly, but even so! There’s that! We got a sliiiight slow burn too, and some fluff!

>2.5k, and sappy as hell! Please enjoy!

You sat by the window sill, leaning on it as you stared blankly through the foggy glass. You blink slowly, a sigh smoothly leaving your chest . You weren’t tense. You weren’t even really sure how you were feeling right now... You just knew that you felt a sense of longing. A very dull ache that resonated in your mind, yet your chest felt empty. You welcomed the feeling, as it was better than the intensity you felt when you were stressed or anxious. 

Your cheek found itself resting on the palm of your hands, cupping your face perfectly as you blinked again. You wondered… what should you do today? What should you be doing right now?

Sure, there were many things that you could or should be doing right now, but it was undeniable: you were drained. You were so drained mentally and physically that you didn’t have the heart to do much of anything, but sit and wonder in silence.

You catch something out of the corner of your eye, your gaze flicking to it instantly. You were startled, stiffening when you couldn’t identify what you saw. And yet, you remained seated. After a few seconds of stillness, you figured that it was your mind playing tricks on you. It was just you, and the sound of ambient suburban outside. 

And yet, there came a light tapping from across the room. You look over, knowing it came from another window. You shrugged your blanket off of your shoulders, before your breath hitched. 

He was here. Out of all the things you were expecting… you were not expecting Keigo, smiling at you tiredly from outside your window. 

You’re quickly hop to your feet, jogging over to open your window. You look around hesitantly, giving Hawks a suspicious look,” S-Someone could see you, y’know… w-what are you doing here???”

You hardly had a chance to question him further before he spoke,” Well, I was in the neighborhood, and I got that sense, y’know? ‘That it was gonna start raining soon.” 

Your shoulders relax for a moment, before you give him a knowing smile,” So… you’re trying to keep your wings dry, huh? Need a place to hunker down for a while?” 

Hawks shrugs,” I’d prefer that, but… I know you’ve had some cabin fever lately because of… everything going on right now. Hell, even I’m barely allowed to go out much…” the winged hero admits, before smiling sweetly to you. 

“Whether I get a little wet or not, I figured you could use some company.” You glance away from Hawks, hugging yourself while pursing your lips. It was odd… it was like he knew that you were a little restless. No— was discontent a better word?

You pick your head up, before grinning up at him,” Okay, I’ll bite. Would you… wanna go to the usual spot?” you quip, reaching out to him. Hawks takes your hand gently, helping you out of the window. He catches you as you stumble, his powerful wings moving in a steady rhythm to help the two of you aloft. You feel how warm his chest is against your timid hands, but you cling to him anyway as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Sure thing, Kid… but don’t get your pants in a twist when the rain comes down on us.” 

You could feel the smirk on his face as you roll your eyes. He’s remarked in the past that they would get stuck like that because of him. But the two of you didn’t tease one another as Hawks set off, taking you toward an all-too-familiar place. 

.

.

.

Every once in a while, maybe a few times a month, the two of you decide to meet up like this to blow off some steam. There would be no hums of automobiles or bustling people, urgently trying to get home. The steady, dull ring of life resonated in your chest, your hands, your head, and even your heart. Sometimes, you just needed to distance yourself, as far away as you could, to reconnect to nature and yourself. Although, you could admit that it was always nice to spend this time in peace with a certain winged hero, too.

You glance up at him, his eyes far-off and almost glazed over. Your mouth falls agape, a bit startled by the expression. You wanted to call to him, but he had already felt your gaze. He seemed lost in thought, or perhaps, in a similar predicament that you were. 

He flashes you a reassuring smile, before returning his gaze to the horizon, his wings settling on a even, level glide. You look away, opting to face into his chest once more. You close your eyes, still wrestling with what was the most nerve wracking part about the trip: the height that you flew at… or being this close to Keigo? 

Either way, you knew that these strong arms that surrounded you would never dream of letting you go. At least, while you were flying... You inhale slowly, marveling in the warmth that enveloped you and your chest. You tuck your head closer to Hawks’ chest and bite your lip. What was that about…? You were thinking dangerous thoughts again….

But before you could scold yourself anymore, you feel a low rumble in Hawks’ chest. He speaks to you smoothly,” We’re here, Kid.” 

You could only bring yourself to nod, unable to pull away from Keigo’s chest to speak to him. You turn your head, making eye contact with a cove: your ideal location to get away. You and Hawks would be over looking the vast sea, on the rocky cliff that was mounted in the center of the crescent-shaped cove. 

.

.

.

When Hawks touches down, ever so gently, you let go of the winged hero. You scold yourself again, realizing that your grip on him may have been a bit more than necessary. Keigo takes you by the shoulders for a moment, a soft chortle leaving him as he brings you back to your senses,” The wind really did a number on you… ‘that why you were squeezing so tight?”

A sudden heat fills your cheeks, as you shrug off his hands,” Y-Yeah, the current was a little rough, y’know…. the rain and all,” you excuse, adjusting your shirt and cardigan. He seems to take your word for it, but something in his eyes indicates otherwise. Regardless, he gestures towards the cliff’s edge,” Of course… After you, Kid.”

You return the warm smile offered to you, taking your seat to the right. He takes the left. And after a moment, the two of you gaze out towards the sea. You bring your legs to your chest, sighing gently as you observe the water below. The waves, unsurprisingly, were very choppy and chaotic. The loud crash of the waves was all you heard around you, a sound that you welcomed full heartedly. Your let go of all of your concerns and questions… and just gaze forward.

“Looks like it’s already helping,” Keigo offers softly. You hadn’t realized he was looking directly at you. You nod, humming in acknowledgement. You don’t offer much of a response past this, the smell of the rain filling your sinuses. You close your eyes for a moment, the crisp scent of the ocean mingling with the wind of the storm. Keigo smiles, satisfied with your answer. You don’t notice him scooting closer to you, as thunder rumbles in the distance. 

You continue to gaze absentmindedly, longingly towards the horizon. Your mind wanders back to the warmth that you had just moments ago. The tender, safe arms that surrounded you as the air whipped past your face. You stiffen once more, a flush returning to your cheeks. You secretly craved the warm embrace of the man beside you, as you felt the air grow cooler. The rain was nearly upon you. 

You bunch up into a tighter ball, bracing yourself. You typically liked the feeling, the cool licks welcome on your skin… but all you wanted was Keigo.

As you open your eyes again, you feel yourself being pulled to your left. Your eyes widen as your head makes contact with Keigo’s shoulder, a crimson wing coming to wrap around you. You glance up quickly, noting that his right wing had you almost completely sheltered. You look towards Hawks’ face, his gaze still facing forward. You marvel at the light flush that graced his cheeks, his face radiating a warmth that rivaled his body. You hesitate, unsure of why he would do this, and why he would want you this close… but you decide that maybe you should let things be. You would be lying if you said you didn’t welcome the new feeling. You fully relax against him, your arms releasing your legs as they sprawl lazily about you. The both of you were comfortable, content…

Meanwhile, the rain was hardly hitting you at all, Hawks’ wings proving to be a rather effective shelter. You feel him shudder slightly, his wings probably cold and unhappy with the unforgiving rain. Of course, he dismisses his urge to shake out his wings and continues to sit with you. You swallow an imaginary lump that formed in your throat, before breaking the silence.

”Can I… get closer?” you whisper, your voice nearly lost amongst the sounds of the storm and the sea. Hawks doesn’t seem to react much, chuckling softly,” Sure… gotta stay warm if we’ll be here for a bit.” 

You nod, and turn your body towards him. He sighs quietly, his arm lowering to loop around your waist. You wordlessly wrap your arms around his torso, your legs coming to bump against Hawks’ right leg. You curl inwards, your head now settled on his chest. His hand hesitates, before running a soothing circle into your back. You hum gently at the contact, closing your eyes again. Once more, you break the silence after a few moments of sincere bliss.

“Where… is this coming from… all the sudden?” you ask quietly, as if talking any louder would ruin the moment. Keigo actually chokes back a laugh,” Sudden???” 

He closes his eyes as he rubs your back, a breath that he held on to finally rolling off of his chest,” If you think this is sudden… Wow, Kid… You’re a little oblivious, huh?” 

You blink a few times, sitting up slightly. Hawks gives you a questioning look, wanting nothing more than to pull you back down,” What? I’m being serious here. Do you really think that I haven’t been wanting this? This whole time?” You freeze in place as Hawks’ voice takes on a warm, genuine quality. No sarcasm. No acidic bite, and no flowery language. This WAS Keigo being serious. 

You almost push him away, but your desire to be close and sheltered outweighs your doubts”…this… whole time?” you repeat, receiving a small nod from Hawks. He lets go of your cheek, opting to lay his hand on your shoulder,” I know… there’s always been the elephant in the room. About us. About what we are… But I know that right now, your mind is somewhere else entirely.”

When he sees the look of confusion spread across your face, he huffs as his blush intensifies,” A-All I’m saying is… you don’t have to pull away. We don’t have to talk about it yet. And if you just want to consider this as a kindness from the storm, then that’s fine too. But as long as we’re here… I don’t mind— actually… I want you… to be close like this.”

You felt your chest seize, lip quivering slightly at the weight of his words. The weight of his feelings are crashing over you. You stare back at him, a spark in your eyes. 

You swallow the lump in your throat again, scooting closer to him. Hawks allows you, pulling his wings tighter around the both of you until the outside world is completely blocked out. Your gaze falls to his lips momentarily, as you feel his warm breath stutter for a moment. You were close… SO very close. 

“ I wouldn’t say that my mind… is in a completely different place…” you admit sheepishly, gazing back into golden, watchful eyes. You notice another stammer in his breathing, as he is no doubt taken back by your words. You place your hands on his thighs, leaning even closer. 

“If you have a request… then I do too,” you continue, your gaze flicking to his lips once more,” …please… can I—?” Before you can finish, Keigo’s lips meet yours, suddenly but tenderly. The moment they meet is the moment they part, the both of you sitting in stunned silence. 

“…yes… yes you can,” Hawks rasps, his hands falling to you waist. You smile sweetly back at him, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks. The distance between you closes again, as your heartbeats stabilize and match intensity. You can feel each other’s every movement: every twitch, every sigh, every hitch in your breaths, and every mewl that quietly escapes your entwined lips. 

The moment you part again, the both of you are disheveled, gazing back at one another with whimsical, dreamy eyes. You both laugh breathlessly, basking in the first of many kisses to be had. You hands move from Keigo’s face to his shoulders, as the both of you regain your composure. 

“…we might as well sort this out while we’re here, then… There’s no one around to judge or hear us…,” Hawks chimes, his hands squeezing your waist. You shudder, the warm of his hands sending pleasant shivers down your spine. 

“…I-I’d like that… I would be lying if I said that you weren’t on my mind…” you admit, your arms looping around his neck. A familiar smirk stretches across his face, followed by a quick peck and a chuckle. 

“Well, I can do my best to ease whatever worries you have… I’m not going anywhere… and if I do… I’d like to, with you by my side.” 

The both of you laugh without restraint, bodies crashing into one another in a happy, touch starved embrace. Sometimes, you don’t have to sort your problems out with journals, or meditation. Sometimes, you have to face them head on. And much to your relief… you know exactly where you stand with your avian hero. And you quivered with glee at the possibilities that awaited you both.

Neither of you heard the sounds of the angry sea or the lulling storm, completely drowned out by your excited murmurs and tender promises. The two of you spent hours on the cliff side, reveling in a rekindled affection for one another. All bets were off, and both parties had their cards on the table. You FINALLY told each other how you felt, through your actions and your heartfelt words.

[sarahw-writing]

“Let It Snow” - 03 Fire

Well guys, here's the new prompt!

I finished it a few days ago, but my Christmas and post-Christmas days have been a bit busier than I first anticipated, so it took me a little longer to find the time to edit this one.

I've actually enjoyed one of my best Christmas in a long time, and I really hope that you've all had an amazing time too!

I hope you like this one, and Happy New Year!!!

Summary:

After a highly unusual Christmas Eve, Vegeta will take delight in an even more remarkable Christmas Day...

This may or may not be a naughty prompt, so as always:

You can read the uncensored version on AO3.

You can read the censored version on FF.

Or you can keep reading under the break:

03. Fire.

Vegeta stood his ground in the midst of the storm, feet firmly planted on the barren rocks as an endless tidal of vast, raging waves broke against his immobile form, buried amongst a flood of tempestuous waters, an ocean just as turbulent as the thoughts suffocating his perturbed heart.

He could still feel them, he could still feel those small hands clutching his sweater in her sleep as she’d drifted off in his nervous embrace the night before, just like he could still hear those drowsy, whispery words, begging him to stay after he’d carried her to her bed, trying to carefully untangle her arms from his neck, and get her to let go of him, with no success.

“Please don’t go…” Bulma murmured in his ear, shimmery eyes still half-open, but already drizzled with sleep.

It was terrifying, absolutely terrifying how easy it’d been for him to obey her wishes last night, sensing his body freely choosing to stay beside her long before his mind could catch up with his own reckless actions.

He’d quietly removed his shoes, trying to ignore the nerve-racking emotion that that pair of greedy little hands evoked inside of him, obstinately refusing to set him free, not even after he managed to sneak into her girly bed, joining her under the covers and lying with her.

At first, the Prince had expected a repeat of their first night together in the infirmary, hoping for the sleepy earthling to release him, perhaps curling by his side, now that she’d finally convinced him to ease her loneliness by keeping her company.

But Bulma’s body seemed to have different plans for him, and it wasn’t long before the intrepid woman broke the rules, one more time, smashing yet another one of his boundaries by getting even closer, pressing her lithe figure against his pitifully trembling one, and holding onto him as if she’d always been meant to be right in his arms.

The weak hands that had once been draped around his strong neck for support, had now found refuge in the broad protectiveness of his chest, tiny fingers grasping his warm clothing as her legs naturally entangled themselves with his own, languidly rubbing her cheek against his flushed neck in exactly the same way she had when she’d leaned into him underneath that white mantle of snow.

Everything in her was soft, gentle, so terribly inviting that his anxious indecision quickly vanished into thin air, chasing the memory of the chaste cuddle they’d both indulged in outside, and instinctively trapping her in his arms, binding her in a placid hold as the longest sigh caressed his skin, as if the only thing she’d ever needed to find some peace was for him to give into her humble pleas.

She’d felt smaller than ever beneath his touch, and he couldn’t help but panic at the realization of just how fragile, how absurdly defenseless she truly was, and how brave it’d been for such a delicate creature to get as close to him as she undeniably had, not only in the physical but in the emotional realm, touching and reaching out to him, tugging at his darkened heart in ways no one ever had.

He’d hardly gotten any rest that night, merely dozing on and off from time to time, acting like some inexperienced juvenile as he watched her sleep with ingenuous fascination. He couldn’t deny to himself any longer that he’d fantasized with a moment such as this more times than he could count, yet no fantasy would ever come close to the sensation of that minute body flowing in his hands, that slow, rhythmic breathing reminding him of how marvelously comfortable the gutsy woman felt in his presence.

Vegeta spent the night drowning in the purity of her essence, in that clean, lily-white scent incessantly emanating from her. And, either he was getting close, dangerously close to losing whatever remained of his sanity, or he had, as sure as creed, heard his name slipping from her lips in her state of blissful unconsciousness.

The Prince had, at least, possessed enough willpower left in him to part from her before she’d rise and shine, reluctantly disentangling his needy body from her own deprived one, and giving her one last, longing glance as he’d stood on her balcony, a defeated figure bathed by the early rays of sunshine, devouring the heart-wrenching sight of the small woman swaddled in a cocoon of pink sheets and floral blankets, whining faintly in her sleep, lamenting the loss of the man who’d kept her safe all through the night.

His new masterplan had taken shape the moment he’d flopped down exhaustedly on his miserable bed, furious with himself for having behaved, yet again, like some silly puppet in the hands of that wicked woman, gladly allowing himself to fall into whatever sentimental trap she’d conceived, and built, especially for him, and vowing to duck out from that blasted house as soon as he squeezed in a few vital hours of sleep.

But then Panchy Briefs had to make another one of her annoying entrances, barging into his room with her perky giggles and that disconcerting, maternal tone, followed by another irresistible whiff of succulent foods and, before he knew, he was sitting at the table once more, impotent to escape the nightmare that these infernal ‘Christmas’ celebrations had become.

He’d partly found some consolation in the abundant feast of tasty goodies, and in the comforting fact that the only ones enjoying with him that heavenly ‘Christmas Day’ lunch would be Dr. Briefs and his peppy wife.

And then she came along, brightening up the whole place with her invigorating presence, and making the food in his mouth instantly fall into his stomach, hard as a rock, when she brazenly sat right in front of him with zero hesitation.

There had been no fancy jewels or elaborated hairdos this time but, much to his shame, the Prince had been entirely unable to keep his eyes off her throughout the whole meal, powerless to ignore those shiny blue curls, which she’d chosen to carelessly set free, or that simple, but oddly elegant, little black dress, with long sleeves and a demure décolletage, openly exposing the most kissable collarbones with every casual flick of her hair.

But the most unbearable torture of them all had been that smile, that pure, honest-to-Gods smile of hers, perhaps not as bright as the one she’d proudly displayed before her ex-lover’s betrayal, but just as candid, inundating his confused mind with absurd thoughts and the most ridiculous of hopes, the secret hope that he’d been the only one responsible for the rebirth of her lost happiness.

Too much.

It had all been too damn much, and the only thing left for him to do, the moment his ravenous Saiyan appetite had been fully sated, was to awkwardly mumble the pathetic shadow of an excuse, getting the Hell out of Bulma’s home before he’d end up making a fool of himself, just like he’d done the previous night.

He’d practically galloped straight to the door, blasting off into the freezing skies with not one look back, not even bothering to get out of his formal clothes as he sped up, setting loose in a futile attempt at letting off steam, desperately striving to leave such madness behind, from her every gesture and charming mannerism, to those increasingly intimate moments shared in confidence, away from the rest of the world, and that turmoil of foreign emotions overruling his spirit, taking over from his usual cold, detached self, and scattering suggestive ideas and fantasies that he’d never truly indulged in before.

It’d been a long while since he’d run from the Briefs household like this, seeking solace in the silent comfort of solitude. But now, as he stood stoically amid some thunderous sea storm in the middle of one of Earth’s majestic oceans, he bitterly discovered that loneliness no longer seemed to pacify his insanity as effectively as it once did.

His shoulders fell in defeat, his regal body growing limp at the frightening realization that there was nowhere to run, no place to hide anymore, and that the time had come for him to make a choice, to either walk away from the bewitching female, and from everything she represented, or to cave in and let Destiny take charge, surrendering to the woman’s magnetism, once and for all.

 And Destiny turned out to be a golden light, an illuminated window guiding him through the dark of night as he walked the perennial fields of snow that Capsule Corp.’s immense gardens had become, deliberately letting go, with each hypnotized step, of his fears and inhibitions, not even knowing what Life had in store for him yet, but accepting, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his capricious Luck would somehow be bound to one being, and one being only.

Destiny was a woman sitting by the fireplace, finding shelter in the cozy seclusion of her home’s small guest house, a sacred place that no one but her ever made use of anymore. He watched her unashamedly through the glass doors, not afraid, for once, of the possibility of getting caught in the act by the brilliant woman whose stunning blue eyes were now daydreaming in front of a sea of sizzling flames, a small hand swirling a thick glass of liquor distractedly, while the other toyed with the fringes of the Persian rug that served her as perch.  

Destiny was a jubilant smile, followed by a lanky finger curling in a come-hither motion, happily inviting him to join her, without qualm, the second her curious gaze discovered the unmistakable silhouette of the familiar intruder lurking outside.

 Destiny was Bulma.

 “There you are!” She exclaimed with relish, her genuine joy at seeing him joining her for the evening racing a barrage of emotions all through him. “I’ve been looking for you all day… Come! Come sit with me!” She asked enthusiastically, already patting the cushy rug with the excitement of an impatient little girl, eager to share her special surprise with the stunned object of her affections. “I have a surprise for you!”

“You do?” Vegeta asked in bewilderment, cautiously joining her on the carpeted floors by sitting cross-legged beside her.

“Yup!” She announced, the thrilled pride in her voice making her anticipation contagious by the minute. “I guess it’s my Christmas present for you…” Bulma confessed, letting go of her untouched glass and turning to her side, where a pillow, a furrowed blanket, and a pile of wrinkly blueprints revealed that, whatever it was that she had in the cards for him, she must have been working hard at it for a while.

He waited patiently for her to find what she was looking for, doing his best to stop his stupefied face from showing any emotion, especially his honest surprise at discovering that the woman had one of those holiday gifts for him too.

She’d already briefly introduced him to such a bizarre tradition the night before, after having exchanged quite a few of them with her closest friends, but Vegeta had simply assumed that he would be excluded from this ritual this time. After all, Bulma and her family had already shown him far more generosity than anyone ever had, and it wasn’t as if he was in the position to give her anything in return, should she ever choose to present him with some sort of special gift.

“Alright… I found it…” She murmured to herself, successfully finding her chosen blueprint and crawling clumsily towards him, her knee casually touching his as she sat nearby. “Look!” She proclaimed, proudly spreading out the large piece of paper before his inquisitive eyes.

“What…?” Vegeta mumbled reticently, with that sense of embarrassment striking him every time he was in the presence of one of Bulma’s prodigious inventions. “What is it?”

“It’s a new training bot!” Bulma clarified, a sympathetic smile etched on her lips at how strangely vulnerable the proud warrior looked whenever he was shown something he knew nothing about. “Look…” She calmly proceeded to explain, making the Saiyan’s mouth run dry when she leaned almost indecently into him, resting the mysterious document on his lap and running her fingers all over it. “The exterior is made of this new alloy that my Dad and I have just patented. It’s much more resilient, not only to your blows, but also to extreme heat. And, you see this?” She asked, pointing to one of the circuit designs with her index finger, without even giving him the opportunity to answer before she resumed her masterful presentation. “I’ve finally solved this equation that’s been driving me crazy all week! So, basically, this bot will have several settings, and tons of aleatory programs, so it’ll make things really challenging for you!”

The Prince gawked at the enigmatic blueprint in sheer shock, aiming to digest, with severe difficulty, not only the tsunami of brand-new information that she’d just put at his disposal, but the incredible thoughtfulness of such a gift. It wasn’t one of those useless, sentimental presents that these foolish humans were so inexplicably fond of, but a real gift, something that would help him grow and improve, something that would allow him to attain the one dream that mattered to him the most.

“So…? What do you think?” Bulma prodded, her good-hearted smile never faltering, trying to lighten the mood of a man who was clearly struggling with a generosity that he, very possibly, thought himself wholly unworthy of. “Pretty cool, uh?”

Vegeta’s gaze returned to the woman, and to that gorgeous smile of hers, awkwardly clearing his throat while trying to think of something, anything, to say, yet knowing that he’d fall pitiably short regardless of his choice of words.

“It’s…”

“Acceptable?” She guessed gingerly, a playful expression dancing in her eyes as she secretly tried to spare him from embarrassing himself.

Even if the pigheaded Saiyan still remained an enigma in far too many ways, all these months living together hadn’t been entirely wasted on her and, by now, Bulma had already unraveled quite a few of the Prince’s secrets. The main one being that, for all of that pompously conceited mumbo-jumbo that he loved to babble about on the battlefield, Vegeta was painfully uncomfortable, most times verging on pathologically shy, when it came to expressing his emotions anywhere else; and, though he loved to bicker and order her around any time he needed repairs on his beloved Gravity Room, he always seemed to be at a loss for words whenever she was the one who’d take the initiative in helping or having a nice gesture with him.

“I’m glad you like it…” Bulma whispered fondly, her heart breaking a little at the way he timidly nodded in assent, those obsidian eyes now evading hers, getting lost in the spellbinding flames of her fireplace. “You’ve never had these before, have you?”

Her new offer, and a warm, appealing scent he’d never smelled before, instantly made him peep at the woman’s hands, which had now put down her precious blueprints, and were graciously holding a large bowl in front of him.

“They’re chestnuts,” she pointed out, delicately resting the bowl on the rug. “I just roasted a few. They’re really nice, you’ll see… They’re kind of sweet…” She carried on, picking up a few of the small brown items and placing them on the open palm of his hand. “You have to peel them like this, and then… Wa-Wait!”

“What?” He frowned, his mouth freezing, having popped the whole thing in right after hearing the word ‘sweet’.

“Um… Uh… You’re… You’re supposed to peel them first…” Bulma broke down, trying as hard as she could not to crack-up at the hilarious view of her alien guest holding a mouthful of unpeeled chestnuts in his mouth. “See? Like this…” She demonstrated, slowly peeling one of them and splitting it in half. “And then you open it first, like this, in case there’s a worm inside of…”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence and Vegeta was already spitting out a bunch of half-chewed chestnuts, at the speed of light, straight into the fire.

“There are WORMS in this?!” He barked, absolutely horrified at the mere thought of such repulsive critters.

“What? No, no!” She exclaimed defensively, surprised at seeing him so openly disgusted by something of this nature, particularly considering that little Goku had once offered to share one of his centipedes with her for supper. “It’s… It’s actually very rare, I swear! It’s just in case…”

“Hmph!” He snarled, his scrunched nose reminding her of some bratty five-year-old refusing to eat his Brussel sprouts.

“Aw, come on Vegeta…” She pleaded, both incredibly amused and a little worried about such a strong reaction, wondering if perhaps there was some obscure, traumatic event associated to those scary worms. “I’ll do it for you. Here…”

Bulma expertly peeled one roasted little nut, cracking it in half and examining it with great attention, before tentatively offering it once again to the offended Saiyan who kept side-eyeing her as if she were holding a bottle of pure poison in her hand.

“Please? Pretty please?” She begged, puckering her bottom lip like a needy brat. “You trust me, right?”

“…”

 ‘Damn her!’

 Damn her and those sad puppy eyes, and her blushing cheeks and fluttery eyelashes, and her luminous smiles and unreal kindness. Damn her and those stupidly pointless ‘Christmas’ celebrations, and her sappy gifts and fluffy pink socks. Damn her and her foolish generosity, and her steady hands, never relenting, never letting go, treating him like a man instead of a monster. And damn those goddamned roasted chestnuts for tasting so goddamned good, just like every goddamned thing she’d ever given to him, when he finally had the courage to accept her invitation and eat the goddamned thing.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She whispered, her tone subdued, but brimming with the calm satisfaction of a woman who was gradually discovering that, perhaps, she held more power over the man she was falling for than she ever knew.

They both ate in silence by the fire, with Bulma peeling and meticulously checking every single one of the warm delicacies, before passing them to the compliant Saiyan quietly appreciating them. Every now and then, she’d eat one herself, but she gladly gave most of them to her guest, happy to see him enjoying yet another one of her home’s traditions, and overcome by the most nostalgic déjà vu as she evoked the times when it was her Mom the one peeling her chestnuts for her, it felt like centuries ago now.

When they were done, Bulma discreetly set the empty bowl aside, stifling a muffled yawn while stretching like a mellow kitty, ready to share one more treat with him tonight.

“You must taste this…” She murmured naughtily, taking a small sip of the half-full glass of liquor she’d been idly stirring in her hand when he’d first found her tonight, closing her eyes and moaning softly as she savored every drop, before offering it to him. “It’s my Dad’s favorite cognac. It’s more than fifty years old…”

Vegeta didn’t vacillate this time, bringing the heavy glass under his nose and inhaling a long, deep breath, before getting a leisurely taste of the intoxicating brew. The Prince had never cared much for alcohol, finding Earth’s wide assortment of liquors especially weak for his insanely fast metabolism, but he had to admit that this particular blend was pretty damn good.

He savored it slowly, deliberately, letting it melt in his tongue the same way her tiny moan had melted in his ears, never taking his eyes off the woman who kept staring at the comfy fire as if it held the answers to her every question in life.

“I haven’t thanked you yet…” She muttered, her stare low, but with a shy confidence that implied that she’d already made peace with whatever Demons had been tormenting her in recent times.

“What for?” He asked genuinely, so deeply overwhelmed by the swell of foreign emotions and events experienced during those past few days, that he didn’t even know what to think of her, of them, anymore.

“I don’t know,” she confessed in a meek whisper. “For understanding, I guess…” She turned to him, the peacefulness in her serene smile awakening something occult and forbidden inside of him. “It’s nice to have someone on my side…”

 Her side.

A man like him, an eternal outlander with no real home or roots to speak of, had no one’s side but his own, taking and plundering as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted, without owing anyone a goddammed thing in return.

And yet, as preposterous as it sounded, if there was one being, just one single being who deserved to have his side no matter what, it should be Bulma. The one who’d offered him a home, and everything his heart could ever desire, in order to conquer his most coveted dream, the one who’d given him more, far more, than a penniless scoundrel like him would ever deserve, without asking for a thing, not one blasted thing, in return.

All in all, Vegeta figured that, since the beautiful dummy had been foolish enough to take his side, it would only be fair for him to take hers as well.

 “And thank you for staying with me last night,” she insisted, laying a soft hand on his forearm and petting it lightly. “I know it wasn’t easy for you…”

Bulma cheekily reclaimed her glass, briefly running the tip of her tongue across her upper lip as she brought it smoothly to her mouth, bracing herself for her grand revelation.

“Yamcha called after lunch, you know?” She confided, breaking into a roguish smile when she saw one of the warrior’s eyebrows raising with unexpected curiosity. “He tried to tell me about some big fight he just had with that dumb girl… I don’t know…” She shrugged with palpable disinterest, taking another sip of the bittersweet drink and languidly tilting her head back as she tossed it down. “I told him to go fuck himself…” She proudly concluded, looking Vegeta right in the eye with a cocky smirk that he could have easily made his own, instantly erasing his sudden fear that she might consider taking that worthless idiot back in a moment of weakness.

“Good girl…” He purred in approval, sending shivers down her spine with his husky bedroom voice, and with that sly smile curling his lips as he leaned to her, covering her hand with his own as he stole her glass, washing down the rest of the potent drink in one clean gulp.

His fingers lingered around hers as they both held the empty glass, his touch anxious but firm, rugged fingertips stroking her shaky hand with a closeness he’d never shown her before, holding her stare for a lifechanging instant until he lost his nerve, letting go of her as that irresistible smirk died out on his lips.

Bulma’s gaze remained fixated on the empty glass, captivated, enthralled by that almost magical exchange as the room spiraled around her out of control. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the direct contact of the Prince’s flesh against hers, but such innocent moments of intimacy had always been accidental, casual, a far cry from the affectionate nearness they’d both engaged in ever since he’d agreed to keep her company in that cold infirmary.

In any other man, she would have never dared to look much into such apparently superficial instants but, in this man, a man who kept his masked heart guarded under lock and key at all times, she couldn’t help but feel that such wonderful gestures of kindness had truly meant something, something real, something that could lead them both to the most extraordinary path, if only she succeeded in helping him set his emotions free.  

“All those years…” She whispered pensively under her breath, contemplating her future at the bottom of an empty glass of expensive cognac. “All those years wasted…”

The glass was soon discarded, and she sat still on the spot, tucking one lock of that aquatic mass of tousled curls behind her ear as her abstracted stare walked through those scorching flames, under the watchful eye of a certain Saiyan Prince who simply didn’t know what to believe anymore.

There was longing in her words, but not in her demeanor, nothing but a cool, collected calmness, a quietude that let it slip that the woman freely sharing her inmost feelings with him, had already made her choice.

“Sometimes…” Bulma thought out loud, that unnervingly blue gaze falling right back on him as she cutely tipped her head to the side, looking at him through brand-new eyes. “I think sometimes you don’t… You don’t really fall in love with a person…” She resolved, the palms of her hands now splayed on the lavish rug, proceeding to crawl in his direction, with the idle indolence of a sensual little tigress who’d just spotted her next prey. “Sometimes…” She concluded in a raspy whisper, taking advantage of his unusually low guard, and effortlessly straddling his strong thighs as he kept sitting sloppily on the floor. “Sometimes you just fall in love with an idea…”

She truly was delicious, the most lethal combination of virtue and sensuality he’d ever met, carelessly discussing words of love with the childish naiveté of a teenage girl, but seeking, and taking control of him, with the savvy expertise of the finest of women.

And, although she was the one who knew emotion in ways he never would, her softness never got lost on the way, that compassionate purity of spirit that made him understand that she’d never cross a line he wouldn’t wish her to.

“Do you know what I mean?” She asked meaningfully, amazed by how young he suddenly looked as he let her docilely caress his cheeks with those silky fingertips. “What we did last night…” Bulma muttered gently, knowing that he had no possible reply to her first question. “I liked it…”

“Woman…” He mumbled in gruff warning, fighting not to lose himself between that pair of curvaceous thighs narrowing around him as she pressed herself even tighter against him.

“Did you…?” Her shaky question spilled from her lips, hating herself for feeling so completely naked, so exposed to a man who could so easily break her heart before she’d even give it to him. “Did you like it too?”    

She gasped in mild shock when he clutched her wrists without warning, taking her bold hands off his face as he huffed sharply through his nose, lips pursed into a cautionary thin line, not even sure if he was about to caution her or himself at this point.

All he knew was that he was about to lose, he was about to lose his own battle of self-control to this woman, and the stupidest truth of the matter was that he didn’t care anymore, because nothing really mattered, nothing but her and her inspiring presence, and the only question worth asking tonight, the only measure of reassurance that she could ever offer to someone like him.

“What about your human lover?” He blurted out, the disgust overtaking his cracked voice, at the mere thought of Bulma ever belonging to anyone but him, plain as day.

His irrational jealousy must have boosted her confidence, for she smiled grippingly at him, exquisite and delighted, already savoring the triumph of the unintentional admission of his selfish interest in her.

“I just told you, Vegeta…” She whispered bucolically, her fingers grazing his jaw, despite having her frail wrists still trapped under his firm hold. “He was just an idea…”

“I am not an idea, Bulma…” He murmured darkly, hands tightening in desperate warning, reminding her of who he was, trying to stop her from ever forgetting that she was about to dance, quite literally, with the Devil himself.          

“I know…” She promised, her delicate face finding his, resting her brow against him as she held his starved gaze with unblinking confidence.

 She knew.

He was real, perhaps the realest man she’d ever encountered, nothing like those Ivy League sycophants who used to prowl around her father’s mighty company, professional adulators trying to charm Capsule Corp.’s golden heiress, uselessly doting and kissing up to her, in hopes of getting into her bed and loaded bank account.

But this man, this untamable alien warrior, was anything but a charmer, he’d never lie or be untrue, because he was who he was, and nothing and no one would ever change that, or so he thought. Vegeta would never pretend to be something, someone, he was not, if anything, Bulma had learnt by now that the Saiyan Prince seemed to go out of his way to make himself as unapproachable as he could, not because he didn’t possess a heart, but because he was utterly terrified of anyone finding out that he did.

She couldn’t afford the luxury to ever forget that, if she got too close, she might get burnt, but she also knew that the man trembling in need beneath her, staring at her with an intensity that would have made any other woman slip instantly away, would never pretend to be anything but fire.

 Her binding words brought his surrender, arms dropping submissively on both sides, letting her merge her lips with his as her eager hands explored him, leisurely sliding across his heated skin until they found the nape of his neck, velvety fingers holding onto him as she boldly sought to deepen their kiss.

She could think of nothing but how surprisingly gentle he was, how anxious and untried, even after having already shared a first innocent smooch last night. His mouth was soft, twitchy, too afraid at first to part his lips for her as he did his best to follow her lead, indulging in an exotic human ritual that he’d seen before only in those ridiculous soap operas that the earthling’s mother seemed to adore so much and, of course, whenever he’d inadvertently walked in during one of the scarred-faced man’s visits to the woman who was now giving herself to him with such fervor.

He’d hated her mate back then, even before he’d ever toyed with the implausible fantasy of one day making her his, even before he knew what they did, or why they did it, why did they engage in such a pointless practice with such irritating frequency.

But now he understood, now, as he reveled in her intoxicating taste, grunting in exhilaration when her tongue lovingly caressed his, Vegeta learned the meaning behind such a gesture, an act that felt almost more intimate than sex itself, making him hate her ex-lover even more for having been given the undeserved chance to feel like this with her too.

The more he steadily relaxed in her arms, the more her supple body responded to him, arching and grinding in his lap, until the excruciating sensation of those ten little fingers passionately clutching fistfuls of his wild hair proved too hard to resist, temptingly inviting him to put his hands on her, encircling her waist with such force that her breath instinctively hitched in her chest, making his touch stop at once, petrified by the possibility of having hurt her.

“Ssshhh…” She shushed him with maddening tenderness, deeply moved by the touching concern blurring his features, and instantly calming him down by enfolding his thick forearms with her hands. “Softly… Like this…” Bulma panted lightly against his lips, drawing slow, lazy circles on his wrists with her tiny thumbs, instantaneously loosening his possessive hold on her. “That’s nice…” She reassured him, nuzzling his cheek when she sensed him getting comfortable once again, learning how to hold her just the right way. “That feels good, Vegeta… Really good…”            

Oh Gods, what a fool she was, what a pretty little fool, letting him near her, letting him touch her like this. One wrong move and her ribs would have cracked beneath his fingers, and yet here she was, trusting him again, and taking his breath away by kissing him within an inch of her life, her erratic breathing accelerating as he run his hands all over her, cherishing that small figure hidden under the unbearable softness of her oversized sweater, while he wondered how much, just how much of herself would she give him tonight, and finding his terrifying answer when he felt those needy hands tugging impatiently at the hem of his clothes.

Vegeta needn’t think twice, groaning in frustration as he humbly submitted to her, breaking their kiss with reluctance and taking off his jersey in one quick, smooth motion. He didn’t move any further, barely keeping his breathless puffing under control as her enigmatic stare, now roaming across his naked chest, chilled him to the bone.

Hideous, he thought gloomily to himself, she must have found him absolutely hideous, utterly repulsed by that grotesque roadmap of macabre scars, cuts and bruises. His flawless Saiyan anatomy should allow him, in theory, to heal and regenerate at a shockingly fast rate, but his ghastly, self-destructive training regime was making it virtually impossible for him to ever be fully healed these days, always plagued by fresh wounds and swollen lacerations, purple-and-blue slashes that the sensitive woman would so expertly clean and stitch for him, every single night without fail.

He was unlike any other man in her life, and he knew, nothing like those suave sons-of-bitches always prowling and lurking around her, with their expensive suits and leather briefcases, unscrupulous bastards who merely saw her as some attractive, wealthy trophy, instead of as the extraordinary creature that he now knew her to be.

After a painful silence, a secret part of him was already dreading the very real possibility of the woman getting cold feet now that she had him, quite literally, bare before her stunned eyes. But, as usual, Bulma Briefs was about to prove that she was no ordinary female either, and that the cryptic gleam in her eye stemmed, not from any form of repulsion towards his flawed flesh, but from her own beautifully distorted view of the world.    

“Does it hurt?” She asked with candid concern, airy fingertips tenderly outlining the large scar crossing his marred chest, his most recent one, the one which had ended up prostrating him on that damned infirmary for a whole week this time. He’d taken off his bandages as soon as Bulma’s father had given him his approval and, though the disturbingly deep gashes had mostly healed by now, they still retained a faint pinkish color, a reminder that the skin wasn’t fully restored yet.              

“No,” he answered throatily, not knowing how he could find a way to even talk to her anymore, not when she kept looking at him like this, touching and exploring him as if she’d never had a man before.

“That’s good…” Bulma murmured almost inaudibly, her shy hands regaining their confidence as they swirled slowly all over his muscular torso, her touch light as the wings of a bird, playfully running her fingers up and down, right until the thick waist of his jeans, only to travel upwards again, tracing a languid path up to his robust shoulders. “You’re beautiful…” She quietly professed, awe-struck eyes meeting his, cupping his blushing cheeks in her hands, and catching one of his thirsty moans in her mouth when her lips descended on his for another sensual kiss. “You’re so beautiful…” She reassured him, kissing him again, and again, lustfully indulging in the most pleasurable friction as she rubbed her body against him, her fear of hurting him slowly fading away.

He was beautiful, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, a body slim, yet built to perfection, moving, flowing, with the sinuous litheness of a black panther. He may not have been the biggest of men in the physical sense, but he surely walked with a command larger than life itself, brave and resolute, fearless and tenacious, a courageousness that demanded respect, even from those who held him in low esteem. The man holding her in his arms had lived hard and battled even harder, and perhaps, someday, he’d love with more intensity than any human heart ever could.

But there was no time tonight for fatuous thoughts of love and romance, there was only now, only this moment, and the way he was disarming her, her body like clay in his hands as he kept kissing and imprisoning her in the fiercest hold, finally taking control as he carefully nestled and lifted her body from the ground, rolling them over and lying her defenseless on her back.

Bulma stubbornly refused to let go of him at first, her lips aching for more, always for more, trying to make up for all the times, oh Kami, all the times she’d envisioned him like this, giving himself to her with such abandon, allowing her to open his blinded eyes so that she could teach him her ways. But it was he who put an end to their kiss this time, leaving her whimpering breathlessly on the extravagant rug, mourning the loss of his heat when he cautiously nudged her knees, spreading them apart as he knelt at her feet.

His large hands glided smoothly across her squirmy legs, until they found the perfect hips buried underneath her baggy sweater, dark eyes silently begging for permission to undress her as he hooked his fingers around the old fabric of the waist of her washed-out jeans, earning a shaky nod of assent from the restless woman inflamed with need under him.

The most enraptured glint burned his features as he slowly unzipped her clothing, pulling from it with gentle determination, and marveling at every inch of flesh unveiled just for him. When her lower body lay fully undressed, Vegeta paused for an instant, mesmerized by the hypnotizing effect that the warm glow of the sweltering fire had on her ivory skin, reds and oranges bathing those long legs already yearning to wrap themselves around him with ardent zeal.

Only when one of her feet boldly tried to reach the very evident proof of his desire for her, right between his legs, did he choose to resume his erotic journey, deftly removing those cursed, fluffy pink socks which had recently invaded his daydreams with such shameful frequency, and crawling bit by bit atop her, sinking his knees domineeringly on both sides of her small figure as she awkwardly helped him take off her baby blue sweater, avidly waiting for him to make his final move.

Years later, the Prince would still recall just how insanely adorable she’d looked to him that night, clad in nothing but her everyday cotton underwear, plain white adorned by a girly pattern of those bright red strawberries she loved so much. Just like it would take him far too long to understand that she’d been just as nervous as he had, as if they’d both intuitively known, even back then, that once they gave into each other, there would be no going back.

“Do…? Do you want to stop?” Bulma asked weakly when she sensed his vacillation, tremulous mouth breathing heavily against his as he kept still, staring anxiously at her as he committed to memory everything that she was, every beautiful curve and gesture, never wanting to forget her just as she was tonight.

Her insecurity moved him like nothing ever had, fervently putting her mind to rest with a smoldering kiss, basking in his own relief when she passionately kissed him back. A flash of scarlet seared his cheeks when her lips smirked playfully against his, giggling excitedly as she reached her back to unhook her bra by herself, when it soon became obvious that his clumsy hands had never before handled such a bizarre garment.

Vegeta’s hands hurried to get rid of whatever remained of his clothes, his need intensifying when her eager little fingers frantically reached down to his belt, unbuckling it with frenzied impatience as he unzipped his jeans, rapidly discarding them with the help of those feverish legs, wriggling and twisting against him until he was fully naked before her.

There was no indecision anymore, not even shame at the way his body was already reacting to her closeness, yanking off her panties as he kissed her again, a deep grumble reverberating in his chest when one of her hands draped itself around his hardness, while the other one settled fiercely on the back of his neck, pressing her mouth even harder against his, and nipping at his bottom lip as she sensually stroked his length.

Bulma’s movements were slow, sensuous, dazed blue eyes feasting on the masculine face contorting in pleasure at her timid but expert touch, squeezing his eyes shut in some poor attempt at self-control as he felt himself already coming undone with agonizing ease, his dam shattering, hopelessly exposed to the only woman who’d ever own his heart.

“Bulma…” He implored helplessly, exhaling a heavy sigh of release when she guided him to her wet entrance, plunging inside of her, burying himself to the hilt as a breathless cry tore up her throat.

“S-Slowly…” Bulma pleaded, teasing his lips with hers, clammy hands still barely holding onto his corded neck as she struggled to accommodate him.

He quietly fulfilled her wishes, just as he always would, bowing shakily, and reading the poem writing itself on her lovely face as she threw her head back, sobbing in bliss when his hips set out a new pace, slow and deep, a rhythmic quest to get to know, and possess, every beautiful part of her.

It was impossible, it was impossible for such a woman to ever fully belong to him, but perhaps, tonight, as they made love under the warm protection of her sheltering fire, they could pretend. They could pretend that he wasn’t who he was, and that every conceivable sin didn’t hang over his head, fooling themselves into the impossible fantasy of being just a man and a woman, giving into each other in the most ancient and primal of rituals.

Bulma’s rosy cheek met the opulent rug as she pressed it against it, closing her eyes and pouting deliciously, filling the room with soft, muffled moans that were like music to the Prince’s ears.

He held as tightly as he could, clutching one of the thighs possessively encircling his waist with one of his arms as he cradled her delicate head in the curve of the other, gently removing a damp curl from her pale forehead as his nose found her temple, nuzzling her darling face while drowning in her provocative aroma. Her porcelain skin was already coated in a thin sheen of moisture, glistening faintly under the warm, flickering radiance of the fire, and it was becoming impossible not to get lost in the thick, lusty scent of sex heavily permeating the air.    

“Vegeta…” She whimpered with want, supplicant eyes finding his as her hands descended uncontrollably from his shoulders to his perfect bottom, nails digging into his unyielding flesh and pulling harder, inviting him to rush that luscious, animalistic flow already making her fall into pieces in his arms.

His dizzy mind might have lost any semblance of reason long ago, but his body knew just what she needed, gladly caving in, giving her his all, anything she’d ever want, by quickening his pace and thrusting faster, harder, stripping the most extraordinary cries of pleasure out of her lips, and forever keeping them to himself.

He heaved a relieved breath of gratitude when Bulma hid her smitten face in the crook of his neck, never letting go of him, but sensing how vulnerable, how incredibly unguarded he was feeling in that instant. His body told her that he’d had other women during his turbulent past, but an even stronger instinct was screaming at her that he’d never had someone in such an intimate way.

And she was right for, as Vegeta held securely onto her, glorying in that sweet, fluttery voice, whispering words of encouragement and desire in his ear, and confessing how much she liked, how much she loved what he was doing to her, he knew that it’d never been like this.

He’d never had the honor to experience this wistful emotion taking a hold of him, loving hands touching and caressing him as if he were the only man in existence, or that rush, that exhilarating rush of satisfaction when he felt that small, hopelessly soft body writhing in ecstasy underneath him as her impending climax ripped through her.

She tightened urgently around him, a stream of blinding electricity ravaging her as she cried his name with intense ardor, crumbling in his arms, those ravenous arms pulling her even closer, insatiably nestling her body against him, already bursting at the seams, grappling with his own desperate need to succumb to her.

“I-It’s okay… You can let go…” Bulma’s trembling voice murmured into his skin, gently seducing him as she recognized the aching tension overpowering him, beckoning him to surrender, to forget about his every haunting inhibition and give himself to her, if only this once. “Let go, Vegeta…”    

The ghost of a string of alien words ruptured from his lips as he spilled himself inside of her, a deep grunt thundering in his lungs, swamped by the sensation of those silky arms and legs still clinging to him, never abandoning him, never letting go, relishing his own peak of pleasure as if it were her own.  

Vegeta fell tiredly on top of her, without thinking, without speaking, melting powerlessly under the soothing power of that pair of shuddering hands fondling and stroking his magnificent skin, kissing and petting his hair, and happily luring him to stay with her for as long as he’d ever want to, the sad atlas of tortured scars tainting his back suddenly feeling just a little closer, a little less foreign than it used to be.

A soft, snug blanket carefully covered his stark-naked form, enveloping him in a cottony cloud of safety, almost as soft as the woman providing it for him, heavy eyelids drooping on her contented shoulder, vaguely registering the distant uproar of the stormy blizzard pouring outside, and the crisp rustle of the logs gradually turning to ashes in her luxurious fireplace.

For a lifetime of carnage, snow had always signified the most degrading pain, and fire nothing but cancerous destruction. But, on a cold Christmas night, everything was Her, and the first dreamless sleep he’d ever been blessed with as he peacefully dozed off in her caring embrace.    

  *sigh*

It looks like Veggie finally got to discover what Christmas is all about?

I hope you've enjoyed my lil' Christmas stories so far! I know it's not Christmas anymore, but I may add a few more chapters in the future, if you guys are okay with it, since I had some little tales in mind that I really wanted to explore.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading, as always, and I hope you all have the BEST 2019!!!

*hugs*

[my-insanity-is-an-artform]

✩

So this one is about Tempest Skywalker (OC) and Commander Cody. I love Tempest. She really lives up to her name. (The sex stuff is moved to under the cut.)

Send me a  ✩ and a pairing and I’ll do this!

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Tempest. She’s emotional and not afraid to show it.Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Tempest again. She’s not really the type to just leave in the middle of a fight.Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Cody. Just to give them both space to calm down.Who trashes the house? Neither. Do either of them get physical? Only to the point of gentle touches. Tempest will often reach out and Cody isn’t going to deny her even in the middle of an argument.How often do they argue/disagree? Not often but it’s usually about Tempest being reckless.Who is the first to apologise? Usually, Tempest since it’s typically her reckless stunts that start them.

Sex:

Who is on top? Since Tempest has huge ass wings, it’s usually her but she does like it when they manage to manoeuvre themselves so she’s comfortable underneath. Who is on the bottom? Cody.Who has the strangest desires? Neither of them have anything I would term strange.Any kinks? Outside sex (in a private place) is one of Tempest’s favourites because she can spread her wings and feel the wind. Cody likes it because of the wind and the bliss on Tempest’s face. Cody does like to do it up against a wall because he can crowd her that way without her wings hurting. ‘Sir’ and Commander make it’s appearance in bed more than a few times.Who’s dominant in bed? Cody. Is head ever in the equation? Yes, head is always in the equation.If so, who is better at performing it? It’s about equal. Tempest likes driving Cody to distraction and Cody likes making Tempest a blissful mess.Ever had sex in public? No. Who moans the most? Tempest. Like I said, very vocal about her feelings.Who leaves the most marks? Cody.Who screams the loudest? Tempest.Who is the more experienced of the two? Cody. Tempest is the Demi-est Demi to have ever Demi’d and never really saw the point in sex before Cody.Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Usually, make love but that depends on mood and how stupid Tempest’s latest stunt was.Rough or soft? Rough. Softness only happens on occasion.How long do they usually last? They can go a few rounds. (Force bless, clone stamina and Jedi stamina.)Is protection used? Yes. Both of them have taken shots to prevent pregnancy and diseases. (Space!Condoms are used more often than not.)Does it ever get boring? Tempest? Boring? No. With these two, it’s never boring. (Either because they are driving each other crazy or because they’re too into each other to make it boring.)Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? Tempest found a cavern behind a waterfall on a planet once while swimming during downtime. She says she’s not quite sure how it ended up like that but Cody wants to know who the hell could resist a half-naked wet Tempest with mischief in her eyes.

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? Yes, they sort of planned on kids. More in the ‘if it happens, it happens’ kind of way. The number of children was a surprise though.If so, how many children do your muses want/have? They have five. Triplets and a pair of twins. They were not expecting the triplets. (Tempest forgot to mention multiples run the family until they went home with one extra baby than they thought they were having.)Who is the favourite parent? It’s equal.Who is the authoritative parent? Cody a bit more than Tempest but both put their foot down with certain things. Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Neither unless there is a good reason and both of them agreed.Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Surprisingly, Cody. Tempest tries to regulate the junk food thing because it’s not good for their wings but, turns a blind eye when Cody (and Anakin and Lucas) slip them sweets. She knows all about the junk food though and Cody knows when to cut them off. (He just likes giving them things he didn’t have growing up.)Who turns up to extracurricular activities to support their children? Both. Cody will make sure anything he needs to be present for is scheduled around the kids. Tempest will flat out just leave for the kids. Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Again, both. This is very much Team Mom and Buir. Who changes the diapers? Both. They trade-off. (Along with the rest of the clan/flock. It takes a village to raise a baby after all.)Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Whoever gets their first. They live with quite a few other people who are more than happy to help (but Cody likes getting up to spend time with them. He never thought he’d have this.)Who spends the most time with the children? Both of them try to spend as much time as possible with them.Who packs their lunch boxes? Both again.Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Both give the kids the ‘Consent and Feelings’ talk but for mechanics, Uncle Lu and Uncle Kix give it. (And to the rest of their cousins.)Who cleans up after the kids? Both again. (They have a big family and lots of adults are around so it’s not like it’s messy for long.)Who worries the most? Cody.Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? Tempest. She tries but the occasional curse word still escapes her.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Tempest. Tempest LIVES for cuddles.Who is the little spoon? Cody purely because it’s hard to curl around Tempest with her wings in the way.Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Probably Tempest but only if they’re in private.Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves? Cody. Tempest can be a little oblivious but she gives affectionate touches freely. How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Depending on the position, these two can go for a while. Who gives the most kisses? Tempest. Touch is basically her love language.What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Preening. Tempest’s wings need preening and it’s a great bonding activity. They also like Sabacc and reading while curled up together.Where is their favourite place to cuddle? In the family nest.Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? Tempest. Even if it’s just by accident. How often do they get time to themselves? Not a lot with the number of people around, both in their home and at the barracks turned homebase for clones but both of them make time.

Sleeping:

Who snores? Cody because that thought amuses me. Tempest does make little murmurs and sighs though.If both do, who snores the loudest? Cody.Do they share a bed or sleep separately? They share a nest with a few others like Anakin and his partners and Lucas. This is very much a community sleeping area.If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? They cosy up. Tempest often sleeps on top of Cody. It’s comforting for both of them.Who talks in their sleep? Cody occasionally.What do they wear to bed? Usally a light shirt and pants. Are either of your muses insomniacs? Nope.Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Nope.Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? The limbs typically go around each other.Who wakes up with bed hair? Tempest. It’s hilarious.Who wakes up first? CodyWho prepares breakfast in bed for the other? They switch off but it’s only on occation because a/ nest has lots of blankets and b/ other will want breakfast too.What is their favourite sleeping position? Cody likes to be flat on his back and Tempest curls into his side with an arm over his waist.Who hogs the sheets? Probably one of the kids or Anakin.Do they set an alarm each night? No need. Not with like twenty other people in the huge nest they’ve got going.Can a television be found in their bedroom? Yes, but it gets turned off before the kids go to bed.Who has nightmares? Both but Cody has them more often.Who has ridiculous dreams? Tempest but she has like five other minds attached to her’s so the weird dreams are more of a mutal thingWho sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? One of the kids.Who makes the bed? Tempest and Anakin often rearrange the blankets and sheets every week to keep them clean and comfortable.What time is bedtime? Some time before midnight. Tempest will drag Cody away from the paperwork if she has too.Any routines/rituals before bed? Cody will help give her wings a quick once over and braid her hair. (It never works.)Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Cody. It’s why he’s usually greeted with caff every morning.

Work:

Who is the busiest? Probably Cody who is dealing with the post-war resettlement of the clones.Who rakes in the highest income? Both of them work for the jedi but probably Cody.Are any of your muses unemployed? Both work for the Jedi.Who takes the most sick days? Proably Tempest since she pulls dumb stunts that requires a stint in the Healing Halls.Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Neither.Who sucks up to their boss? Cody, but only because he has too when dealing with politicians.What are their jobs? Cody: something to do with getting clones their right and helping them be an actual people in the eyes of the Senate. Tempest: Basically Jedi knight on mayhem control. Who stresses the most? Cody.Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Both of them like their jobs.Are your muses financially stable? I’d say so yes.

Home:

Who does the washing? DroidsWho takes out the trash? Droids.Who does the ironing? Droids.Who does the cooking? depends who’s in but Tempest can cook.Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Cody. He just hasn’t had the time to learn yet.Who is messier?  Tempest but she’s pretty good at cleaning up after herself.Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Neither.Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Both but only before fun times.Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither.Who is the prankster around the house? Tempest or one of the kids.Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Neither.Who mows the lawn? They don’t have a lawn or a droid does it.Who answers the telephone? Depends whose’ comm link it is.Who does the vacuuming? DroidWho does the groceries? Droid.Who takes the longest to shower? Cody. Mostly because he likes indulging in having water showers and also because Tempest will sometimes join him.Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Tempest. She has wings and more hair to deal with.

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? NopeHow many cars do they own? None.Do they own their home or do they rent? They live in the Naboo Senatorial Appartments or in a home on Naboo.Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? On Naboo, near a lake.Do they live in the city or in the country? On Coruscant before they moveDo they enjoy their surroundings? For the most part, yes.What’s their song? Probably something with a steady beat.What do they do when they’re away from each other? Do their jobs. And call every so often.Where did they first meet? After a huge battle.How did they first meet? Tempest was introduced to Cody, Rex, Anakin and Obi-wan by Lucas.It was a pretty short meeting.Who spends the most money when out shopping? Both are about equal.Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Neither.Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Both.Any mental issues? Cody has PTSD and nightmares from fighting in the war and Tempest is liable for a mental breakdown if she doesn’t have her mental Force Bonds with her family.Who’s terrified of bugs? NeitherWho kills the spiders around the house? Who ever gets there first.Their favourite place? Probably lakeside with the waterfalls.Who pays the bills? Neither.Do they have any fears for their future? Not particularlyWho’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Cody. Who uses up all of the hot water? It would be Cody.Who’s the tallest? Tempest but only because of her wings.Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Tempest.Who wanders around in their underwear? Neither (but in privacy Tempest would.) Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? TempestWhat do they tease each other about? Tempest will take nearly anything. Cody prefers to tease her when she’s flusteredWho is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Neither.Do they have mutual friends? They met through mutal friends and basically merged families.Who crushed first? Cody. Tempest was in denial for a while.Any alcohol or substance-related problems? NopeWho is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Probably Tempest but only rarely.Who swears the most? Tempest.

[sin-like-me]

Equal Measure

Pairing: John Seed x (tried for a Gender Neutral Deputy)

Word Count: 4,223

Warnings: I swear, I enjoy it, and I am unapologetic. Heads up.

Summary: Associations can be dangerous, determination concerning, and a small bit of plastic incredibly weighty. 

Quick Note: This is the first time I have ever shared something I have written. Be advised there is no beta reader. The idea sprang from owning the very quilt mentioned... Also, I deeply appreciate Ubisoft and their writers for creating this entire universe. I seek only to borrow the Seeds from time to time to do with them as I will.

<~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~>~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~> 

‘What in the hell am I doing?!’

This is the thought that has been echoing in your head for the last twenty minutes; its insistence so loud it nearly drowns out the surrounding cacophony of frogs. Incredulity seeps from every pore as your heavily booted feet unerringly find purchase on the forest floor. It is your sure and steady tread through the darkness that impedes the wake-up call you so desperately need. You marvel with a slightly disconnected humor as your body takes over, blazing a trail to your possible destruction. Apparently, common sense was thrown violently from a window in lieu of a surety of heart.

‘I’m going to get myself killed over a damned ill conceived notion. Sorry Resistance members, your “hero” has perished due to their own asininity. Why, you good folk thought that if the Deputy ever fell it would be at the hands of a Peggie? Maybe a Judge? More the fool you.’

A fallen tree lies across the trail and without a second thought you nimbly vault over, landing with a surprisingly mute thump. These past weeks have improved your physical prowess and given you a new appreciation for stealth. Hell, once upon a time that little feat would have taken several tries before it was landed successfully. Who knew that fighting for survival would carry such excellent side benefits? Well, ya know, other than staying alive to see another day.

‘I am a damned fool, or maybe just damned.’

Above, a sliver of moon barely illuminates the neatly tied package hooked to your belt. The item in question was a bit bulky, though light weight and useful; loot you happened upon while clearing shelter for the night. That something so simple, ridiculous even, could quite possibly bring about your death was mind boggling. Logically you knew that what you carried would not only be welcomed but deeply appreciated by the Rye family. Alas, the moment you realized what you had chanced upon HIS face swam into view; vaguely alarming you with just how quickly you drew the association. Hell, if you had an ounce of self preservation you would turn on your heel and head towards Nick’s place.

‘It’s juvenile for fucks sake!’

Trying to push aside the feeling of panic clawing its way up your sides, you mentally recall every single detail leading you to this point.

‘Maybe I’m blissed out of my mind. I HAVE to be. Were there any of those damned Bliss flowers around?’

A few hours earlier you caught sight of the small white home, its silence deafening on the edge of the surrounding chaos. Blood was smeared across the front walk, the windows shattered and no vehicles, nor Bliss bouquets, present. It appeared abandoned, a potential place of rest. Crouching you held your gun at ready, muscles tensed as you methodically peeked through windows, watching, waiting, aware and patient.

Moving silently and swiftly you covered the entire perimeter neither observing nor hearing the slightest of sounds or movements from inside. Tossing a rock into several of the windows from behind cover of the truck, you held your breath half hoping for a confrontation and half dreading one. A minute become five. Nothing. It had to be clear. The Peggies weren’t known to be particularly patient. You stood, stretched your back. The weight from your survival pack taking a small toll after a solid 8 hour hike. Only a few more feet… deep, steadying breath and you leveled your shotgun at the door. Haste made your steps a bit louder than you would have liked, but as you threw open the door and swept the room, you had to smirk. Out of the corner of your eye you managed a glimpse of your face plastered on a wanted poster.

‘Wanted? Yeah, well, good luck you fanatics. I will not go gentle into that good night.’

Lowering your weapon once you established an all clear, you viciously ripped down their pitiful attempt at intimidation. Scoffing you made damn sure to leave a heavy boot print on its face, unrepentant sinner that you were and all. Inside boxes were stacked high enough to obscure any view outside, but they also enabled some cover. A short walk-through and you mentally noted all entry and exit points, only stopping to complain once.

“Shit.”

The back door had been completely removed.

Thinking on your feet, you pushed and stacked boxes in front of the opening. It wouldn’t stop much of anything, but it would serve as a noisy warning. Truthfully, it gave you what you were craving: the illusion of safety. As satisfied as you were going to be with the makeshift barrier, you returned to the living room. The now cleared couch seemed inviting but a sudden breeze through the window frames invoked an involuntary shiver. Maybe you could find a blanket in one of the many boxes? Hell, it was worth a shot. Heading over to a solitary box sitting atop an old armchair you pulled your treasured Ka-Bar knife from the top of your boot.  Making quick work of the tape, a surprised laugh escaped your lips when you immediately hit pay dirt. Luck seemed to shadow your every move… or perhaps divine intervention?

A quick thought was spared for the Seeds as you pulled a stack of cloth out of the box. Saviors of the modern world, yet death stalked their every move. Did they not see the blatant hypocrisy? Killing or force converting the masses in order to save them from “the Great Collapse”?! It was either utter bullshit or at the very least counterintuitive.

Ahha! Your hand skims smooth, thin blue cotton. While sheets were nice, something heavier would be better...annnnddddd BINGO! A quilt. You pulled it free and shook it out, letting the ends drop to the floor. The orange glow from the dying sun gave the back of the cream colored quilt an odd glow. Eyes scanning the windows, you made your way to the couch and sat down, sheets and quilt clutched in a fist.

Rule one of survival?  Rest before resistance. Maybe the Resistance should make their own posters and hang ‘em right next to those ever so cheery YES! signs.

The light of the day dipped beyond the horizon. Night began to settle in, snuffing out the remnants of illumination and cradling you in its embrace of anonymity and obscurity. In the dark you seem safe and hidden.

The perfect silence is interrupted by a low growl from your stomach. Ah, well perhaps you need more than rest. You debate eating the cans of tuna spotted on the kitchen counter, but forgo it in favor of a protein bar from your pack. Quite frankly jimmying the can open with your knife was a little more effort than you wanted to expend at that moment. Besides the chalky texture wasn’t too terrible if you ate it quickly.

Hunger abated you set your pack and shotgun on the floor beside the couch within easy reach, and pulled the sidearm from your hip. No one was comfortable trying to sleep with a gun digging into their side. Hmmm, maybe a bit more light for the moment while you arranged yourself on the couch. Leaning up from your semi-prone position and grabbing a glow stick from the side of your hiking pack, you snap it in half, shake and are engulfed in a faint, eerie, green glow. Ah, to sleep in combat boots or not was the question. Sleeping without shoes was a luxury you had not indulged in recent memory. You had to always be ready, prepared to defend, run, or kill at a moments notice. You learned quickly that having your fight or flight response consistently heightened was not sustainable. There were moments of breaking, of utter mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion so acute you didn’t give a damn about anything at all.

This was one of those times.

Fuck the shoes.

You sat up again to unlace the well worn, well loved boots when you froze in place. Horrified amusement broke your arms out in goosebumps as its chill trickled down your spine. Oh, but God had a sense of humor. Draped across your lap the quilt you had quickly dismissed as non-descript was anything but. Large squares repeated a pattern in red, blue and cream and you couldn’t help where you mind raced. Vivid flashes assaulted your senses:  blue eyes boring into yours, his cold, barely controlled fury lapping at your soul in ravenous waves.  

You hated that you read their file before leaving the station on that fated night. For weeks you did not let yourself stop to think and consider. To empathize. You knew their documented history, knew the hell the Seed brothers had endured throughout what should have been a normal childhood. Fingers reflexively clutching the fabric in your fist, your eyes lost focus, thoughts turning further inward.

Each Seed brother had been and were being shaped by their experiences, each twisted in a different way, all needing balance.. And maybe even kindness. You offered them no excuses, could not forget nor understand their actions, but suddenly you knew you could empathize with their pasts. You could glean some form of perspective, and that scared you. Were the lines not black and white in this struggle? Were there actual shades of grey?

‘Damn it!’

You shook your head trying to physically dislodged these uncomfortable realizations. We are all a constantly evolving product of our experiences, the Seeds included. Maybe.. Maybe it was not too late?

Following that hope was a dash of reality. Too late for what? To save everyone? To be the hero to all? For peace? That is for children’s fairy tales. This was real life.. And real life was messy.

You focus on the quilt in our hand, a wild idea solidifying into a determined decision.

It is said that hope can be a dangerous thing, well, apparently you are now on a mission to prove it.  

Before you could rethink your plan, you folded the quilt into a neat square, grabbed some of the brown packing paper forgotten on the kitchen floor, and deftly wrapped the package. No luck finding any tape, so improvise and adapt. You had some gauze strips and with a little ripping it would tie it closed in a pinch. Properly secured, you examined the finished product.. It was missing a calling card, something to let him know you had delivered it, knew where he was and that you could have easy access if you so chose… but what? Then it hit you. A slow smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned back into the couch, hand going for your jeans pocket. You didn’t know why you hadn’t sewn it back on yet, probably saving it as a perverse reminder of your escape. It would be the perfect nod to and  perhaps even a small dig at the man who considered himself just that “fresh” as Sharky would say.

Without a second thought you snaked a piece of gauze thread through the holes and neatly secure the small, innocuous object front and center.

Presently that tiny piece of blue plastic glinted up at you in the moonlight reminding you that yes, you were in fact enroute to one of the Seed’s compounds. Even knowing the danger you kept your pace, ducking under low hanging branches and freezing into a crouch as a twig snapped less than a klick to the west. Soundlessly your silenced P226 Amendment 2 was drawn and aimed towards the sound when you spotted a small pack of wolves stalking the vicinity. As long as lady luck kept your scent downwind you would be elusive, time to pick up the pace.

Keeping the river to your left you knew that the ranch was about an hour hike from your shelter, but that was assuming one could just waltz down the long drive and right up to the front door. You had no such luxury, so you kept to the riverbank and trees, skirting along the property line under the cover of night. You made decent time all things considered and when you found the dock you knew you had to scale the cliffs behind his home. Hmph. Good thing you took the time to wolf down that protein bar. Grappling on an empty stomach was difficult at the best of times, and grappling at night while surrounded by Peggies in various states of alert was NOT the best of times.

The cliff edge was approximately 30 feet from a side door leading into some portion of the vast building which John Seed called home. Cult members were stationed at lookout points along the four corners of the property with a small group at the front and to the sides. Right now the back was clear of patrols so you narrowed in on your destination: a patch of tall flowering plants. Pulling yourself up and over the final ridge with a soft grunt, you quickly crouched behind a nearby tree, scoping the surroundings before dashing into the midst of cover. The door was so damned close.. You unclipped the package from your waist and hefted its weight in your palm. You could throw it, but where was the personal touch in that? No, you did not come all this way pushing past exhaustion to just throw it and run. Sure the area was well lit, sure this was the home of one of the Heralds of the Collapse, but in this very moment you were foolishly unafraid. Unafraid or perhaps in some form of delirium from exhaustion.

Your suspicions spike when nary a soul comes to patrol the back door. It made no sense. The Seeds were many things, but unprepared and stupid were not one of them. Then a  certainty flitted through your subconscious:

John knows I am here.

Alright, let’s say he does. So, what do you do? Do you sit here and debate the reason why, do you leave, or do you oblige the curiosities of a man who for reasons unknown obviously has no immediate intention of capturing you? Why Sharky’s voice rang in your thoughts at that moment were unclear but damn he was right.

“Ride or Die.” you whisper.

Standing tall, equal parts foolhardy and confident, you make your way to the backdoor, eyes always forward in defiance of any possible threats. With a studied casualness you ascend the two steps to the cedar stoop, package in hand. Well, so far, so good. Glancing up you spot a red light. Mhm, of course John liked to watch.

‘Well Mr. John Seed, enjoy the show.’

Dropping to one knee, you make sure to mockingly exaggerate every movement.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” you mutter sarcastically staring at the camera stationed in the corner of the overhang. “Google it John.”

You wink, a delicious trill of excitement tugging your lips into a smirk.  Standing then, you flip him the nationwide symbol for get fucked, and waltz right back to the cliffs. Your shoulders feeling lighter, your burden moved. You would not be hunted this night.

He knew….and the ball was in his court.

As Fate would have it, John just happened to be on the ranch that night. He saw the Deputy the  moment a delicate hand grasped the cliff's edge. Little known fact, the first thing he had done when he bought this ranch was to make sure security cameras were installed to cover every single angle of his ranch. At the time it was expensive, but he knew he would not regret it and as he sat back in his chair, the black leather creaking slightly with his shifting weight, he basked in his foresight. On the screen the slender fingers flexed as a head of dark hair came into view. John did not consciously acknowledge how his breath hitched in anticipation nor did he stop to consider how he recognized Rook from something as small as that hand.

Cerulean eyes narrowed under dark brows absorbing every single muscle flex, every minute facial tick.

“Oh what do we have here Dep-ut-yyyy.. Tsk, tsk.. You can do so much better than this pitiful attempt at assassination.”  He leaned forward slowly, tapping the figure on the screen with a long, well manicured finger. “Frankly my dear, I am offended.”

Rook was crouching now, and John watched in amusement as the quick progression to the edge of the trees came to an abrupt halt. Time to debate that next move.

“Well, you certainly have my attention and curiosity…” eyes never leaving the screen, his hand closes around his radio. Switching to his personal security channel, his next order was very deliberate, “Call off all patrols for the next hour.”

A brief crackle of static, “Yes sir John sir.”

He smirked, they knew better than to question him and damned if they would defy him. He may lack Jacob’s military training, but he could command a flock through fear and charm.

“What are you up to my sinful Wrath?”

It was then he spotted a thick, square package being untied from the black leather belt slung snugly across the deputy’s hips.

“Explosives? How utterly mundane.” disappointment dripped from his words.

He watched as there was a sudden shift in the Deputy’s posture. From a crouching and tensely coiled machine arose a self-confident silhouette. No longer were the steps hurried, quiet, and cautious. In place was an arrogant stride, each step measured and calculated, and the demeanor focused on the goal ahead. Never once did eyes dart to look to the sides or behind. It was then he knew…

His... no, no, no…  THE Deputy knew he was watching.

A shiver danced up the base of his spine, eyes narrowing. A devilish smile curved his lips bringing a sudden softness to his usually intense face.

“My, my aren’t we the brave one? All alone with no sign of Nick or Sharky? An unapproved outing perhaps? Ahhh, secrets upon lies upon secrets. Your sins seem to know no bounds.”

Rook had reached the door after a quick climb up the two back steps. John braced his forearm along the desk and leaned in so close that the screen almost grazed his nose. He should have been focusing on the package, but his eyes would not leave Rook’s face.

“Show me your sin… show  me your wrath,” he whispers, almost begging.

In a surprising move, the Deputy falls to one knee and looks directly at the camera, eyes amused even through the technological barrier. Lips are pursed in a small smile, mocking and almost taunting him. The mic kicked on and he heard every single word that pretty little throat uttered.

“An offering to the god Maximon.” a soft intake of breath and … was that a fucking laugh?! “Google it John.”

The use of his name scattered any logical thought processes he may have had. Never before had Rook uttered it, not when tied to his chair, not when baptised.. The sound of it from those lips and in that voice was alarming. Equal parts dreadful and pleasing.

The package, which he had forgotten in his astonishment, was placed gently upon the deck and with a small pause, the Deputy looked back up at the camera and winked. His internal confusion mounted until, standing, he got the one finger salute. John barely caught the guffaw that was trying to escape his throat so what ended up coming out was a strained grunt.

“Ahhhh, and there it is mixed with a bit of arrogance.”

Did the Deputy think him a complete simpleton? He was an educated man. He damn well knew the legend behind the Mayan God Maximon. Obviously Rook was trying to draw some rather dramatic comparisons. John chuckled. Oh dear… Was it the sunglasses? My, how he enjoyed that little reference.

Watching the retreating form closely, John sat on the edge of his chair  until the deputy’s head disappeared down the cliff. Once gone from the screen and his property, John finally stood to his full height of 5’10”. Running an unsteady hand through his hair, he made a quick grab for the radio before turning to descend to the back door.

Who was he to shun any offerings left by his admirers?

Cracking the door he peeked down at the package. Nothing was blinking or ticking.. He reached to his side, grabbed a conveniently placed broom and poked it. Surprisingly the package gave way with the brown paper ripping slightly.

Cloth?!

“What do you have up your sleeve?”

Pushing the broom back behind him, John stepped out onto the stoop and picked up the parcel. From what he could see inside the hole it looked like some clothing perhaps? Was the Deputy affronted by his fashion sense? Pft. He was damn meticulous about his choice of clothes, he was the face of Eden’s Gate after all. This look went over well for the most part.

He began to pluck at the gauze tying the parcel closed when a small blue button caught his eye. It was securely fastened to the middle of the package demanding to be noticed and there was absolutely no need for an explanation. John immediately knew what it was. Memories of the moment that he had Rook tied to his chair, the room encased in harsh red light.... He had leaned down, his mouth saying how he wished he had more to say yes to...ripping open that blue button down shirt… buttons scattered, flesh visible to his feasting eyes, sponge cleaning the fevered skin, his eyes demanding of those before him, commanding obedience yet hoping for rebellion.. Oh he knew this little button well.

His fingers closed into a fist around the small bit of plastic, tightening his grip until its form bit into the soft flesh of his palm. He shook his head to bring him back to the present before pocketing the button. Ripping the remaining paper away, John flicked out the cloth within and studied it briefly before throwing his head back and laughing.

It was a quilt… a quilt with blue planes and clouds in squares around the outskirts, and a red and blue plane circling each other in the center. It was obviously made with a child in mind, but John was oddly pleased. Sure the quilt was juvenile, but it told him quite a lot. The Deputy had somehow noted his admiration for planes in the only way possible: by the pattern on the coat he had only worn once when they first laid eyes on one another. It seemed a lifetime ago, that moment where it all began. The fact that those observant eyes had paid special attention to him, that Rook felt the need to gift this to him… spoke of something more than wrath.

He smirked, picking up the trash and tossing the quilt over his forearm to carry inside. This quilt was sure to be an interesting piece, and hell he might even display it in a mocking way amongst his Eden’s Gate symbols and books. For the moment he tossed the quilt over the dining room table, ignoring the blinking message light on his answering machine.

Was the Deputy coming around? Doubtful, but possible.

He made a quick detour through his kitchen and into his garage where there was a toolbox with exactly what he needed. On autopilot he rummaged through the necessary drawers, pushing aside bits of metal until he located the needle nose pliers and jump rings.

Striding back into the dining room John pulled a chair out in a quick gesture. Sitting thoughtfully, eyes glazed in contemplation, he was unaware as his hand toyed with the leather thong around his neck. A quick blink and he pulled up, ducking absently as it slipped from around his neck. What he was doing, he would not fully comprehend in the moment, but it was something he desperately needed. That tiny piece of plastic burned his thigh where it rested, heavy with meaning. Tugging it from where it lay hidden, deft fingers attached the weighty piece of blue behind his bunker key.

This was.. His? John brought the leather up to his neck, and after a brief debate slipped it back over his head. The weight from the key caused the leather to fall silently back into place, its familiar shape coming to a rest against his bare chest. Where there should have been the cool bite of metal, instead burned the heat of a secret contained in the form of a small blue button. Yes, this was his. His to carry or expose as he saw fit.

The Deputy… HIS deputy, was a weight he would shoulder, a sin he would either condone, commit, or eventually excise and cleanse. The path was not clear to him yet, but he would save Wrath even if it meant dragging them bodily into salvation: bloody, kicking, and screaming.

John chuckled as his hand closed over the handheld, the soft crackle of open airwaves loud in the silence of revelation, “Patrols will resume in an hour.”

Immediately he received his enthusiastic response: “Yes sir!”

Tonight? Well, tonight he would grant reprieve.

[maxmundan]

I didn’t want to come back. When I was a little kid, I was very religious, very Catholic. I believed with all my heart in heaven and hell, and used to spend a lot of time wondering where I was going to go when I died. I couldn’t really imagine heaven at all. I was told that heaven was just to be in the presence of God and that was all the soul would need. It didn’t seem so damn wonderful to me. I pictured praying and singing hymns night and day and those things were dreadfully boring only doing them once a week on Sunday. I had no problem picturing hell, though. I was terrified of it. I used to daydream about the fire and torment, the billions upon billions of methods of pain and torture. I would imagine myself trying to withstand the pain for all eternity and I would despair. I didn’t think I was good enough to go to heaven. I didn’t think I could be. I just wasn’t made that way. Of course, I had no idea at the time that the other place was nothing like what I imagined at all. I couldn’t have understood that heaven and hell are meaningless concepts when it finally comes down to it; that it would be both heaven and hell at the same time and that would be exactly as it was supposed to be and I couldn’t possibly imagine or want it to be anything else. I didn’t want to come back. My first day back, I had no idea what to do with myself. “You can do anything you want,” they had said to me, “Go anywhere you want. Eat anything you want. Enjoy yourself.” How was I supposed to make a decision like that, though? It was meaningless now. There was nothing that needed to be done or eaten. There was nowhere me, or anyone else for that matter, needed to go. None of it mattered in the slightest. I knew that now. Still, I had to do something. So I took the money they gave me and I bought a gun. I loaded all the chambers with the cold, metal bullets, I put the barrel to my head and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. But of course you know that. You know that death is impossible now. I didn’t know that at the time but I’ve since figured it out. I spent the next two weeks, every fucking minute of every day, trying to find a way out. There isn’t one. I get that now. It has sunk in. In those first couple of weeks back, though, I was desperate. There had to be a way out, I thought. I just have to find it. I walked in front of a bus and let it hit me head on. Nothing. I just got up and walked away. I jumped off an overpass onto the 405 freeway into oncoming traffic. It hurt like hell but the cars just kept rolling over me and I kept going. I felt every single one but after a couple of hours I realized I wasn’t getting out this way and pulled myself onto the shoulder of the road. I poisoned myself with strychnine and, later, drinking straight battery acid. I got sick as a dog but I was still here. I tried suicide by cop. I robbed a liquor store at gunpoint and, when the police arrived, engaged them in a fire fight. I think I was hit maybe a hundred times or more. Nada. After a while I just gave up and let them take me in. They said that was what happened all the time. They said that the only people who tried to do stuff like this anymore were those who had just come back and were looking for a way out. They told me that they understood and sympathized with me. One of them told me he was on his second round too and had tried to do something similar. He told me it was hopeless. He told me I should just give up. I asked him to find a way to kill me. He only laughed. I didn’t want to come back. I was in the sap of the tree, as it languidly rolled over the bark. I was in the dew as it dripped from the leaf onto the dog shit on the ground and I was in the shoe and the foot as it crushed the dog shit and felt the blissful cool as it spread all over me. I was in the fire as it consumed the little girl and I was the little girl and her screams and melting flesh and I was in the smoke and the foundation of the house and I was in her memories of the mother she wanted to see one more time. I was in the sound of your voice when you said my name with hatred and derision as you fucked Robert in our bed. I was in Robert’s shame that he was betraying a friend with a woman he didn’t really like. I was in the wicked smile you gave me on the night we met and I was in the less than puritan thoughts that were in your head. I was in the bird that lived outside your bedroom window and I was in the nest and the eggs and the bushes that provided the twigs. I was in your mom and dad and your grandparents and your nieces and nephews and everyone you have ever known. I was in the air you breathe and in the food you ate and I was in the farms that provided that food and the chemicals injected into the animals on that farm. I was in love. I was in love. I was in kisses and fucking and sperm and touching and holding and gripping as tightly as people can grip. I was in everything and I was in nothing. I didn’t want to come back. You gave it to me as a present. The cryogenic thing. You thought it was hilarious, so I played along and went to the intake session. Why not? It was just a bit of fun and was never going to mean anything, kind of like when you had me ordained as a minister for my 28th birthday. So, I went and filled out all their forms (in triplicate) and answered all their questions, even when they were slightly uncomfortable and invasive, like when they asked how often I masturbated or whether I preferred giving or receiving oral sex. What did any of that have to do with being frozen? I didn’t know then and I still don’t know. They showed us the tubes in the freezing room and I remember that we smirked at each other, having this little laugh together at their expense. Neither you nor I were ever the believer type and we weren’t going to start with this stupid, science fiction scenario. Afterwards, we made love at your parents’ house, that we were watching while they were in Paris. It was slow and tender and beautiful and funny. It was really fucking funny. We loved to laugh when we had sex, you and I, and this was one for the ages. We had really pulled the wool over those quacks’ eyes, hadn’t we? Going undercover like that and pretending to be customers. We could have been detectives, or reporters researching a story. The shared secret and the stifled laughter while we were in the office had made us so hot for each other, like we were the only two people in the world who were in on a special secret. You even went down on me, much more forcefully than usual. I guess you had been paying attention when I had answered that question. I didn’t want to come back. How many years has it been now? 16? 17? I can’t remember. About two and a half years in I started shooting fentanyl, like everybody else. The idea hadn’t appealed to me, as I couldn’t shake the old life knowledge that it was so deadly. Of course, that didn’t matter at all anymore, so once the drudgery and repetition became so unbearable, I decided to join the club. If I wasn’t going to get the big escape, I suppose I might as well indulge in the little one. Most of us live on the street. The houses and even the apartments are for the bosses. We just shoot dope all night and try to find whatever comfort and oblivion is possible to us. They’ve cordoned off our section of the city and just leave us to it. Their enforcers burst in every morning with their damnable cattle prods and get us all to the line. I assume it’s like this in every city, although I don’t really know. Nobody knows anything. There is no news or television or entertainment of any kind, aside from the occasional hallucination. That kind of stuff is only for the bosses. Sometimes, when I get close enough to one by accident or chance, I hear them talking about things but I don’t know what they mean. There’s no children here. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen a child since I’ve been back. That’s weird, isn’t it? Where did all the children go? We fuck, though. We can still do that, so we do it constantly, with anyone we can find. There’s really nothing else to do in our downtime. I mean, yeah, I can’t always get it up. Specially right after I shoot. Then I don’t want to, you know? I just want to lay on the ground and feel nothing. I cherish the tiny reminder…of the other place. When I’m coming down, though, I don’t want to do anything else. Most of the guys have trouble getting it up sometimes. There is always someone hard, though. We call it “erection frenzy,” when a whole crowd spots a hard-on at the same time and they all jump on it. People have been known to get really hurt that way. They still got to be on the line in the morning. I didn’t want to come back. It was about six months in I found out you were gone already. I wasn’t particularly surprised. It had been 50 years after all. Still I’d really hoped I’d get the chance to talk to you. I wanted to tell you that I understood and that it was all okay. I wanted you to know that I forgave you for cheating on me; for hating me so intensely in those last days. I realize what a disappointment I had been to you. I’m sorry I was too weak to fight for you. I get it now that this is what you wanted all along. It was the one thing I couldn’t give. I was a lover, not a fighter. Isn’t that funny? If you were here, you would think that was funny. But you’re not here. Robert’s not here either, or else I’d gift him with my forgiveness, whatever that’s worth. You’re in the other place. With him. I didn’t want to come back. I was my mother, as she was giving birth to me, and I was my father, watching her with the realization that I would never again be free. I was my sister Sue, who had the harelip and I felt what it was like to be pitied, and I was my brother Mark, winning another track and field award and knowing what it was like to be myself without a doubt. I was Chipper, our Border Collie when I was a kid, living to chase the ball and lavishing in the feeling of the hands on my back. Oh God, the hands on my back. I was Harry and Larry, the goldfish, gorging myselves on the food that had been spilled into the bowl by mistake until our tiny stomachs began to burst. I was Mahatma Gandhi, lying in bed with two gorgeous women and repeating to myself that I cannot have sex with them, but wanting to so badly, and I was Ed Gein, lovingly carving up a carcass and tenderly knitting the pieces together with thread. I was I was Vladimir Nabokov, believing I was about to shock and astonish the world, and I was John Ford, arguing, for the millionth time, with that bloated blowhard John Wayne. I was you, looking at me, with hesitation and disquiet and, yes, more than a little love and devotion. I was me, looking at you and wondering just how much of myself I was going to reveal. I was everyone and I was no one. I didn’t want to come back. I’ve tried to overdose. I just can’t do it. Oh, you fade away, just like you’d expect when you OD. The only problem is, you come back. You wake up in exactly the same place you started. I should have learned a long time ago that they won’t let you out. they’ll never let you out. One time I saved up my rations for a whole month and traded them for enough fenfen that I thought I could kill a horse with it. I shot it all in one massive dose and was gone within seconds. I was out for about four days that time, but I still came back. I had missed something like 60 hours on the line and had to be publically humiliated and flogged. They don’t like it when you try to get away, even for a bit. There’s no escape. You can’t get out. This is forever. I didn’t want to come back. When I was a little kid, I was very religious, very Catholic. I believed with all my heart in heaven and hell, and used to spend a lot of time wondering where I was going to go. I guess I can stop asking that question. I didn’t want to come back.

Max Mundan, Coming Back

© Max Mundan 2017

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