#lost within the woods being them getting shot and Dark locked them away for good

[all-lars-bars]

Thinking about Alice Human Sacrifice for the Markiplier Protags. See tags for infodump.

[beyondspaceandstars]

congratulations! 📚 could you do promos 4 & 7 from the smut with Natasha Romanoff???

by the way, I hope you have a great day/night!

Brat

Relationship: CEO!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, fingering, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I went a bit CEO!Natasha with this one - hope that’s okay, I thought it lent well! Also, thank you! I hope you're having a nice day/night as well :)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You really didn’t want to go and Natasha knew this but she was also quite the persuasive one, having such a dominance to her that you could rarely, if ever, say no to.

So, that’s how you found yourself a bit grumpily sitting in the car passenger seat while your girlfriend drove you two to whatever charity banquet this was.

Natasha was constantly getting these invitations being the high-up, fancy CEO that she was and usually you were fine with them. You liked the little appetizers and flutes of champagne. You especially liked your girlfriend parading you around, showing you off to fancy city people.

But tonight just wasn’t the night for you. You had had a ridiculous day at your own job and frankly, you just wanted to lounge around with your girl, maybe order pizza, and have lazy sex. Natasha had shut down your idea, saying she already RSVP’d for you two. Grudgingly, you shoved yourself into a dress and let her whisk you away

Little did she know, though, that you weren’t letting down easily. You had some potential ideas for the night, hoping that maybe — just maybe — you can rile Natasha up enough to keep her focus just on you and not the millionaires trying to network.

Upon arriving at the event, you hunted down the first tray of champagne you could find, taking a swig of the alcohol promptly. Natasha followed your path, stopping every now and then to chat, but once she was free of the schmoozing, she marched right towards you. An arm made it was tightly around your waist.

"What is your problem?" She gritted in your ear just below a whisper so no one could pick up on the tension. Your eyes darted around the room

"Nothing," you responded, taking another sip of champagne.

Natasha scoffed. "Well, you’re acting like a brat." She grabbed your glass out of your hand. You gasped but before you could protest, Natasha asked, "Is this because I made you come here tonight?

You shot her a look before taking back your champagne and finishing it off. "I’m gonna go get another drink."

Before your girlfriend could pull you back to her, you were already on a rampage for the bar. Luckily, no one tried to stop you. Thanks to your relations with Natasha, you had worked up a bit of your own status but it wasn’t like anyone genuinely cared. You weren’t negotiating deals.

You leaned on the bar and signaled for the bartender. You asked for something a little stronger. He nodded politely and got to making the drink. You turned your attention to the freshly polished wood of the bar.

Running a finger over it carelessly as you waited, out of the corner of your eye you noticed someone approach beside you. It was a man you somehow didn’t recognize. He looked very well put-together, almost like he was trying too hard, with his designer pressed suit and hair that could go up in flames from all the product in it.

You tried to ignore him, turning your attention to the bartender who was still at work, but it was hard when the man was not-so-subtly inching towards you. This wasn’t going to go very well, you thought. But you weren’t stopping it.

"In need of something to get you through the night?" The man suddenly asked. Your gaze shot over to him.

"Excuse me?"

He chuckled, "I meant the drink."

As if on cue, a glass was placed right in front of you. You wrapped your hands around it, slowly bringing it to your lips for a sip as you eyed the stranger. He was watching you quite intensely.

You hummed, delighted by the cocktail. "These things can sometimes be…draining."

He sighed. "Tell me about it."

The conversation fell into a lull. You tried glancing around at the other patrons, all completely oblivious to the bar, but just couldn’t shake this man and his eyes which were still watching you. They shamelessly took in the curves of your dress and even lingered a bit on your chest.

Your stomach dropped as you suddenly saw him step even closer, his finger lightly brushing your arm in the process. You froze but still made no chance to dash away. Maybe your goal of annoying your girlfriend tonight was going a bit too far…

"You know," he began, his voice dangerously low, "if you wanted to sneak away for a bit—"

"She doesn’t," Natasha gritted as she suddenly approached you two. You just about let out a sigh of relief as her arm came around your waist, pulling you into her side. You yelped at the action, stumbling a bit, but she held you tight.

The mystery man looked you two over, a bit of a pleased expression graced his face. But he didn’t press further, probably very deterred by the daggers Natasha’s eyes were shooting at him. He collected his drink from the bar and raised it at you two as if in some awkward toast.

"Fair enough, ladies," he said, and then he was back in the crowd, lost in the sea of aristocrats.

You didn’t know what to do now, opting to stare down at your drink.

"What the hell was that about?" Natasha asked.

"I- He just came up to me," you pouted.

Natasha shook her head in disappointment as she began walking you two away from everyone else. You didn’t know where she was leading you until you were roughly pulled into the women’s restroom. It was empty, thankfully, and you heard the turn of the lock as you placed your drink on the counter.

"He just came up to you," Natasha repeated. She was sauntering over, looking very much more like some powerful CEO than your sweet girlfriend. You gulped and gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. "He may have came up to you but I didn’t see you making any moves to walk away."

"Well—"

"And you let him touch you," she scoffed. "Don’t think I didn’t see his fingers on your fucking arm." For emphasis, she gripped the spot he had brushed over. You yelped. "What made you think he could do that, hmm? What, did you forget who you belong to?"

"No, Natasha, I didn’t mean—" You pleaded but she wasn’t buying it.

"I’m not buying it," she said as she roughly turned you around, her back pressing your front into the bathroom counter. "In fact, I think you need a little reminder."

You held your breath in anticipation as Natasha began gathering the skirt of your dress. You knew what she was going to find underneath. And you certainly knew it wasn’t going to help your case.

Sure enough, once your lower region was exposed, Natasha let out a gasp. “No panties? Are you kidding me right now?!”

"Natasha, please—"

"You really are a fucking brat, aren’t you?"

You tried shaking your head but it was no use. Her mind was made as she pressed into you even more, her hand now coming to caress your inner thigh. You whimpered out your girlfriend’s name as her fingers began slowly circling your clit. She chuckled in your ear before collecting some of the wetness dripping from your folds and putting attention back on your clit.

"So wet for me," Natasha murmured. "It is for me, right? Or did that man out there get you dripping like a needy slut?"

You groaned, captivated by the action happening between your thighs. "Just for you," you said as your eyes slowly fluttered. Natasha picked up the pace adding slight pressure as well. You squealed.

"That’s it," she whispered, holding you tighter around the waist. "That’s my girl."

Suddenly, though, she moved her fingers back to your folds where, without warning, she shoved two fingers inside you. You yelped, twisting in her grip. She didn’t even budge. You cried out as the fingers flicked upwards, hitting just the right spots.

"If you want to act like a slut you have to deal with being fingered like one, got it?" Natasha said. Her mouth was practically on your ear, she was whispering so lowly it sent goosebumps up your arms. She was pissed and serious. You were loving it.

"Y-Yes, Natasha." You barely managed to get the words out but your girlfriend seemed very pleased. Her fingers picked up — significantly. A squelching noise now filled the bathroom, coming directly from your wetness which was not stopping any time soon it seemed. Natasha was also taking the moment to make sure her hand was hitting your clit. With every single pump. It was getting overwhelming very, very fast.

You spoke again, "Please, please… I’m gonna cum."

"Yeah?" Natasha mocked. "My little slut needs to cum?"

You nodded your head profusely. "Please, please." The begging was becoming second nature at this point, your only instinct. Natasha seemed very pleased with that.

"Fine," she huffed. "Cum all over my fingers you greedy little girl. And you better scream when you cum. I want every single person, especially that man, to know who’s treating you so well."

Her paced picked up even more (how that was possible you didn’t know) and your body reacted wonderfully. Within moments, you were crumbling like a house of cards. Your orgasm rushed over you as you cried out much louder than you had actually intended. You couldn’t stop as Natasha continued to work you through the orgasm. She didn’t give up until you were limp in her arms.

She chuckled, watching your body practically collapse from pleasure. "Was that good, honey?"

"Yes," you mumbled, leaning into her body. Natasha fixed your dress and brought her hand to caress your cheek.

"Good," she said and placed a quick kiss on your lips. "Maybe that’ll teach you to behave."

Now it was your turn to laugh. "Why would I behave when that’s what I get for being bad?"

Abruptly, Natasha’s hand came around your neck, forcing you to look at her. Her gaze was dark, her CEO stance still very much engaged. "Don’t even tempt me."

You bit your lip teasingly but nodded your head slowly. You certainly didn’t mean it, though, already secretly planning the next time you could ruffle her feathers.

[quillsareswords]

hi <3 so this is weirdly specific but could you do a scenario with vamp reader where one of the batfam gets kinds critically injured while on patrol in outer Gotham and they can't get back to the manor so Damian is like i know a place and then takes them to secret vamp gf's apartment???? ik it's really specific but i'd really love it :)

Darling you've read my mind. There are few things I live writing more than vampire reader fics

Damian Wayne x f!Reader

WARNINGS: blood, mild gore, impromptu surgery, utter lack of medical knowledge

PROMPT LIST and MASTER LIST in bio

Tim's bleeding out.

He's bleeding out in Jason's arms, and Robin isn't taking them to the Cave.

Red Hood's been growling and barking questions and curses and orders at the youngest man's back for seven minutes. He'll admit, reluctantly, that he's beginning to panic. Red Robin's got a bullet lodged between a rib and an organ, and a bullet hole shot clean through his side. There's a graze across one shoulder, but a stitch and an ace bandage could fix that easy.

They should be halfway to the Cave by now. They should've made a break for the abandoned Bat Mobile at the first opportunity they had. Unfortunately, they'd been boxed in. The only way out was to lose the crowd of pissed off dog-fighting assholes through a winding maze of alleyways that lead them away from the only mode of transportation within two miles.

Robin has some sense of direction. He knows something Hood doesn't. That much is obvious. He hasn't stopped to look around for three turns, despite knowing they've likely already lost the crowd. Still, he's not saying anything.

The most he gave Jason to go on was a winded, "pick up Drake, I know a place," and then he took off.

Red keeps mumbling. It's getting incoherent. It's strained, and he's trying not to let on how much it really hurts, even though everybody knows. They all know first hand.

Robin takes a sharp turn and skids to a stop at a door around the back of an apartment building. He's rushing with his keyring, the jingling of all the metal clinking splitting through the shadows left cast by the broken light above the door.

"Damian," Hood snarls. "Where are you taking us? He needs a doctor."

"We don't have time for a doctor," Robin bites back. The lock finally clicks and has to use his full weight to shove the steel slab open.

Hood doesn't have another choice, so he follows Robin up three flights of cement stairs, minding the distance between Red Robin's head and the half-rusted steel railing.

Robin stop abruptly and shoves through another door. He leads them down a hallway, with faded, flattened red carpet and doors with chipped wood. He stops again at the last door on the left, keys chiming in his hands again.

The moment it swings open, Robin grabs Redhood by his arm and pushes him inside first.

A stranger peers around the corner from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised.

Hood stares back. An apartment. This must be the wrong place. There's a civilian right there–

"What's–? Who's this? Is he bleeding? Is that your brother?" Your voice raises a little higher each question. Your half full glass teeters when you all but throw it back onto the counter to lunge around the wall. "Damian?"

The door slams behind Hood. He barely registers it, brain overloading with such a tower of information being dropped into his lap.

Robin steers around Hood, mask pulled clean from his face. "He's been shot twice, I need you to help me stitch the first one and remove the second bullet."

The shock is still gleaming in your eyes, but you spin around and sweep everything from the kitchen island. It all crashes to the floor, but you hardly seem to care as you turn to another cabinet and start pulling out first aid packs.

"Put him there," Damian instructs, pulling the green glove from his left hand first.

"What happened?" You demand, ripping the zipper across the first canvas bag.

"It was–" Damian's breath catches with his right glove halfway off, "We broke up a dogfight, they were not pleased."

Your gaze jumps from Tim as Hood lays him down to Damian. His hand is blooded, knuckles blooming dark purples and blues and ugly yellows around split skin.. "That looks nasty."

He stops for a spare moment, staring down at the throbbing appendage. "It is," he hums.

You sigh, digging through the red canvas pouch. "I'll start on him, you go get the ice pack." You take a carpet needle and a spool of stitches from the bag. You glance Hood up and down. "What about the other one? He hurt?"

"Todd's fine," Damian dismisses, waving his good hand in the same manner as he ducks behind you to get to the refrigerator.

"Hey, demon? You wanna, ya know? Explain?"

Damian glances over his shoulder as he reaches into the freezer drawer. "This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jason Todd and Tim Drake."

You're already bent over Tim's left side with a pair of scissors. He's losing the most blood from the exit wound, so you're starting there. You glance up, just in time to watch Jason pull the helmet from his head. He looks angry. "I assumed. Anyway, the good news is, he doesn't smell like death and I'll be honest, I'm really wishing I hadn't skipped breakfast."

Damian still behind you, staring down at your hands as you cut away at Tim's uniform.

It's an odd comment to make. What does breakfast have to do with any of this? And what did you mean? Smell like death?

He finally has the time to get a good look at you. He doesn't know what he expects. The exhaustion of a nurse? The collectedness of an ex-medic? The focus of a doctor?

Whatever he expected, it wasn't the borderline glowing yellow he finds in your eyes or the restraint in your stare.

A vampire. Damian brought his bleeding brother to a vampire.

"Damian–"

Damian's already staring him down. "Do not. We'll discuss later."

He refocuses on you. You've got the bloodied alcohol wipe discarded beside Tim, and your hooking the needle through skin for the second time.

You're surprisingly quick about the stitches and the bandages, but Jason nearly faints when you round the island to his other wound, where the bullet is still lodged, and plunge your fingers straight into the weeping wound. Tim, on the other hand, does pass out.

It doesn't take more than an hour for you to get him all patched up. Then you help Jason get him into a guest bedroom and set him up in there after you've had Damian dose him with morphine.

Then you boss Damian into the living room to sit and doctor his hand. You'd tried to talk him into letting you do it, but you relented and settled for at least making him sit down.

You're fixing ramen noodles in the kitchen, Damian's sitting on the edge of your couch bent over his hand, and Jason is sitting stiffly in your armchair across the the coffee table.

He's been quiet for a long time. Damian obviously wasn't going to tell him anything until he decide it was a good time to pipe up, so Jason had done what he could given the situation; observe.

Your apartment was decently put together. Humble, lived it, unprepared for company. It's dim, with only a few lamps speckled through the rooms for light and the bulbs removed from the overheads.

He's most interested in Damian, though. Despite having a likely broken hand, he's more relaxed here than he is in some parts of the Manor. His body language reads comfort. He's not looking around every few minutes for any sign of danger, even though they'd all barely escaped a small angry mob ninety minutes ago.

"So," he huffs, leaning back into your chair. He spares you a glance. Your back is to them while you stir a pot. "You wanna clue me in or are we gonna keep loitering in this poor woman's home?"

You peer over your shoulder.

Damian sighs heavily.

"Your call," you chip in, digging around in a lower cabinet.

He throws a dirty look your way. "Thanks for the help."

He draws a deep breath, reclining against the back of the couch. "Firstly, all if this stays between us," he starts, gesturing to the whole apartment with his good hand. "Second, Y/N is a vampire, and if you so much as breathe disrespectfully–"

"Damian," you warn."

"–we'll have issues."

Jason blinks slowly. Clearly unimpressed. "Why do you care do much? And how'd you know she wouldn't eat Timmy alive?"

"She's my girlfriend."

He damn near falls out of the chair. "Your what?"

[swcetnight]

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength."  Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

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[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iii

part i  part ii  AO3

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 6.572

Warnings: here’s where the smut tag comes into play, boy with a copious amount of power play and yeah, it’s messy af

Author’s note: after three months, a couple of brainstorming in the bathtub, delays, revisions and self-doubt, chapter 3 is finally done. i hope you'll enjoy it. also, i don't think i have to warn you what will go down in this chapter.

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Fast forward to twenty-four hours since he discovers that Bell is fucking someone, Lazar drops about half a dozen of dusty manilas on his desk. Adler’s eyes sweep over them. He recognizes Bell’s handwriting etched across the memo attached to one of the folders right away.

He picks it up. It’s becoming second nature to him lately; drawing himself to her, an ineradicable magnetic force pulling his end of the pole.

A muscle on his jaw twitches.

For a moment, Adler despises her. He allows himself to really despise her. She’s started something in his head- a war; an intangible, unmanageable riot and if he lets her, she’ll rearrange him until he’s insane.

And he can’t let that happen. He’s the one holding the leash here, not vice versa.

“This is what we have on Dragovich’s activities in Yamantau,” Lazar informs him, pulling him back down to earth.

Adler stands, keeping his face easy, neutral. “Is this everything?”

“So far, yeah. Bell says she’ll let us know if she digs up something more from the archives though.”

Bell- the Bell in question- can be heard sighing, like she turns the corner and finds herself at a cul-de-sac; hunching over her desk, reading, her fingers keep buttoning and unbuttoning the top of her shirt, madly distracting (him).

She remains in her seat, for pretty much the remainder of the day. Eyes glued to the pages before her, factory-like dedication. She hardly looks up when Sims borrows her pen or when Park stands over her, sipping her coffee, inquiring about her progress behind a plume of smoke.

The only- truly time Bell ever lifts her head from her work is when Mason approaches her desk. She gazes up at him, notes forgotten, a kittenish smile etched across her face, come-hither eyes that could have time hung in motion, or held at ransom, perhaps. Mason’s own smile is full-blown, too wide, too genial, as he stalks closer and closer to her table, her whirlpool.

Adler does a double-take, like his eyeballs only functioning for the first time. He might as well be hallucinating it because no... this can’t be right, can it?

But then Mason is touching her hand, a blink-and-you-miss-it movement that was not lost on Adler and oh, she’s looking at him hopefully now.

The knots in Adler's stomach are vertiginous. Realization rings in his head like a gunshot, nearly leaving him in a daze. There’s no denying it. Not when the exchange unfurls before his eyes like a broken, warped film reel and there’s nothing to stop him from seeing it.

The thought of her and him haunts the rest of his waking hours, until there’s absolutely no telling how far he’s fallen into his own pit. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ( Alex Mason fucked her that night.

Mason was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as Mason rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room.

Alex Mason fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ She haphazardly reaches for the mug and takes a hearty gulp of its content. It’s not hers.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Bell says, mortified and places the mug down noisily on the desk. “I’m sorry, I thought it was mine.”

The rim of his mug is now stained with her lipstick. Adler bites down on a careful retort.

He thinks he knows now. Why he lets it happen, why he thinks of her in metaphors, why she gives him that vertigo. The answer is at the tip of his tongue- he can almost taste it, like spoiled milk or rancid gardenia. But it’s much easier to ignore it until the words grow diminuendo and disappear, that he thinks he imagined it all along.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You can’t obsess without turning around and getting lost in the middle.

Or losing a part of yourself in the process.

The idea of obsession, to obsess, perhaps is a far riskier thing for a person to have than playing the knife game, blindfolded with absolutely no telling where to start.

Yet we all do it, despite knowing the very dark flipside it possesses.

Perhaps it’s the very nature of humans, tucked deep within the pigeonhole of our minds, suffused by the very promise of bogus achievements that usually leads most of us insane, thinking that obsession is essential to living. But without it, artists are corporate slaves, slack-jawed know-it-alls moving stiffly in the middle of the hullabaloo that is our world; Paris would be just as unrecognizable today without Napoleon’s artistic legacy.

Obsession is good.

Obsession is dangerous.

The very dichotomy should have us all warded off of it.

Yet, again, we all do it. Again, and again, and again until it taints our veins. And it’s always far too late until you realize, that yes, now all you see is her, the air has been poisoned by her perfume, that her name is now forevermore engraved in your skin, like an overgild tattoo.

That you end up in downtown Berlin, out of sight, out of mind.

He finds them there, in a shoebox-sized cafe. Ill-lit, low-ceiling, coffee-stained floor that shows the wear of three decades worth of boots, pantoffels and high heels and Adler is sitting in his car, nursing a beer with but one all-consuming, perplexing thought:

Bell and Mason.

Someone told him they arrived together, about an hour ago. The cafe has become their usual haunts, his source said, ever since they’ve returned from Ukraine and Adler just can’t wrap his head around this- them. In his head, they’re wholly different entities. Two proper nouns separated by a conjunction, or a comma if mentioned in a list.

They’re the kind of opposites that he thought don’t attract, yet here they are.

Perhaps it's inevitable, both are products of brainwashing. Maybe they sensed one another, speaking in code, like detecting an RF signal from a nuclear bunker.

Then the doors to the cafe swing open. They step outside, cheeks flushed, his arm wrapped around her waist, her lips glueing on the slope of his neck. Shaded eyes watch them from the opposite street, his disgust obvious.

Now, Adler wonders how this all began. Someone must have made the first move.

He wonders if it was her. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You wanted to see me?"

Adler looks up from his desk and nods. "Lock the door behind you."

And Alex Mason, the root of all this trouble, obeys. Looking somewhat uncertain under the scrutiny of the harsh lights, and shuts the blinds. Unlike Woods, he takes a seat at the chair Adler sets up before the desk.

"What is it?" Mason asks, after a long, almost unending silence. His curiosity seeps through the room.

There is very little control when the first domino falls. Oftentimes, once it starts, it’s like crossing the Rubico n and the next thing you know, you are lying flat on the ground in some theater, 23 fresh stab wounds decorating your body and the beat of your pulse seems dim and distant, everything feels cold except your blood; warm, bright and thick like gasoline, crawling into every space until it goes into your throat and strangles you, kills you. Fini, kaput.

But then again, he's not Caesar and this isn't Rome.

Adler pushes the first tile.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks without fanfare, tight and composed as ever. Never mind the way his eyes ignite like cold blue fire behind his glasses.

"How long has what been going on?"

“You and Bell." And Mason blinks at him in surprise. Bingo. "I saw the two of you leaving for her hotel from a cafe in Downtown Berlin last night. So don't bother skirting your way around this.” Adler leans forward across his desk. He’s a man on a mission- there’s no stopping him now.

“Now, let me rephrase the question, how long have you been fucking her?"

"Hold on, hold on, you were stalking us?" Mason asks, waspish.

Adler winces inwardly. "I was keeping an eye out for my asset.”

“Asset?” Mason hisses, like Adler just blasphemed. “Jesus Christ, Russ, is that all she ever is to you? An asset? She’s your protégé, for god’s sake- a person! What is wrong with you?"

"Plenty. Or apparently, so I've been told.”

"I don't find you amusing.”

“I'm hardly ever,” Adler parries. Mason remains silent, yet the tilt of his lips translate exactly what words can't. "And you haven't answered my question."

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything."

"Listen, Al-"

"No, you listen to me. You may be calling the shots around here, but this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Whatever- or whoever - we're doing in our spare time is none of your business, do you understand? So you can just drop it," Mason seethes, bitter, and, much to Adler’s surprise, rises to leave. “We’re done here.”

"That's where you're wrong."

Mason has only managed to put a few paces between them before he turns around, once again stepping inside this metaphorical boxing ring.

"What?"

"This has everything to do with me," Adler says coolly. "You said it yourself, I'm the one who calls the shots here. Meaning, anything that could potentially fuck up my operation is my concern and I have the right to intervene should it needed. This, being a case in point."

Mason looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What the hell does fucking her have to do with this whole operation?”

“Everything.” He says it like quiet resignation. It’s time to acknowledge the truth, he thinks, to that unusual idea that has been swirling in the deep recesses of his mind, that everyone’s weakness is varied.

Achilles had his heel, and Adler has her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to, Al. You don't even know her."

Mason gives him a level stare. "And you do?"

Adler is so hard-pressed to say 'I made her' but even he wouldn't stoop that low.

"That is beside the point,” Adler tells him instead as he turns to his vice- one of them, at least- and lights it.

“There is literally no point to this conversation.”

“The point is, stay the hell away from Bell. I'm saying this for your own good."

"My own good or yours?"

Adler does not flinch, but his hand does ball into a fist under the table, how the fingers curl and then flex.

"Don't be ridiculous. I gain nothing from this except assurance." It's a lie, it's the truth. There's no in between. He doesn’t know which is which anymore. "You, on the other hand, I'm sure the old ball and chain wouldn't be near as thrilled about hearing this if word ever gets out."

Mason is quiet for a beat.

"Is that a threat?"

"Only once I pulled the pin," Adler replies, a dangerous undercurrent in his voice.

But the thing with Mason, he'll come to realize later, is how much, like with Bell, weaving through his mind is like trying to grasp for purchase in the dark as he, once again, does the unpredicted and smile- a venomous grin warps his face, like he’s mocking him, challenging him to move his piece on the board and make this mistake.

Adler stares back, surprised despite himself.

He shocks him further by saying, "Go ahead, then. Pull the pin, throw the grenade, tell her. See if she cares."

Adler’s eyes narrow at his askance. He then drags his attention to Mason’s left hand, and something grave and familiar rises in his chest.

The absence of the metal band around his ring finger tells him why.

“You know where to reach her. If anything, I’m sure she’d trust your words better than anyone else’s. So please, do it.” And Mason’s so goddamn sanctimonious about it. He’s clearly expecting this particular reaction out of Adler. It only leaves Adler angrier.

Another long pause stretches, heavy and unkind.

"Fine. Maybe she won't mind, but I'm sure the Agency wouldn’t be as tolerant.” Adler takes one last drag of his cigarette. He has that ‘Having nothing, nothing can he lose’ look on his face that makes Mason frowns. “Not when you’ve been fraternizing with the enemy.”

"What?”

"Bell. She’s not who you think she is, Al. Tell me, who do you think is the sorry bastard we saved in Trabzon?”

Mason blinks. His face is blank with shock, then he shakes his head. And he keeps shaking it, almost manic. If he laughs, which one would come first, he wonders, the gun or his fist pummeling the side of his face?

“You’re lying.”

“And why would I lie to you about this?”

"No, no, no, Woods- he told me the guy’s dead,” Mason says, his words are shaky.

“He’s not. And he wasn’t a he."

A crease forms between Mason's eyebrows, the starting of another frown.

“Hold on, if she’s helping us get Perseus then why is she the enemy?”

"Because she doesn't know that."

"Doesn't know what?"

"That she's the enemy."

Mason holds his gaze for a moment, his expression tense, like a slingshot.

And that cold elastic band finally snaps.

“What did you do to her?” He’s openly glaring at him now, mouth tight, an icy fury that is no longer dormant and for the first time since Adler has known him, he finds the man dangerous.

Adler takes a steadying breath. “We did what had to be done.”

"You sick son of a bitch. You brainwa- You-” Mason clamps his mouth shut, trembling hands finding his head. “Shit. How could you?"

Adler ignores his colorful outburst.

“She resisted every form of interrogations we threw at her, Al. We had no choice but to implement MK-Ultra as a last resort. We needed what’s in her head.” Mason is silent in reply. Adler continues, “Look, it’s nasty business, I know, but some of us have to cross a line just to make sure that line's still there in the morning. And as much as I hate agreeing with Hudson, he’s right. We need to preserve our way of life.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to play God,” his voice is resentful and crisp. “Do you have any idea what you are doing? You could jeopardize everything, and for what? You’ve seen what this- this experiment did to me, this won’t end the way you think!”

“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

"You’re really willing to gamble on that?”

Adler scowls. “I don’t gamble, Mason. I calculate. And if by some chance I was given a second chance, I’d do it all over again. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Mason doesn’t say anything at first, his loaded gun stare never falters. Then, “The flag may be different, but the methods are the same.”

"What was that?”

“Someone warned me, a long time ago, about how people like you will use people like me or Bell as pawns in your own game. You’d do whatever it takes to get what you want- and my, how you get results, don’t you? But you’re actually no different than the rest of the assholes you're fighting against,” Mason tells him, like he’s spitting out acid in Adler’s face.

“Bell may be the enemy- heck, she could be the architect behind all the chaos Perseus has done, but what you’re doing to her is vile and unethical. There are many ways to make her spill the beans, yet you chose the most immoral method there is out there. I sincerely hope you rot in hell for this."

Before Adler could formulate a response to his tirade, Mason stands to his feet.

“You want me to stay away from her? Fine. Consider this as my formal resignation. After Yamatau, I’m done. I’m out of the team. And if you know what’s good for you, you stay the fuck away from me because I don't ever want to see your face again, do you hear me?” he snarls. “If you think Woods is dangerous, Adler, just remember I nearly could have killed my own president."

Then Mason turns on his heel and walks out of the room, once and for all. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The fist is very much expected, and so does the pain that follows.

"You're out of your fucking depth, shithead," Woods spits, venom lacing his words.

Adler doesn't even bother to retaliate.

He doesn’t see the point. He didn’t think it would get this far. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The garage grows quiet and stodgy with now Mason and Woods are out of the picture. Everyone settles back into their own normal rhythm, the same routine before both men set their feet here almost a week ago.

Hudson doesn’t take the news of their departure kindly, naturally. He stands in Adler’s office, pacing, fuming. Adler ignores him, trying to nurse the skull-splitting migraine he's having at his desk instead. The nasty black eye hidden underneath his glasses. A secret locked, the key thrown away.

His headache, thankfully, has subsided when Sims takes a seat on the other side of the desk, hours later after Hudson left.

"I'm not trying to cause an alarm here, but you'd better watch your back."

Adler's brows furrow but doesn’t look up from the papers before him. "And why's that?"

"'Cause I think you just pissed off the wrong beast," Sims tells him. Adler pauses, then lifts his head to look at his cohort. There's genuine worry flashing over his face.

“Are you talking about Bell?”

“Who else?”

If she's a beast, then what am I? What he wants to ask, but there's a knock at the door and he swallows the words down his throat.

"Come in," Adler says, pretending to be reading again.

The door opens and Bell, fucking Bell, enters his office. It's like watching a tiger pass by your hiding spot in near dark. Neither he nor Sims breathes a word.

Bell's gaze immediately swings to him, like a cosmic pull. She's watching him as she wanders over to the desk and the weight of her stare burns him like Greek fire.

He pushes the documents close, all the while returning her stare. He is never the one who backs out of a challenge, and at this point, he knows that she probably knows that. Maybe that’s why she initiated it in the first place.

"Bell, what is it?" Adler asks firmly, in possession of his full power in this place.

Bell produces three diskettes from her pocket. Something odd definitely shining in her eyes.

"These have been lying on Lazar's desk for hours, but he's busy, so I thought I'd deliver them to you myself," Bell says. And he's trying to work out on her angle but she is unreadable. As always.

Adler nods, frustrated and indignant. "You can leave them here. Thank you."

It is only once the woman leaves that the two agents share a dark, significant look. That was too close.

And it goes without saying, something needs to be done about this. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 7th. A's insistence on raising the dosage is illogical. Recent behavioural analysis indicates depression. Will monitor for the next few days. Considering lowering the dosage instead. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The elevator reeks of smoke, cheap Soviet air freshener and something far more poisonous than the devil’s spider, silky hands.

It embodies the woman standing next to him right now- this special animal, emotionless, a constant mystery wrapped with a warning sign.

Adler is tempted to shut his eyes.

Or get out of here. He doesn’t dwell well in this atmosphere, this limited space shared with her alone. He probably should have listened to Hudson about taking Bell for this mission, but she’s the only one he trusts who won’t fuck this up. Not to mention her spotless Russian has proven to help them blend in with the crowd seamlessly.

He needs her, whether he would admit it aloud or not.

But she puts his head in such a spin.

She’s been near-mute since they departed from Germany. She barely acknowledges his questions and orders, barely looks at him. She’s been treating him as if he’s another shadow on the wall.

He rubs the side of his jaw. Something does need to be done about this.

“Are you going to stay quiet forever?” Adler asks. He’s bad at this, but he can’t stand her silence for much longer. Not to mention, they’re at the Lubysnka- the fucking lion's den. If she wants to wallow over Mason’s absence or sinks into whatever melancholic feeling she’s in, she can do it later.

Bell hums, her mouth curls up like serpentine. Adler sketches a confused frown.  And she says, “I don’t know. Should I?”

And then, sudden and swift, Bell undoes the cuffs of her uniform. Beady eyes never leave his.

The sight catches him off guard. Somewhere in his mind, he curses something like ‘you’re a beast’ and ‘what the hell are you?’ at her, all in negative connotations. The effects she inflicts on him is maddening.

“What are you doing?” Adler doesn’t bother to hide his surprise.

Bell shrugs and gestures to the duffle bag at their feet. “Gearing up.”

Oh. Embarrassment wells up in him. Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of him.

Her fingers quickly move on to the buttons, still indifferent, nearly tearing them from the seams. The first glimpse of her skin and Adler can’t help but give in, openly stares at her in a way he has never imagined before. Her clavicles like daggers glinting in the lamplight.

Curiosity is a dangerous and heavy load.

He should have closed his eyes.

“Enjoying the show?” Her voice pulls him back from his musings. Her eyes still zero in on him, cutting him to pieces.

Her cleavage comes into view.

The lines on Adler’s face grow taut.

“What do you want, Bell?” He asks, intending for a bark but it ends somewhere like a plea.

“I want many things. As of right now, I want Alex’s cock inside me.” And Adler nearly chokes on his own breath. Bell, eagle-eyed as ever, caught the movement. “But it seems someone insists on being in control of everything, isn’t he?” she snaps.

Adler’s back goes rigid. Trepidation bubbles up in his chest.

Of course, she knows.

“It's not about control.” Adler turns around. He doesn’t quite know what he’s avoiding at this point, her flesh or the truth. “It’s about what’s right.”

He hears her uniform touches her floor as she laughs, mirthless, like broken chandeliers. “I didn’t know whose cock I’m riding is any concern of yours.”

“It is when he’s a member of the team,” he seethes. “What you’re doing with Alex will only lead to complications. And I can’t have tha-”

“Because this is all about you, isn’t it? It’s about upholding your precious reputation in the Agency, controlling the narrative the way you want it no matter how many characters you kill off in the process. It’s always about what you want.” Bell interrupts, not missing a beat. “You selfish motherfucker.”

"This has nothing to do with my reputation in the CIA."

She scoffs. "Spare me the crap, Adler."

Adler turns to fully face her again and holds his arms open, the way someone is facing the firing squad. “Fine. Fine, yes, I’m a selfish motherfucker. I did it because I thought it could ruin the operation. Is that what you wanted to hear? Now, what are you going to do about it?”

She says nothing at first. He silently catalogues her movements as she steps towards him now, half-naked and furious. He feels pinned.

Then, “What do you want me to do about it?”

His mouth dries at the implication. She is temptation, benediction, the coarse ice block before the carver.

How terrible it is to lose control, even just once.

A knowing, vicious smirk flashes over her face. Adler feels like he’s just shown his hand.

“You are one selfish bastard and a coward to boot, aren’t you?” Bell sneers before he has a chance to respond. “At least, Alex was brave enough to make the first move, but you…” her gaze raking up and down his figure coldly, a jeweller presented with second-grade imitations. Wind her up and this honey bee stings.

“You’ll always be the man who hides behind his shades,” she says, dry as dust, and steps back and snatches her clothes from the bag.

This is, without a single doubt, the longest elevator ride he’s ever experienced in his life. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler arrived back in Berlin breathing a little harder. Worry wrapped around his neck like a noose, placed by Bell herself; the judge, jury and executioner.

The knot tightens every time his mind refers to her.

The agency trained him, specifically, to keep calm under pressure. He didn’t coin the title “America’s Monster” from his colleagues for nothing. They don’t fear him because he’s hot-headed or thinks in large-scale violence— guns blazing, napalm-induced flames over the hill in the morning, bloodied knuckles and fractured jaw, blood-soaked soles tarnishing the white marble floor. Someone can point a fucking shotgun to his face and he’ll barely flinch. Only monsters remain impassive to direct threats of violence.

But there’s something about Bell that elicits this visceral, primal reaction out of him. Something strange and new; lightning about to be uncapped from its chains.

It chokes him, frightens him to the core.

How gauche is it, don’t you think, that his own mind is conspiring against him?

Now, in the garage, where it dawns on Adler that she’s probably the only person who can make him walk around the city, feeling like a fool, he decides he’s had enough. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I’ll drive you back.”

Adler apprehends Bell outside the garage. He kind of assumed she’d have a pistol aimed at his head right now, but she spins around, hands shoved deep inside her pockets and clayey mouth curls in distaste.

“Get in the car, Bell,” Adler says tightly, almost adding please.

But he would not beg.

The brunette remains rooted in her place. For a moment, a calculating look crossed her face. Always, always that sharp mind of hers turning and he wonders where it would take her this time.

“Try asking nicely,” she demands.

Adler’s eyes flash. She really is testing him. But fine, he'll play her game.

“Bell, would you kindly get in the car?” He is all but snarls, teeth gritting. Bell hardly wavers- he wishes she would waver for a change.

She does what he asked of her, finally, the shadow of a smirk on her face mocking him. Adler follows suit, teeth still clenched together, and starts the car and drives away.

It's sort of like a deja-vu, he supposes; him and her in this very same car, except that stupid krautrock music is absent this time. Neither says anything for the first twenty minutes. Everything feels heavily still.

Until he realizes she’s probably waiting for his move.

This might gloriously blow up in his face, yes, he knows this. Especially remembering the last time he was alone in a tight space with her, it had cost him his pride.

And his mind.

But he’s been here before, in the eye of the storm. He was at his calmest here. He has his cards prepared now.

Adler inhales deeply.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he utters resolutely. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t want to. “I was out of line, I admit it. Your affair with Mason should be no concern of mine but I really am just trying to look out for you.”

It’s weak, he knows. The words feel more like an anchor than an actual apology in his tongue anyway, but Adler didn’t expect that Bell would give him nothing. Not even an acknowledging hum, a scathing retort, a scoff. Nothing.

A twinge of irritation brews in his stomach. Why does she insist on playing games?

The car comes to a stop. They’ve arrived. Adler wrests his hands from the steering wheel to say something harsh to her, but Bell is already stepping out of the car.

She stands on the sidewalk; an enigma in royal red, and her lethal, all-seeing eyes gravitate to him in the night.

There is a long paralyzing beat where they just stare at each other- which seems to be a running theme between them lately. Adler is fuming, as he is confused.

It feels like hours, centuries, eons, but, like all magic, the spell is broken. Courtesy of a stranger hailing a cab behind his car.

Bell turns and walks inside the building. She doesn’t bother sparing him the final glance or extend her appreciation for the ride back and Adler thinks to himself, this universe, god fucking damnit, nothing makes sense here.

But it is also in moments like this that the world spins, when he notices a singular, significant detail that makes his stomach roll, nearly throwing him off balance:

Bell left the passenger door open.

And he’s insane- he has to be, right? He’s looking too much into this. It doesn’t mean anything. His mind conjures an image, like a graphic guideline or something, step one: get out of the car, two: make your way around and close the passenger door, and third: zoom out of the neighborhood while your sanity is still intact, all in that order. Easy to comprehend, to follow.

Adler only does the first two steps. He’s ass-backwards doesn’t even bother to digest the third step.

He enters the hotel instead and takes in the surroundings. The lobby is pointedly bare, but warm and smoky. The concierge is reading behind the counter- a young, wiry boy with shocking bleached hair- with headphones on. It’s late, he probably doesn’t expect anyone to check in at this hour.

A movement by the staircase catches his interest. He sees Bell climbing up the steps slowly, leisurely. Adler makes his way there.

Halfway reaching her floor, Adler has the inkling that she knows that he’s following her. Also, because the next she does is glancing back at him over her shoulder. He waits for her to push him down the stairs or wrap those delicate hands around his neck. She does neither. She doesn’t want him gone.

Yet, his mind betrays him. Only because she doesn’t know what other atrocities he’s committed to her.

She stops by her door, opens it and goes in first. Adler, without waiting for a formal fucking invitation, slips in behind her.

Her room is much smaller than his. The TV is still on- a German dubbed of All the President’s Men is playing- a stack of books and meds lying haphazardly on the desk table.

The door clicks shut behind him. Bell wanders over to the table and turns off the TV. Her back to him.

She doesn’t bother turning the light switch on. The green neon of the hotel sign outside illuminates the room, bathes her in it, making her look even stranger and faraway.

He doesn’t take off his sunglasses.

“What do you want, Bell?” Adler is all but snarling. His anger comes in a bottle with a twist-off cap. “I’m fucking sick of playing your games. I apologized, I admitted I was wrong- I fucked up, but what more could you want?”

Jesus, and now he’s losing his temper over a brainwashed Russian who rarely talks. How did it come to this?

She tugs off her gloves. Once again, barely acknowledging him. Apparently, if ignoring him is an art form, she is the fucking Monet.

Until:

“Take them off.”

Adler blinks hard behind his glasses. Like he’s just stepped into a whole different earth.

His mouth moves.

“What?”

“Your sunglasses. Take them off.”

He stares at her back. Trying really, really hard to make sure he’s not hallucinating this, but then Bell turns around, a finger tapping against her arm, waiting.

Realization hits him like an uppercut in the face and nearly leaves him in a daze. He’s walked into a trap. That much is clear as day. She wants him to suffer as she does. An eye for an eye.

Adler holds no modicum of control in her domain, not unless she gives the reins. Once again, she plays the judge, jury and executioner at her own court.

But, like before, he’ll play her game.

There, the glasses are off. His eyes, bare, blue like fractured ice, meeting hers. In the dark, he feels her eyes shift to assess his bruise.  

His heart booms against his ribs.

"Kneel,” she says glibly.

He obeys, again. His legs and hands don’t shake, but his mind is much less governable than his limbs. No, the CIA didn’t prepare a manual for situations like this and he doesn’t trust his instincts to help him dance his way around this.

Nor does he want to.

The thought fucks him up to a degree.

Adler should have known that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees, no, no. That would have been too easy, anyway. Although history has dictated and taught him that women are never to be underestimated, Adler hasn’t expected that one woman would be able to do the deed and succeed.

But then again, when that woman is Bell, he supposes anything is possible.

When Bell approaches him, he’s unable to take his gaze from her. Her eyes spangle with determination, an avenging soul in the neon lights. Her fingers work on the sash of her coat. The line of her mouth is flat and inscrutable. The air crackles with electricity and a promise of the unsayable, the unattainable.

She stands over him now, gloveless and coatless. She’s powerful like this and he can only crane his head up at her, ceding his fate in her hands, against his better judgement. She catches that.

Suddenly, something unpleasant breaks on her face, like when one’s smelling something foul or pungent.

Bell reaches down and grips his jaw painfully in one hand, her nails digging into his skin, and tilts his head sideways. Strange that his stomach leaps at that.

“Say you’re sorry,” she spits furiously. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”

He feels, suddenly, triumphant and chuckles darkly. Eight fucking long weeks and the beast finally shows her claws.

“Try asking nicely,” Adler parrots her words from before, not a beat missed. Two can play that game, he thinks. "Or are you above niceness, Bell?”

Her grip tightens.

"You’re one to talk,” Bell says. Then, rubs the pad of her thumb over his scarred cheek and it feels like forgiveness, or the beginning of it, at least.

His confusion spikes.

Her nose skims down his jawline.

A better, sensible man would apologize. He'd squander it until his tongue burns acid, he'd beg for her forgiveness like a man asking for repentance before his god.

“Why did you do it, Russell?” Bell whispers against his skin now, baleful and raspy. Her chest rising and falling too rapidly.

But he’s a sick bastard, a selfish motherfucker, a heartless monster. All he does is hurt the people around him. He doesn’t get to take from her, not after what he's done.

Still, Adler catches her wrist. Relishing the way her wrist bone grinds under his hold. He pulls his face back to look at her.

“You know why.”  

Her eyes flick dangerously to his lips.

Desperation really can make the most vulgar things tolerable.

“Then prove it.”

So he does. As his hand reaches up to her neck, past the delicious column of her throat and with a precise swift, Adler grabs a fistful of her hair, the feminine gasp escaping her mouth is like a jolt to his groin, and kisses her.

Bell responds in kind. That little beast. She grasps his collar and drags him up to his feet, impatient with want. She laps at him, bites and sucks. His free hand snakes around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer.

She pulls away, catching her breath, and his teeth skim down her jaw, her neck. He bites her there in retaliation, on the delicious junction of her neck and shoulder, into the fabric of her shirt, making his intentions clear. Bell chokes in surprise and scrapes her nails over his scalp.

It hurts. But with pain, along comes pleasure and it’s good. It’s so good, Adler melts with a shaky breath.

His gloves come off first. Next, she pulls him free off his jacket, his sweater and snakes a hand between his legs, stroking him. He bites off a strangled ‘fuck’ into her throat. He’s worked up real fast already. Adler manages to make a short work of her shirt, unclasping her bra before he’s all but pushes her onto the bed.

Adler settles above her, capturing her lips in another feverish, hot-blooded kiss. He tugs her zipper down and slips his hand inside her pants. Her cunt’s everything he’s come to expect: wet, warm and oh-so wrong. She sucks in a breath. Her hips move against his hand. His blood sings. She throws her head back against the pillow, while his finds her earlobe.

“Has this proven my point, Bell?” he asks. His answer starts on a moan and ends with a breathless ‘yes’.

He doesn’t let her come that easily. No, he wants to drag this out for as long as he can until it drives her mad. So, Adler peels the rest of her clothes away, pulls her shoulder and turns her onto her stomach. He pins her down, hard. She gasps loudly against the white pillowcase, her hand fists into the sheets.

Adler slots himself behind her. His hand tracing along her spine, followed by his mouth, just how he fantasized once upon a time. His other hand quickly undoes the snap of his pants. Everything has been poisoned by her and her only; she is in his tongue, his veins, his mind, his lungs. She takes the centrefold of his mind and it's ridiculous.

He presses himself against her ass. His mouth falls open. Her body trembles. She’s all sin and racing hearts and sweaty flesh. She’s perfect. His now free hand slides up to the nape of Bell’s neck, reaching her throat, pressing down. She makes this high-pitched, demanding noise as she moves her hips back against him, leaving him wanting, helpless at the thought of having her right here, right now, in the warm neon glow of her hotel room.

“Please,” Bell begs. He groans in response and he gives it to her. Fuck, he’d give her anything if she begs just exactly like that.

When Adler is finally inside her, he thinks his world drops dead. He sets a merciless pace. He is not a gentle man and there is nothing gentle in the supple arch of her back, a rose bent backwards in the wind, as he pants along her neck before he pulls out, twists her onto her back again and pushes deeper into her until she comes apart underneath him (he’s made sure she begs for it- please, Russell. Oh god, Russell)

(He didn’t have to. Russell Adler is never the kind of man to fall for his dark side, but Christ knows he is only one man)

[solangelover]

Nyctophobia

A/N: Haven’t written in FOREVER but this was done a while back for the @after-everything-pjo-zine ! It’s out now, free download! Please check it out and support the other content creators who put a lot of effort into the zine. I had art done for my fic by @kalytera and it is EXCELLENT please check it out!

Read on AO3 or FF.net

Nico sprinted after the monster, directly into the forest.

He had been on border patrol and let the son of Hermes working with him leave early. They hadn’t had any monster activity in months and the kid looked like a zombie. Nico didn’t have too much sympathy for him, though, as he knew Cecil and his siblings were gearing up for some big prank. But still, Nico was more than powerful enough to take on a monster or two on his own. Not that he expected any action.

Of course, he was wrong.

In the darkness of the night, Nico saw something moving in the woods just beyond the border. He knew whatever it was couldn’t actually get in, but it was so close that Nico decided to go ahead and get rid of it. He had been itching for action anyway. The moment he stepped outside the border, the monster shot out of the trees. Luckily, Nico had his guard up and quickly rolled out of the way. The monster slammed into the camp border and whipped back around to Nico.

It was hard to make out what monster Nico was facing, but he didn’t care too much. It just looked like a giant badger of some kind. Not giant as in a Giant giant, but very abnormally large for a badger. Nothing major, Nico had faced down the worst of the worst in his life. This was a plaything in comparison.

“Let’s go, big guy.” Nico readied his sword. The monster lunged again, and this time Nico hoisted his shield to block the teeth, standing his ground. He swung out with his sword and grazed the badger’s cheek, causing it to flinch to the right and back off. Nico used the shadows to hide himself as he circled around the monster’s left side. It swiveled around looking for him, taking a second too long as Nico darted forward and stabbed it in the side. The creature screeched, flailing around and knocking him over with its tail. With a grunt, he fell to the ground, his sword skittering away from him. The monster, however, did not turn back to attack like he expected. It must not have been as invested in the fight as Nico was, because it began running back into the forest where it came from.

“Wha—hey!” Nico was affronted. He wanted that fight, and he was winning.

So here he was, chasing a giant badger in the dark woods. After running for 5 minutes, Nico realized that he had lost the beast. How, honestly, he didn’t know. He must’ve been out of practice. Or maybe the badger burrowed underground. He didn’t know how he’d missed a giant hole in the ground, but either way, he was annoyed.

The next thing he realized was that he was lost. Again, how he could get lost so quickly literally right past the camp border, Nico was at a loss. He was really out of practice.

Nico spun around, trying to see if anything looked familiar. Just trees and darkness. He tried to figure out which way he came from, but he got turned around. The adrenaline from before began to leak out of his body as his situation set in.

Nico was lost. Out in the woods. Outside of camp. In the darkness of night.

Well, okay, Nico tried to reason with himself. No problem, just shadow travel.

Except he hadn’t gotten the clearance from one Doctor Solace yet. But this was a bit of an emergency situation, so it was probably fine.

I mean, this isn’t actually that urgent, a voice in Nico’s head said. Just walk in one direction and you’ll probably hit camp.

Nico nodded to himself. He could try that. Why was he even worried anyway? He was looking for action—being stuck in the woods was the best way to find it. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d run into the badger beast and get to finish the job. So, he started walking.

And kept walking.

And walking.

Nico lost track of time and his steps, but it felt like an eternity. His breathing was coming out in short puffs, the cool air revealing each breath. His heart was beginning to race, though he wasn’t sure why. He was only walking. His eyes darted around, at first out of caution, but it slowly felt more and more like paranoia.

It felt like the darkness was pressing in on him from all sides.

His body started to tremble as he walked faster, but Nico knew this feeling.

He was scared.

A son of Hades, afraid of the dark. Ridiculous.

But he couldn’t help it. He felt its cold tendrils snaking up his back, making his hair stand on end. Dark fingers were curling around his throat. His breathing was shallow, and too fast, but he couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. His hands flew to his hair, tugging at it as he tried to ground himself. He realized he had stopped walking, just standing in a small clearing of trees, head spinning.

He was fine. He was in the forest, he’d been there a million times, it’s no different than in the daytime. It was fine. He was fine.

But he knew he wasn’t. He could almost hear the whispering voices, feel the tug where the shadows fell upon him. They wanted to take him from this world into the world of darkness. Maybe that was his world, not this one filled with light. Maybe they were right.

No, he thought. He couldn’t give in—he’d been through too much to give in. But isn’t that the reason he belonged in the shadows? Darkness and death followed him everywhere—maybe he wasn’t supposed to run from it.

Nico’s heart was pounding, his blood rushing in his ears. He belatedly realized that he had collapsed to the ground. The world swayed before his eyes. He was barely drawing in breath, his chest felt locked tight like something was constricting his lungs. Nico squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears track down his cheeks.

Seriously? Here? Now?

Somehow, Nico’s thoughts were racing and yet, his mind was blank. The whispers were growing louder, buzzing through his head in an unintelligent stream of sounds. He could feel the darkness closing in on him, feel his consciousness slipping away.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t do anything.

Suddenly, a sharp pain cut through Nico’s haze and made him cry out.

His body moved on instinct. Nico’s eyes flew open and he rolled into a crouched position. With a groan, he fell back down to his knees, gasping for air that his lungs so desperately needed. As his vision cleared of black spots, he finally looked down and noticed the fresh blood gushing from his thigh. His head whipped up just in time for him to dodge a swipe from the same badger monster from before.

Nico had never been so relieved to see a monster.

With the pain in his leg sharpening his focus, Nico gathered his energy and pushed up, suppressing a scream as his leg protested the movement. He drew his sword once more, still drawing in large gulps of air. The badger snarled and lunged once more. Nico quickly sidestepped and swung down with his sword, slicing the outstretched leg of the monster. It howled in pain, tumbling to the ground before staggering to its feet and retreating back into the woods.

Nico wasn’t planning to give chase, until he heard a large thump and another screech from the monster. He limped in the direction it ran to see that the badger had slammed into an invisible barrier. The camp border! Nico nearly cried with relief, completely ignoring the monster as it scurried away from him. Once he stumbled past the border, Nico fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He could see the lights of camp. They stood out against the darkness of the night, reminding Nico that he was still shrouded in shadows with his back barely within the camp border.

He scrambled to his feet, feeling blood trickle down his leg and soak his sock. He used his sword to prop himself up as he limped forward, refusing to look down at his wound, which was probably bleeding more than he’d like. While he knew logically that his injury made his progress slow, Nico couldn’t help but feel like the shadows were pulling him back. It was like before, when he would shadow travel and almost get stuck in-between destinations. The voices were whispering again, trying to lure him into the darkness where he belonged. His vision was beginning to fade, black spots dancing before his eyes. He knew it was the pain and blood loss, he knew that. But it scared him because what if it was him? What if he was fading again? What if he disappeared in the night and no one knew?

Nico’s heart was pounding, which was not good for all the blood still gushing from his wound. His foot hit something, and he pitched forward, falling hard on the wooden steps of the Big House. He moaned loudly, unable to contain his pain and fear.

He distantly heard the door creak open and felt someone kneel beside his head. Nico was sure he was nearly hyperventilating, both from physical exertion and panic. He couldn’t hear anything being said. Then, there were hands on him, and he desperately shook them off, afraid of being pulled into shadows.

Then, a sudden warmth washed through his body.

The air rushed out of Nico as his entire body relaxed, his head falling back not onto the hard wood like he expected, but into gentle hands that cradled him carefully. As his breathing steadied, he peeked up to see blue eyes gazing down at him with concern, blonde hair falling down and framing a freckled face.

Nico saw Will’s lips move, but no sound reached his ears before his eyes slipped shut.

---

Nico woke the next morning to the familiar sight of white walls and sunlight streaming in through the window. He sighed, disappointed he landed himself in the infirmary for the millionth time, before he remembered the events of the previous night.

Nico was suddenly very alert, his heart rate jumping immediately as he sat upright in bed. He shoved the sheets back to inspect the wound on his thigh. It was wrapped up in white bandages, but no blood was showing through. Will must’ve been able to heal it closed, or at least stitch it up well. Nico tested moving his leg around a bit, surprised that it really didn’t hurt at all. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, willing his heart to slow down.

“Glad to see you’re awake.” Nico’s head jerked up at the sound of the son of Apollo’s voice. Will strolled in front of Nico’s bed, looking down at his clipboard as he scribbled something down. Then he looked up and locked eyes with his patient.

Nico gulped. Will didn’t seem too happy to see him.

Before Nico could say anything, Will glanced down at his injury and said, “I fixed it up as much as I could. The wound wasn’t too deep. The blood loss was the worst of it, which is why you’re hooked up to an IV.” He gestured at the item, which Nico hadn’t even noticed in the few minutes he’d been up.

Nico nodded, leaning back against his pillow for a moment. He subtly tensed his muscles, assessing his physical condition for himself. Overall, he felt alright, just tired. It was probably the blood loss and… the other things that happened last night. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was like he could still feel the cold darkness lingering under his skin. His sense of panic out in the forest sat in the back of his head, keeping him from fully relaxing.

Will walked around the side of Nico’s bed, sitting in the chair and putting his clipboard to the side. “Nico…”

Nico knew that tone. The tone of a concerned friend, the tone of someone who wants to talk about things Nico really did not want to talk about. It always turned out to be a good thing when he talked with Will, but he couldn’t ignore his initial reaction of get away, especially not after last night. “Thanks for healing me, Solace.”

Will just looked at him, concern and worry evident in his eyes alone. Nico looked away quickly, unable to take that look without spilling his guts, which he most definitely did not want to do in this moment.

The medic nodded, not that Nico saw, and said, “Of course. You know I’m always here for you, Nico.” The son of Hades knew Will was trying to get more out of him, but he just couldn’t—wouldn’t—talk. Not right now.

Will seemed to get the hint. “You’re probably tired. The few hours of sleep you got isn’t enough to recover from your blood loss. You should get some rest,” he said reluctantly.

Nico glanced up as Will stood to leave, relieved when Will smiled down at him. At least he wasn’t mad that Nico wasn’t talking. He probably knew, to some degree, that there was more going on here than a monster attack.

Nico nodded back in silent gratitude for Will’s understanding.

“I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Will pulled the curtains closed around Nico’s bed, and Nico was alone. He could feel his mind beginning to buzz with thoughts and anxieties, so he quickly shook his head. The dark-haired boy shuffled further down into the infirmary bed, shutting his mind up and giving into the exhaustion he felt. If anything, he’d at least get a good rest out of this whole situation.

---

Nico woke up sometime in the afternoon, the sun shining in the sky. He sat up slowly, feeling out his body. His muscles ached a bit, probably from pushing himself while injured last night, but otherwise, he felt alright. The wound on his thigh throbbed dully. Pushing his sheets back, he saw that his bandages were still white, meaning it was mostly healed, thanks to Will’s magic.

The son of Hades glanced around. His curtains were still closed, and the infirmary sounded pretty quiet around him.

Nico paused for a few seconds.

Then promptly swung his legs off his bed and planted his feet on the floor.

He knew he shouldn’t leave, not without Will clearing him first. Will would not be happy with him (he knew from experience). But he could feel his nerves sparking under his skin, anxiety and fear sticking with him even through his nap. He didn’t want to be trapped in the white walls of the infirmary when Will eventually found him.

So, he stood up, shook himself out, and tried to look casual as he strolled toward the doors of the infirmary.

“Hey—wait!”

Nico glanced back, seeing a young child of Apollo nervously approach. “You—I mean, you can’t—can’t leave…?” She sounded so uncertain, Nico almost felt bad. Almost.

“Oh, it’s fine. I was just resting until I felt ready to leave.” He decided to leave Will out of this because lying to his sister felt a bit too much like betrayal.

Before the girl could reply, he opened the door and left.

Nico headed straight for the arena, intending to work out some of his excess energy so that he could go back to his cabin and fall right back asleep. He wasn’t even limping on his previously wounded leg, which he took as a good sign. He also reasoned that, considering a monster got the best of him, he should get to training as soon as possible.

He chose to ignore all the other thoughts pulsing in the back of his mind.

(Darkness, fear, shadows, don’t belong don’t belong don’t belong—)

Only ten minutes of swinging around a sword passed before, “Nico di Angelo.”

Nico winced at the tone. He lowered his sword and looked over at the entrance to the practice area, only to lock eyes with a stern (and frankly, intimidating) son of Apollo.

He knew better than to ignore the healer, so he waited as Will stalked over. The other boy crossed his arms tightly, coming to a stop in front of Nico. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Nico cast about for some kind of response, but he knew there was nothing he could say in this moment to justify his actions. Not without diving into the details of his monster encounter, which he didn’t exactly feel up to doing.

After opening and closing his mouth a few times, Nico simply shrugged, eyes darting off to the side. He heard Will blow out a frustrated breath. Meanwhile, the son of Hades distracted himself with the rocks at his feet.

“Nico,” Will said, in that same knowing tone as before. Nico nervously adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword before sheathing it, if only to give his mind something else to focus on for a few seconds. There was silence for a moment before Will continued. “I’m not mad at you.”

At that, Nico glanced up at the healer. He could see it, in the soft blue of Will’s eyes, that he was being honest. Nico had seen Will angry—usually not at him, but Nico had pulled stupid stunts in the past—and this wasn’t it. This was concern and genuine care. Nico was always waiting for Will to stop caring, to stop reaching out to him, but he never had, and he was beginning to think he never would.

The dark-haired boy nodded, unsure of what he should say. When it was clear Nico was not going to respond verbally, Will spoke again. “Something happened out there.” His eyebrows creased in concern when Nico stiffened. “You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to. But I want to help you, Nico. I saw you last night. You were… scared. Terrified. And I know it wasn’t from whatever monster attacked you. That’s not you.”

Nico gave himself a second to think about it, before blurting out, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

Both boys looked surprised, a moment of silence passing between them.

Nico expected to be judged, to be mocked. He knew it was Will, and Will wouldn’t do that. But hearing it out loud, it was laughable, at least to Nico. He could see the irony. He was Prince of the Underworld, the Ghost King. But he couldn’t help it.

“That’s—” Will started, then shook his head, starting over. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Nico.”

The son of Hades scoffed. “Sorry for what? That I’m a coward? It’s not your problem, Solace.” He looked away, shaking his hair so it covered his eyes.

“Nico…”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Will said firmly. “I mean, it is. Ugh, I mean, it’s okay to be afraid of things. Everyone has their fears.”

“I’m the son of Hades. I exist in the darkness. I literally use the shadows to move around!”

Nico waited for Will to say more, unsure of what he wanted the other boy to say.

“Nico, please look at me,” Will pleaded.

Nico sighed, and peeked up at Will through his hair. He was met with an understanding gaze and a gentle smile.

“You’re not any less of a warrior for your fears, you know.”

And maybe that was truly what Nico needed to hear, whether he knew it or not.

But still, “I think it’s embarrassing.”

“I think it’s human,” Will shot back.

“Well, I’m only half, you know.”

“Shut up,” Will rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Nico looked away again, feeling a bit better even without having said much about what transpired last night. Maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe Will understood anyway, and really meant it when he said he’d be there for him.

Maybe he did have a place in this world, in the light, where the darkness of his mind and enemies of his past couldn’t get him. Maybe Will would be the one to show him that, once and for all.

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[imnotwolverine]

The Wolves Return - Part 2

< Part 1  | Part 3 >

Summary: Evil is meddling in the woods and bad news hangs in the air.    

Word count: 2649 (9,5 min. reading) 

Disclaimer: 16+ - Thrilling, monster hunting and gore, minor injuries and a smidge of Geralt being a soft!dad 

--

And then the White Wolf came. Fighting till his knees gave out and weakened did he bleat; Shit, Fuck, Almighty! Is death worth this good deed?

--

It was a terrible idea to go out of Kaer Morhen’s gates in this weather, with his leg feeling like a lug. But Geralt was a man of principle. And evil was evil. Greater, lesser, meddling. It stopped him from having a quiet night in, and he wasn’t having it. 

Stepping out of the gate that crashed back in its lock, Geralt squinted into the flurry of snow. The footsteps he had seen here had faded as the stormy weather raged on. 

Removing the long silver steel from its scabbard, he let his golden eyes roam over the dangerous pines. Instinctively his free hand shot out to his medallion. The magical pendant was still warm from the firepit inside and it thrummed restlessly into his palm, indicating that a source of magic was near.  

‘Come out then.’ He demanded. But nothing came. A new flurry of snow came in instead and it was almost hard to believe that hours earlier the world had been green and somewhat peaceful. 

Unfortunately for Geralt it wasn’t just snow that had arrived. A heavy gust made him stagger. It was like someone had tried to push him over, the strength so odd that perhaps he had already found his magical perpetrator. 

Raising his sword, his free hand casted Yrden. The spell lit purplish blue fires in a circle around him, illuminating the radiant storm. That storm seemed to calm somewhat within the boundaries of his spell. It confirmed his assumptions that something strange was afoot, and yet he couldn’t place whom or what it was. Was it the woman? If so, were there more? Was this an ambush? 

What a way to die that would be. 

Looking left and right he sniffed the air. That same mixture of fresh pine sap and blood hung in the air. 

A scream. 

In a rush of whirling wind that crushed a tree branch up ahead, the woman came hurling at Geralt. Her skirts were ripped and somewhere in the past minutes she had lost her cape. 

Geralt steadied his breath, ready to strike. But as the woman came near he noticed that the winds around her were off. They were irregular, like a wall of mists chasing her down. 

‘RUN!’ She belted, eyes wide. 

Geralt did not run. He only raised his sword a little higher, head twitching to the side to take that ever important decision; attack or defend. 

The woman was a few footsteps away as he made his call. With a twirl he slashed down, hacking straight through succulent flesh. 

The woman froze, gulping as a frosted grey creature fell apart by her feet. 

‘Ah!’ 

‘QUIET.’ Geralt growled, eyes focused. The Yrden flames now cast a purplish hue over his pale features. Keeping his sword in one hand, his other was held out, ready to cast another spell if needed. 

The woman nodded. With her arms grasping around some undefined wooden object in her arms she looked around skittishly. The wall of magical winds was now encircling them, causing the temperature to drop even further. Icy breaths broke from their mouths and the pinetrees above their heads went berzerkers. Whipping wildly to and fro it felt like they would soon pick up their root systems and fly off. 

‘We’re gonna die.’ The woman cried. 

‘The fuck we aren’t.’ 

The woman stepped back to get her back closer to the Witcher. Geralt snarled. 

‘Don’t make this any harder woman.’ 

She let out a little breath but kept her complaints to herself. ‘Ha..typical this is.’ She whispered. 

The winds were now inching closer, investigating the curious sign that was losing its force. Without hesitation Geralt called upon it again. The purple blue flames rose higher and as they did another creature was caught in their wake. A demon-esque, mangled face without eyes or nose reached out its claws, howling. 

‘Foglet.’ Geralt growled, shoving the woman aside to make a clear path for his sword. With a fine sweep he mowed down the creature, slashing straight through its narrow body. 

What Geralt didn’t notice was the launch of two more creatures that came from behind. And unlike their fellow packmember, they weren’t quite so distressed by the magical barrier that Yrden cast. Howling in pain they lunged forward, taking both the woman and Geralt by surprise. 

Yrden’s light flickered as the woman was thrown to the ground, taking Geralt with her. Though the ghostly lights did not harm them, they did feel the cold return as they tumbled over the circle’s border. In moments another wave of slim limbs materialized, turning the blue-hued night into a true nightmare. 

Geralt struggled to get the monsters away from them. Claws raked through supple skin and in moments the fresh white snow beneath them started to fleck with drops of blood. And not just his. The woman screamed bloody murder as one of the grey creatures found purchase on her neck. 

Not that Geralt could care. 

Swinging his sword in wild abandon he pushed away the aggressors that were toppling over him. The white world became a blood soaked nightmare. Greyish limbs went flying and though cold on his skin, Geralt felt warm blood thrum in his ears as the thrill of the fight returned. Practised stances echoed through his limbs as he cut through the foggy air. Though he did have to admit that even the adrenaline couldn’t qualm the ache in his leg. With a protective stance he kept the weight on his good leg, hoping the creatures weren’t smart enough to topple him over again. 

A new windy cloud of snow came his way and he started hacking. 

It was enough occupation to move his attention away from the dying light of Yrden. A few flickers of blue lit the trees and swirling snow before all went terribly dark. 

The woman cried out again, though this time there didn’t seem to be terror within her. A snarl came from her vicinity, closely followed by a few damp thuds. 

Bones cracked. Monsters howled. And as the foglets fell dead by Geralt’s feet, so did the howls behind him. 

The woman panted. ‘So far for a warm welcome.’ 

Geralt turned, feeling the ache in his leg worsen by the second. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to make it back to his chair without making a complete fool of himself. In the dark stood the woman, the object that she had kept in her arms now falling apart in misery. A lute, that’s what it must have been. The strings curled broken around her bloodied hands. Her eyes were bewildered as she looked around in what must be pitchblack darkness for her. 

‘Hello?’ She stopped panting to swallow deeply. 

She couldn’t see him. 

Geralt felt his lip curl up, though he wasn’t sure whether he was smiling or grimacing. The thrill of the fight was slowly seeping away with the blood that was gushing from his shallow wounds. He had to take care of that soon. 

‘We don’t have visitors here.’ He finally said, allerting the woman. She held her breath and held her broken lute a little higher. The poor instrument was beyond repair. 

‘I’ve learned otherwise good Sir.’ She shuffled nervously, still not able to see him. 

Around them the storm had returned to a quiet snowfall. No stars were to be seen and little flecks of snow were starting to stack back onto the tree branches. In a few hours the paths to Kaer Morhen would become near impossible to cross by normal footfolk. And that was all fair and game, until you have a visitor at the wrong side of the tracks. 

Geralt sighed. ‘Visitor or not. Claim your business here.’ 

The woman huffed. ‘You’re my business.’ 

‘I am your business?’��

‘The Butcher of Blaviken? The White Wolf of Rivia?! The--’ 

Geralt started walking off. Or better said: limping off. His leg was smarting so terribly that he already felt his head whirl after just a few steps. That, or it was the blood loss in combination with the biting cold. 

‘Hey!’ The woman heard his dragging feet and followed.

Every few steps Geralt could hear her slip and slide, but she was not one so easily dissuaded. 

‘I don’t do visitors.’ He growled, clenching his teeth. His vision was starting to swim as he laid eyes on the gates up ahead. 

‘Well then count me as an old-new friend.’ 

Geralt halted, but as he wished to tell the woman off he could feel the world starting to blur. The sharp jolts of pain from his leg were starting to numb -- bad sign. 

‘I don’t even know y--’ 

--

[In perhaps a dream] 

‘Now you take good care of him, okay?’ Ciri whispered to Roach. The horse wiggled her ears as they both kept a mischievous eye on Geralt. The spring sun was streaming warm light over Kaer Morhen’s courtyard as all inhabitants stood around to wish the young woman farewell. 

Meanwhile Geralt kept a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t really feeling happy, but he had to quell the less desirable feelings that were bubbling up inside him. Ciri was leaving. She was a grown woman now. This was a good thing. This was supposed to happen, right? 

He eyed Vesemir who seemed far more relaxed. Arms folded and hip leaning into the stair balustrade, he winked at Geralt. 

‘Hmmpf.’ Geralt huffed through smiling lips.

‘Now, now. You start sounding like me there, young man.’ Vesemir grinned. 

‘It’s not the same.’ 

‘Oh I think it is.’ Vesemir raised up as Ciri skirted up the stairs to jump-hug him. He chuckled merrily as he patted the back of her shoulder. 

‘Uncle Vesemir.’ Ciri swallowed, smiling and fighting back tears. 

‘Goodbye Cirilla. Return to us soon.’ 

‘I will.’ She turned and readied herself for the poorly kept tempest that was Geralt. 

Geralt awkwardly tried to keep his lips in a smile, but looked far more malicious and mad than happy. 

‘Geralt.’ Ciri mumbled, stepping in to press her head under his chin. Like old times their arms folded around one another, their noses turned to take in each other's scents. 

‘Cir-.’ Geralt’s voice cracked and he chose silence instead. Unsure where to look he looked at the blurry cascade of mousy blond hair that Ciri had started growing out the past year. She kept it braided most of the time and it would always snag with small twigs and branches as they roamed around the grounds and forests of Kaer Morhen. 

Her time of training was over. It was time for her to set out on The Trail and carry on the knowledge and skills he had taught her. It felt odd after all these years together. 

‘Hang in there old man.’ Ciri whispered, hugging him a little tighter. The sun burned hot on their skin and Geralt wondered if he was feeling her sweat or her tears. Either which it was, he held on tight just a moment longer. 

‘And tell Jaskier he cannot, I repeat CANNOT use my flute. Don’t want his spit all over.’ 

Geralt huffed. ‘Of all the things..’ 

‘What?’ Ciri leaned back and quickly dried a tear on her cheek. 

Geralt smiled. This time a real smile. Squeezing her back into his embrace once more he pressed a kiss on top of her head. ‘Come back whenever.’ 

--

A melody. Too happy for the way Geralt was feeling. Squinting hard against the ray of light that fell exactly on his face, he woke up from a fitful dream. The melody hadn’t been part of the dream though. As he looked around he found himself laying on a wooden bench with some animal skins propped up under his head. 

The music continued to flow through the large hall where the first light had arrived some hours ago. The air was fresh with the snow from outside -- the door had been opened recently. And there was a fire. Well-kept, warm, smelling of just a tinge of lacquer. 

A figure sat there, wrapped in a worn blanket, naked feet dangling from the bench. The woman. It all came back to Geralt as he pushed himself up with a grunt. His leg was feeling terrible, but his wounds were bound. His shirt had been removed, he noted, and replaced by a simple blanket. His arms and shoulders were wrapped in blood speckled bandages and he could smell the heady aroma of some herbs peaking through. 

‘Fuck.’ He groaned, sitting up completely. 

The music stopped and the woman looked over her shoulder. 

‘Look who’s alive.’ She said, getting up. 

Geralt’s eyes shot daggers at her. ‘You could’ve killed us.’ 

It was the first time since he saw her well and true. She had dirty blonde locks, which fell away from a messy braid. And her eyes were a striking cornflower blue. Her clothes, once quite expensive, were torn to pieces. Her face. Hmm her face. He was sure he didn’t know the woman and yet she tingled a familiar sense in him. 

Grunting Geralt got up from the bench. His body was aching like he had been pummeled in a fistfight with Eskel, and he couldn’t wait to dip into his stash of potions. Potions.. With a weary eye on the strange woman he moved his attention to the cellar door in the far back. It was open. 

The woman squeaked in delight. ‘Quite a collection you have here! Are there others? There are other Witchers right? My father always --’

‘WOMAN.’ 

The woman quieted, biting her lip. ‘Actually my name is --’

Geralt stepped forward with all the power he could muster, willing the strange woman to be gone as soon as possible. He could lock her up somewhere. He could throw her out. He could.. He clenched his jaw as he realised how rapid his heart was beating in his chest. Little beads of sweat were falling down his brow and before he could utter another retort at the woman he felt the clammy cold of unconsciousness crawl back over him. 

‘Geralt..?’ 

Her voice swam like a breeze through his mind. 

--

‘I’m going to be a father.’ Jaskier sighed, staring out at the dipping sun. The sausages they had roasted on the campfire were almost all eaten by him. 

Geralt sighed. ‘You don’t know the trouble you’re getting yourself into Jaskier.’ 

Jaskier smiled dreamily. ‘And yet we wouldn’t have it any other way.’ 

--

Part 3 > 

--

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[adenei]

Summer of Jily Week 4

It's week 4 for @efkgirldetective's Summer of Jily challenge! You sure did send me for a loop with this one, but I've managed to keep the one-shots turned multi chap story going!

This week's prompts: Picking Berries and "I know I kissed you before, but I didn't do it right."

Read on AO3

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

James didn’t sleep at all that night. He couldn’t stop thinking about the carnival. His thoughts shifted between being mad at Sirius for winning that damn prize and presenting it to Lily—that was his stupid, cheesy plan that his best mate had hijacked—and the Ferris wheel ride.

About saving your letters or waiting for you to ask me out?

How could he have been so thick? And how is it that he keeps royally mucking things up? He’d had the perfect opportunity to kiss Lily right there on the ride, but then it had to move again, and he’d gotten sidetracked at the feeling of flying on a muggle contraption.

Hadn’t he come along with the boys to crash the girls trip so he could spend more time with Lily? He’d devised the perfect opportunity to sweep her off her feet, and he swore to himself he would only ask her out if she made it blatantly obvious that she wanted him to. As much as it killed him, he’d rather not lose her friendship over pressing her one too many times.

But now, she had made it clear that she was waiting for him to make a move, and what does he do instead? Lets her walk away after the sunrise, hits her with a ball by the lake, and then avoids her throughout the entire carnival until their friends force them to share a compartment on that bloody ride.

He’d had the perfect opportunity to kiss her right there, to ask her to be his girlfriend, and what does he do instead? Freezes. James Potter, master of smooth pick-up lines, carefree, easy-going Gryffindor heartthrob (says the Hogwarts gossip circle, not that he pays attention to any of that—why would he when he’s got his heart set on one girl?) freezes.

Well, he didn’t totally freeze. After they’d apparated back to the cabin, he and Lily were the last two in the sitting area before they went to bed. He walked her to the door of the girl’s room and kissed her on the cheek before bidding her goodnight.

It had taken all of his willpower to not pull her into his arms and snog her senseless after her confession earlier that evening. Yet, after seeing her disappointed face before she shut the door to the bedroom, he wished he had. She’d thrown his entire game off, and he needed to fix it before he lost his chance with Lily for good.

Resigning himself to the fact that he was awake to see another sunrise, James dragged himself out of bed and picked up his glasses on the nightstand before stepping around the mattress on the floor where Peter currently snored away. He grabbed the nearest shirt he could find and threw it on before slipping out of the bedroom.

It was lighter out than he was expecting, meaning he’d probably missed the sunrise. The boys preferred to sleep in pitch black, but the spell they cast on the window the night before was fading, allowing the daybreak to sift through and consequently throwing off his sense of time. He started the coffee pot and leaned against the counter while he waited for the pot to brew.

Caffeine would be necessary to stay awake today, or maybe he could sneak a nap in at some point. Hell, maybe he’d be able to convince Lily to join him for said nap. He could think of plenty of things they could get up to whilst they were in bed together. James let his mind wander to thoughts of getting to know her in a more intimate setting. The kind that he’d often wank to when he needed a release.

The rich smell of dark roast wafted through the living area. James forced his thoughts away from images of Lily writhing beneath him as he reached for a mug. He only barely heard the click of a door as he pulled the pot off to pour himself a cup.

“Another early morning?”

James looked up to see Lily standing there, her hair messy from sleep. She ran her fingers through it in an attempt to comb it out. The green of her eyes were barely visible under still somewhat droopy eyelids. Something stirred within him, and despite the fact that he was only seventeen, it was a view he knew he could get used to.

“That would imply I slept. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, but I couldn’t resist the smell of coffee. Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Peter’s snoring reached new levels last night.”

The lie slipped off his lips with ease, although it wasn’t altogether convincing. A simple Muffliato charm would have allowed him the peace and quiet he needed to fall asleep. Her skeptical look wasn’t lost on him as he absent-mindedly began fixing the cup he’d poured with the amount of milk and sugar Lily preferred. He wasn’t aware he was doing it until he handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said. “Since when do you know how I take my coffee?”

“Come on, Evans, you don’t think I’ve noticed? Some things stick after eating breakfast with someone over the last year.” James smirked.

He grabbed another mug from the cabinet and poured his own cup without adding anything to it. James blew over the dark brown liquid to help cool it off as he watched Lily take a minuscule sip of her own.

“That’s fair. I still don’t know how you can drink yours black.”

“Some say I’m sweet enough on my own.” The quip was automatic as Lily laughed at his humor.

Merlin, her laugh is infectious. James swore the reason he said half of the stuff he did was so he could hear her laugh.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

The question came from nowhere, but the early morning was so peaceful that he wanted to experience it with her, preferably hand in hand.

“Sure.”

They left their coffee mugs abandoned on the Formica as they headed to the door and slid on their shoes. Lily grabbed a jacket off the coat rack and zipped it up halfway. James closed the door quietly behind him then led her over to the trail he and the boys explored yesterday. The path wasn’t terribly long, but it ended up in a quiet and secluded area where the lake met pebbled terrain.

“So, was the dolphin a good sleeping partner?” James’s voice cut through the light layer of morning fog.

Lily chuckled. “I don’t know, I let Marly sleep with him instead.”

“Ah, Sirius will be heartbroken if he learns of your betrayal.” His words were meant to be a joke, yet they didn’t come across as lighthearted as he’d hoped.

“Well, good thing you won’t tell him. Right?” Lily’s questioning eyes made James’s heart skip a beat.

“I suppose I can keep your secret, Evans, but it’ll cost you.”

“Oh? And what might that price be, Potter?”

The green of the trees and shrubbery only enhanced the sparkle that glinted in her eyes. James wondered if she was testing him. Shouldn’t she know by now that he never backed down from a challenge?

“Ditch your friends and spend the day with me instead.”

“Like a date?”

“Yes, Evans, like a date.”

“Well, good thing we’re getting an early start. Now we can make the most of the day.”

James grinned at Lily’s acceptance as they continued down the trail.

They were nearly at the clearing by the water when Lily stopped, causing James to turn around. “Is this the path you and the boys were on yesterday afternoon?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, when Mary asked if you found anything interesting, you said no.”

“Because there isn’t…”

“That’s not true! Look at the blackberry bushes over there!”

James’s head turned to the direction Lily was pointing at, and sure enough, there were several bushes, low to the ground and full of clumps of blackberries. Lily bent down to pick a few off the branches.

“How do you know they’re blackberries and not nightshade or something?”

“Honestly, Potter, did you not pay attention when Sprout taught that unit on edible plants and where to find them in the wilderness?”

“No? Guess I was a bit distracted.”

“Nightshade grows off the stem in one circle. They look more like blueberries, except they’re shinier and darker. Blackberries have all the little bumps on them like this. Almost like a raspberry, but a different color.”

Lily picked a handful of berries during her explanation and stood when she was finished. James saw her holding them delicately in an effort to stop them staining her hands. Using her forefinger and thumb, she picked one up and held it to James’s mouth.

“Try it.”

James opened his mouth and let her place the berry on his tongue. He locked eyes with her as his lips closed around her fingers. An explosion of flavor bursts on his tongue as he bit down on the fruit. The tartness caused him to squint and pucker his lips slightly. Lily smiled at his reaction as she popped a couple berries in her mouth.

She was right—they tasted way better when picked fresh. He held out his hand for more, and she gave him a couple to munch on as they continued walking through the woods. James’s brain was fixated on the way she fed him as his feet moved him forward. Their hands grazed against each other, and James held on after the third bump. He felt her fingers intertwine with his as their steps aligned on the dirt path. As they inched their way toward the rocky clearing of the lake, a plan formed in his mind, and he knew exactly what he needed to do to match Lily’s brazenness of the night before and kick off their day-long date properly.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered as the trail gave way to the stunning view of the calm water ahead of them. The fog had settled across the still water, preventing them from seeing the other side of the lake.

“Lily—”

“Okay, the berries were one thing, but hiding this view from us? How—” Lily froze mid-sentence as comprehension dawned on her. “Did you just call me Lily?”

“Yeah, I did, but please go on about how we didn’t tell you about this.”

“No, I think I’d rather hear what you have to say instead.”

“You sure? I know how much you love being able to prove us wrong.”

James paused, waiting for Lily’s reaction. He loved riling her up like this. The way he alluded to something but then held it just out of her grasp to ensure that she truly wanted to know what he had to say. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he waited.

“What do you mean, am I sure? Would I have asked you to tell me if I wasn’t?”

He thought about keeping up with the banter, but he was tired of waiting.

“That’s fair. Look, I know I kissed you before—y’know, last night—but I didn’t do it right, and I’d like to make up for that right now if you’ll let me.”

There was a sharp intake of air, and if James could pat himself on the back for catching Lily off-guard, he would. But she regained her composure before shooting a challenging look in his direction.

“Since when does James Potter ask permission before kissing a girl? I thought he—how did Sirius put it? Sets his eyes on what he wants and goes for it?”

James chuckled and cringed at the same time, remembering how Sirius explained James’s intentions during fifth year.

“Well, as true as that may be, I still try to be a gentleman about it. I’d never make an unwanted advance if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Interesting, considering I thought I made it clear what I wanted last night.”

Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or did Lily just take a tiny step forward?

“Is that so?”

“It is. And it sounds like you’re stalling.”

“Please, Evans, you’d know when I’d be stalling.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

The words barely escaped her mouth, James didn’t waste any more time as his hands lifted to cup Lily’s face. He leaned in and captured her lips with his, the tangy taste of the berries still lingering on her mouth. Everything about Lily’s lips were soft and inviting as her hands found a home on his lower back. He felt her mouth open slightly as her teeth grazed his bottom lip, eliciting a small moan from his mouth.

James deepened the kiss as his tongue swiped across her lips. Her hands pushed him closer as her mouth widened, inviting him to explore. A quack in the distance was the only thing that reminded them where they were, as James slowly broke away. She was more beautiful than he remembered, with her lips swollen from his kiss and the dazed look of bliss on her face.

“Well, I’m used to ending the date with a kiss, not starting it,” her words were breathless.

James chuckled at Lily’s words. “Am I to take that as a good or bad thing?”

“Good. Very good.”

“And just imagine, we’ve got the whole day ahead of us now.”

“This is true. Should we head back and get ready for the rest of the day?”

“Sounds brilliant.”

James had no idea what they were going to do for the day, but he planned on making the most of their time spent together. Nothing could go wrong.

[lofitojii]

ONE SHOT: Revival

Summary: Your husband has gone back to work, leaving you home alone for the first time in a long time. Once Aizawa leaves for the day, you are greeted by a new villian with an ice quirk who has been watching you from the shadows, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Aizawa is distraught when he comes home to find everything but your shoulders and up, frozen. 

Word count: 1.8k

Content: Sad. :(

“I’ll see you tonight. I love you!” His smile was endearing, so pure and genuine. You wanted so badly to beg for him to stay, just one more day. But you knew that if you asked today, you would ask tomorrow, and the next day, knowing he had a job to return to. It wasn’t because you were being selfish, you were scared. You had encountered your first villain while being out with Aizawa, something you had hoped to never experience, even though you knew your love interest was a Pro Hero. You put your fear of villains aside so you could try your best to love Aizawa the way you wanted. It was hard, your fear being the underlying issue for you to be able to fully love. 

That’s why you didn’t ask for him to stay with you. You had to try your best to adapt to the new life of being married to a Pro Hero, and that meant dealing with life alone while you two were apart. Even if that means trying to deal with the anxiety of being left alone in your house. 

Being alone wasn’t something unusual to you. You were quirkless, losing your parents at a young age. You had grown up under the care of your grandmother, who was also quirkless. You had learned a lot of your traits from her, everything but her courage. She had told you about an experience once where she was taken hostage in a bank heist by a villain who wasn’t afraid to kill anyone who tried to interfere. She had told you that she remained calm even though she was fighting back a panic attack. You wanted so badly to be as brave as she was, but your endless amount of anxiety constriced you, telling you that you were nothing like her. 

That was, until you met Aizawa. He was a serious man but a man of wise words, something that attracted you to him from the get go. He was good about reminding you that your strength lies within your mind and if you choose to ignore it, it will continue to be ruled by fear, causing the human mind to grow weak. He was never negative towards your feelings, always making sure to validate them when he needed and reminded you that you are in control. But today, it felt different. You felt uneasy, like something was going to happen. 

And you were right. The knock at the door startled you, causing you to jump in reaction to it. You weren’t expecting visitors today and as far as you knew, no one was supposed to come by for any maintenance. Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest as you slowly made your way towards the front door. You took a peek through the eye-hole, seeing a woman with white hair, dressed in a business type outfit. You let out a sigh of relief, unlocking the deadbolt on the door, being greeted by the unknown woman standing there, smiling. “Good afternoon. Is the owner of the house around?” 

“I’m half the owner,” you replied, wrapping your cardigan closer to your body. You felt uneasy, a chill flowing through your spine. She smiled, handing you a paper flyer with bold letters that read ‘THE NEW WORLD’. 

“I’m here to recruit heroes for a new business my company is starting. Do you mind if I come in?”

“I’m sorry but my husband has a full time job already and I have no interest.” You pushed her hand away, her skin ice cold to the touch. She furrowed her brows, tilting her head to the side at your refusal. 

“Surley I can still come in though?” 

“I’m sorry. I have to go and you should leave.” You tried to close the door, her foot stopping it from latching shut. You began to feel yourself panic as she refused to let you leave. “Ma’am please, I will have to call the police if you try anything further.” She was silent, her sinister smile growing as she forced the door wide open. You had little time to react, stumbling back due to her forceful push. Your focus was on the phone, trying your best to keep a steady rhythm as you rushed for the kitchen. 

You were pushed back once more, this time by a wall of ice restricting your from the kitchen doorway. Your body felt drained, fear completely taking over your movement. You were frozen, trembling as the woman slowly approached you. “Quirkless Y/N, Aizawa’s little flightless bird,” she cooed, touching the end of your hair, fiddling with it between her fingers. You wanted to push her away, to scream for help. You felt helpless within this moment, your fear of being defenseless becoming a reality. The pit in your stomach had tightened so much that you could feel the urge to vomit form in your throat. You were completely vulnerable to the mysterious woman. “I wonder how he’ll react if he came home to you dead.” 

“Please,” you whimpered, body quivering in reaction to the woman’s ice quirk. “I beg of you.” 

“Beg?” she smirked. “Yes… Please, beg for your life. I want to see Aizawa’s precious toy beg for her life!” And so you did, you pleaded with the rest of the energy you had built up within you. You wanted to run, to defend yourself, but you couldn’t. You had fallen victim to your own fear, cowering in front of the villain who had taken over your free will. “I guess since he’s not here, I’ll just leave a little surprise for him.” She placed her hand on the wall, a snow-like layer coating the side emerging with ice as it made level contact with you. Your body was frozen, leaving your neck and head free. Your body felt numb, unable to move, think, hard maintain a steady breath. “Tell Aizawa I’ll be back. You’ve been lovely Y/N, but you’re quite horrible at being a host.” 

The woman opened the front door, locking the door behind her. You couldn’t move, could barely think. You had to stay awake, regardless of the hypothermia that would set in within hours. It was solid, thick frozen ice. It was going to take hours to thaw out, but you had to do it. You couldn’t die, not like this, not without living a life that wasn’t controlled by fear. 

You weren’t scared in this moment, you were more regretful than anything. You wanted to tell Aizawa how you felt, you wanted to go outside again, feel the sun kiss your skin once more. You wanted to be able to start a family, build that house in the woods like you and Aizawa talked about. You wanted more from life that was slowly being ripped away by the tips of your fingers.

The only thing you could do was wait, to do your best to stay alive until Aizawa got home. You could do it, you had to do it. Just wait it out, he’ll be here soon. 

By the time he was to arrive home, frostbite had formed around your exposed skin, the air being thin around you. You were having a hard time keeping a steady breath, the ice restricting you from taking the deep breathes you so desperately needed. You heard the door click, slowly swinging open to reveal Aizawa holding a paper bag from the shop. When he saw you there, frozen solid, he stood just as frozen as you but was quick to react, dropping the shopping bag to the floor.

“Y/N!!!! Y/N what happened? Your lips...” he stuttered. “Hang in there Y/N!” He was in a panic, unsure of how to handle to situation. Regardless of unknowing what to do, he ran to the thermostat, cranking the heat as high as it would go. He began to boil water on the stove, trying his best to keep a steady hand as he made his way over towards you. “Y/N stay with me!! Please don’t die!!!” You wanted to stay coherent for him, to let him know you were okay. He was home now, you could finally release yourself. You were exhausted, unable to show any other emotion other than a weak smile as he began to pour boiling water on the wall of ice. 

“I love.. You.. Aiza-....” You couldn’t keep it up any longer, your body was numb, your eyes heavy. You wanted to hold out, wanted to be able to hold Aizawa again once he was able to get you out.

“Hang on Y/N! Please stay with me.” Your vision was blurry, the last thing you were met with was Aizawa giving a full blown punch to the ice. You could hear it subtly crack from the inside but you couldn’t keep yourself awake any longer, leaving you limp in the frozen capture surrounded by darkness.

You woke up to the sound of a repeated beeping noise, eyes fluttering open to see the white walls of a hospital room. You groaned in pain, trying to adjust to the bright lights that illuminated the room. Aizawa was quick to move from his spot, leaning over the side of your hospital bed. He gently took your hand in his, pressing it to his swollen face. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered, tears threatening to spill over as he choked on his words. 

You slipped your hand from his, moving a strand of his hair from his vision as you cupped his cheek. You couldn’t help but cry, being alive and able to feel again. You were in an immense amount of pain, your body still frozen to the touch. “The doctor said you’ll be okay. Young Todoroki will be here shortly. I asked him if he would help you out.”

You had thought you had lost as soon as you fell into acoma. You don’t remember anything after you blacked out when Aizawa was desperately trying to remove you from the ice capture. He was successful, his injuries on his hands being the confirming factor that he was successful in your rescue. 

“You saved me. Again,” you managed to whisper. 

“And I’d do it again. And again, and again,” he reassured, leaning closer to your face. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.” He pressed his forehead to yours, tears slowly falling from his cheeks. You had almost had your life taken away in the blink of an eye. That woman spared your life knowing Aizawa would suffer more knowing he could’ve done something if you did die. Either way, the villain was successful in causing Aizawa the stress and pain she wanted to cause. 

But you were alive. Aizawa did what he could to save you. You no longer feared death, nor did you fear the thought of being captured by a villain. You knew that deep down, this was a second chance for you to be able to live the life you’ve dreamed of, the life you had yearned for. You weren’t thankful for the villain but you were grateful that you were alive and able to prove to both Aizawa and yourself, that you were ready to live life, to take on your internal battle, free of anxiety.

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Epilogue

[previous] [Ao3]

The epilogue of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕 

I cannot believe this is over. Months of work that have gone into this all collected in one place. It's a little surreal, seeing it completed.

Thank you to everyone that was reading along on this amazing journey, your support was what made this whole thing worth it.

And thank you to @gen-syz-art for being the best partner that I could only ask for. I've found not just an amazing artist but an amazing friend. p.s. I'd say that our team was adequate 💕✨

____________________________________

There is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved Whenever I'd have life enough, my heart is screaming of And in a few days I would be there, love Whatever here that's left of me is yours just as it was

Just as it was, baby Before the otherness came And I knew its name The drug, the dark, the light, the flame

Hozier - As It Was

The sun is not yet visible through the dark wall of the forest, and the air is still winter-cold when they equip the horses and ride out, Asra and Lucio running after each other in circles, ecstatic to be out.

It had been two months.

Travelling far in the worst of winter was never a good idea this high north, and so for eight weeks, they resolved to going on rides that wouldn’t take them longer than a day.

Jaskier didn’t cry, and held himself in the saddle with the effortless grace of someone trained to not be afraid of his horse. The only indication of just how overwhelmed it would sometimes get for him was his scent, but Geralt never mentioned it.

They took long trips down to the river to look for little colourful pebbles, and went on hunting trips in the woods, the dogs showing their impeccable training, and Jaskier proving to be a much better shot than Geralt would’ve thought.

Raised at court, he had to remind himself.

The mansion was busier than ever, everyone getting ready for him and Jaskier to leave, and though Geralt knew that they were going to come back, that it’s going to a home for them, despite all those years that Jaskier had spent trapped within its walls, it was strange - leaving the mansion.

Some part of him, though a very distant one, couldn’t help but feel like once they turn their backs to it, it will crumble into dust.

But the mansion was as perfect as it had always been, with the polished furniture of red wood, large paintings in their ornate golden frames, and the countless, sunlit rooms.  

It was no longer dependent on the curse.

It held on Jaskier’s magic, and Geralt doubted that the bard - the prince - had to do more than snap his fingers to keep it perfect.

With the curse no longer binding him, his magic grew stronger than ever before, that same all-consuming, overwhelming power that it had been on the night of Midinváerne, and there was very little that Geralt could do with the way it kept making his knees go weak.

Jaskier’s control on it could slip when he would get overwhelmed - mostly in bed, to Geralt’s infinite self-satisfaction - but he never lost it.

It was natural to him, and the same way that Geralt knew his way around with a sword, Jaskier knew his way around his power.

They’ve discussed the question of his blood several times, but there was little that either of them could do with what limited information they had, but all the questions Jaskier had could be answered.

They just needed the right people.

And so when they ride out in the early morning, having bid their warmest goodbyes to Arthur and the others, left to look after the mansion and gardens, their first destination is Oxenfurt.

Geralt adjusts the hood of his warm travelling cloak, keeping out the cold, and looks over at Jaskier, perfect as always in the pale light.

His diamond-sharp blue eyes, his flawless fair skin, the chestnut locks of his hair, brushed to perfection for a long ride.

Familiar warmth spreads through Geralt’s chest, and he smiles, extending an arm towards him.

Jaskier runs a gentle hand down the neck of his horse, and reaches out in return, taking Geralt’s hand and mirroring his smile.

Asra and Lucio slither between Roach’s legs, and she snorts at them, flicking her ears in mild annoyance.

“You sure you’re ready?” Geralt asks.

Without letting go of his hand, Jaskier turns in the saddle to look back at the mansion, quiet and peaceful as always. Through the leather of the gloves, Geralt can still feel Jaskier’s pulse in his fingertips. It remains steady as the bard takes in a deep breath and turns back to him.

“I’m sure,” he smiles.

Oxenfurt is a month away, a long - and, Geralt knows, often challenging journey - but he can’t remember ever feeling more prepared for it.

Squeezing Jaskier’s fingers a little tighter, he brings his gloved hand up to his lips and presses a kiss over the knuckles, locking eyes with the bard and unable to fight back a smile.

“I love you,” he says.

Jaskier’s face lights up, like it always does when he hears those words, and he kicks his heels just enough for his gelding to come closer to Roach, shaking out his long white mane.

When their knees brush together, Jaskier leans over in his saddle and catches Geralt’s lips in a long, sweet kiss, bracing his hand against the witcher’s thigh.

“I love you more,” he smiles.

Geralt breaks away and shakes his head, the kiss still sweet on his lips.

“Not possible.”

[kkeidawrites]

Betrayed

It had been a month or two since Dracula’s reign of terror castrated half the country. It had been within those months that she had last seen Alucard, her cheeks grew warm at the thought of the long-haired man and thought how it would be nice to see him again.

After her stay with Alucard at the castle for a couple of weeks, Esmé received a message from her former nanny to come see her father immediately and she knew that it his illness was getting worse.

Esmé didn’t want to leave Alucard, god knows she didn’t but, the golden haired man knew how much her father meant to her and made the decision to let her go. No matter how much his heart was breaking. Esmé wanted him to come with her but, Alucard refused, claiming that this should be something she should do alone. To get closure.

Her final day at the castle was a tough one, Alucard had escorted her to Gresit and saw her off at the port, where Esmé broke down in tears begging him to come with her. Alucard again refused and the two shared a kiss as a parting gift, promising to return as soon as she could.

She watched from the boat, to wave goodbye to him sobbing in anguish as Alucard did the same, he too releasing tears.

Once she had arrived in Jova, Esmé couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor and Sypha and most importantly Alucard but, she knew that she had to see him and to be with him in his final moments.

During this grotesque war his illness had become even worse and Esmé wanted to be with him until the very end. Her father, Aidan, was a man with muscles upon muscles, she would often picture him to be a gladiator and had the most luxurious silky hair, seeing him so sick in his final days made Esmé’s heart shatter.

It looked like he had lost his muscles when she was away at school and he couldn’t keep standing long enough to fall over. The illness targeted his strength first, then his once dark brown skin became pale, and finally his eyesight was taken as well.

In the end, Aiden told his daughter that she shouldn’t stay in Jova to live, but to find a place where she thought would make her feel at home. Esmé could only think of one place that her heart laid and it was with Alucard at his castle. After burying her father, Esmé grieved his death and clutched his notebook where he wrote his final memoirs.

Her father made her promise that she would find a life outside of Jova and that’s what she was going to do. She had fulfilled one promise not it was time to fulfill another. She prayed she wasn’t too late.

And with that thought, she made the arrangements to go and find the infamous castle to visit the son of Dracul. From each town she passed through, the whispers of the castle being located in Wallachia and that’s where she was headed. She was warned by the people to stay away, some criticizing that she may be a witch, that was apart of Dracula’s court. Esmé rolled her eyes at the idea, she knew her possessing powers made her different but, to go as far as saying she was a witch was ridiculous. 

Arriving in the town of Wallachia, or rather what was left of it, the smell of rotting flesh immediately entered her nose. Groaning, she put a hand over her nose to block the smell and continued her trek through the town. Everywhere her eyes looked, dead bodies littered the streets, young, old, animals, you name it. The idea that the people here were suffering so horribly after the war made Esmé’s heart sink. She couldn’t imagine what was going through people’s minds as their towns were ransacked and destroyed by creatures of the night. How the children, who at one time had parents but, they were killed n front of them must be thinking. Wrapping her cloak closer around her body, she was finally out of the small town and was now walking through the deep woods that led to the magnificent castle.

Esmé marveled at the scenery as she walked, there was a small river flowing down the creek with bushes with different berries. Taking a few blueberries off the bush, she popped some in her waiting mouth and proceeded her trek through the forest. Finally arriving at a clearing, the smell of rotting flesh invaded her nose again. Putting a hand over her nose, Esmé looked around for the location of the smell and her eyes landed on two wooden stakes that protruded from the ground. Her eyes followed the length of the poles and she saw two people, one male, one female, both wearing nightgowns and impaled on the wooden stakes. Esmé gasped at the sight and almost fell back on her bottom.

Her heart was beating against her chest as she stared at the two dead people, they looked like they have been here a while and Esmé didn’t know whether to run or look for Alucard. Whoever had done this had a grudge, these two were properly clothed but, the way they were killed unsettled Esmé. Finding the strength to get back on her feet, Esmé quickly rushed inside the castle, she was surprised to see that the doors were unlocked and realized how dark it was in the castle. 

“Alucard?!” She called, her voice echoes and it sent an unsettling chill down her back.

Heading over to the double stairwell, Esmé saw how damaged the castle looked, the paintings on the walls were all ripped, the decorative vases were smashed, and there was fresh blood on the ground and stairwell. Esmé knew that Alucard could handle himself but, he was not invincible, the idea that he could be seriously hurt made Esmé worried. What if he really is hurt? Rushing up the steps, the familiar route to his room was engraved in her mind. The sharp turns and long hallways guided her through the large interior. Stopping in front of a wooden door, Esmé took a deep breath, this was his bedroom. The only time that she was here was the last time they had seen one another. And the first and last time they had made love. Shaking her head, this was not the time to reminisce she needed to find out what had happened here.

Raising a fist to knock, she heard the creak of the front doors open and Esmé had just turned her head when she felt the air shift, something rush her and a tight grip around her neck. The grip squeezed as Esmé tried to breathe and clawed at what she supposed was a hand.

“You are not welcomed here, human.” the dark voice spoke. 

The door to the bedroom swiftly opened and closed behind her and Esmé found herself pressed against the wall. Her eyes were tightly closed ever since her assailant had her in their grasp. Raising a hand, she charged up the little energy she had and blasted the person away from her. Their body flew into the dresser a few feet away from her and Esmé began to cough to regain some of her breath. After her breathing was together, Esmé raised her glowing fists, ready for the next attack.

“Who the hell are you?” she asks. 

The person got up from the destroyed dresser, the wooden planks falling off of their shoulders. Pale skin was the first thing she saw and golden locs framing the person’s shoulders. Her eyes widened in shock and she powered down her fists to stare at the tall man. 

“A-Alucard...what...” she looked him over and saw the clear distraught on his features. His white shirt was opened and wrinkled, his hair looked rough and unkempt and his eyes...his golden eyes that she came to love were void of any other emotion than anger were present.

Esmé didn’t come close to him in fear that he would try and hurt her again. He clearly was not in the right mind and Esmé feared he did not know who she was right now. 

“You came here to betray me too? Just like them?” he asked as he began to stalk towards her. Esmé knew how to subdue Alucard but, how could she bring herself to hurt the man she loved? Her hands were held up by her head in a way to show that she would not harm him but, Alucard could care less. Another human was in his home. Someone else was here to kill him again, just like the last two. They had buttered him down with their sob story, had him teach them how to take down a vampire and even...he couldn’t bring himself to go on because just, that thought made him grow angrier than he already was.

“Didn’t you see the example outside? What happens when humans enter Dracula’s castle? MY castle?!” he pointed to himself as he said this and Esmé jumped at the booming of his voice.

“Alucard, please, just listen-”

“NO!” he roared, suddenly phasing in front of her and grabbing her shoulders. He was literally holding her by the shoulders, her feet swayed from the sudden lift from the ground. The strength of his grip was beginning to hurt her and Esmé grunted from the pain.

“I won’t listen to anymore human lies! No more!” he yelled at her. Esmé felt his nails begin to penetrate through her clothes and she wiggled to be free of his grasp. 

“Don’t you worry,” he said darkly. His head came by her right ear to continue to speak so sinister in her ear. 

“I will take good care of you just like I did the last two.” He promised as Esmé looked in his glowing golden irises. 

“Please...don’t do this...” she whimpered. Alucard set her down on her feet, immediately grabbing both her wrists and using his powers to open the door. Immediately pulling her out of his bedroom, Alucard pretty much dragged Esmé down the hallway.

She tried to pull her wrists out of his tremendous grip but, Alucard would just yank her closer to his person so that she would stop. The quick turns and different doors they took were unfamiliar to Esmé, and every time they entered a different room the atmosphere would grow colder.

“Where...Where are we going?” she hesitantly asked. All she received was silence. This scared her, wherever he was taking her, he was making sure that no one would hear her or even know that she existed.

“You stay here.” He suddenly threw her in a cell, where she fell on her right shoulder. Pain shot through her, and Esmé hissed in pain. The sound of the cell door closing behind her made the woman look up at him.

“I will deal with you later.” he spoke as he locked the cell door then phased away.

“Alucard, wait!” Esmé called to him but, grunted when she felt pain in her shoulder. She rushed to the cell door, but, it made her bounce off due to the cell being spelled. Esmé used the little power she had and tried to blow down the cell but, it ricochets off and almost hit her. She tries three more times and the same results happen again and again. Esmé slumped down onto the cold ground and began to weep, what had caused Alucard so much turmoil to turn into a heartless man.

He couldn’t even recognize her with all the anger he was brewing. And Esmé feared that she has finally lost him.

End of Part 1 

Hey everyone! I know it’s been a while since I’ve last been up here writing but, I have thought about what would happen if Esmé went to find Alucard after season 3 ended, I have really thought about writing this and honestly the idea that I had to remember how season 3 ended really made me upset the first time I watched it and I had to stop a couple of times to get myself together. But, anyway, expect to see the next chapter on Tumblr soon I just thought I would give you guys a taste of the continued story between Esmé and Alucard.

And guys please start using the black!reader x anime tag in your stories when you write! It really does show that there are more black writers and authors out there who needs to be seen and appreciated as well. Thanks for everything you guys, like, reblog and share with your friends! And Happy Blacktober! And make sure to check out my other stories that I have written on my masterlist!

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[myfeetkeepdancing]

Numb | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Words: 9091

Warnings: Smut and negative thoughts?

A/N: Sit yourself down for this one. This is loooooong! It’s completely different from what I usually write. Still had an absolute blast writing it. 

Check out the request description below!

Requested by: @idwithoutthesuperego​:  Ok, but a fic where tom sells his body for money because he just needed the money and reasons. And male reader's friends buy a "night" with him without telling reader after a bad breakup. But they just click, and MR kinda falls in love n wants to do the "i'm gonna date you and get you out of that life". But tom is just like "i dont believe in people anymore and im destined to die in some alley being used". This is oddly especiffic, but is something i would just love to read about if u can, plz.

Oh, and if you consider being a good soul and wirtting a fic for my ask, PLEASE make a happy ending hahaha My heart wouldnt be able to handle that drama without the happiness

Tears dry up. Eventually. Suppressing the pain. Left with unanswered questions. For weeks they bothered your conscience. Hang around your neck like a millstone. A burden on your soul. Pondering. That’s what you’re left doing. Your day to day life slowing down to a grinding halt. Everything went on auto-pilot. While your mind pondered over every moment of what could have been. What if… And, if I…

 Circling in your mind forever. Sleep didn't come easy. Nor did any desire for anything. Friend and family kept summing up the logical steps of coping. Stages of grief. "It'll pass." Those little sentences stuck with you. “It’ll take time.” Each and everyone kept repeating it. But what value did it have? What lessons could you take from those words? For you are left with an empty house. An empty couch. An empty chair. And an empty place beside you. Alone. Trapped within your own mind.

 Pondering over every thought and every memory.

 That feeling of nothingness. It’s strange at first. You manage to go on with your life. Sleep returns at night. And waking up wasn’t at painful as it was at first. You couldn’t put your finger on it. But it could be described as numbness. Everything went on autopilot. And feelings were shut off. Barricaded behind layers of overthinking and mind-boggling thoughts. No sense of desire anywhere. The impact of a broken relationship was far worse then you imagined.

 Just comfortably numb.

 "This will do you good." Your friend tries to convince you again. Pushing the flyer into your hand. “For a moment, try to think ab-...” The words reach your ear in waves. Disturbed by sounds coming from somewhere close by. Ringing in your ears. Folding open the flyer, you see some sort of menu. You squint again, slightly intoxicated by the last few beers. This wasn’t some ordinary menu, like a Chinese take-out restaurant. You feel your blood boiling. Heart racing in your chest cavity. You peel your eyes from the fat printed letters. “Men of your choosing."

 “Give it a shot." Your friend nudges you against your shoulder. Seeing the fury in your eyes building, as you look up. "I choose this one for you." Pointing to a loosely attached picture. "He looks nice, doesn't he?"

 “Why would you…?" You mumble, shaking your head in disgust. “Get out.” Tossing everything his way. “Just get out…” Pushing yourself up from the couch. Pacing back and forth across the room, before turning into the kitchen. Raking your fingers through your hair. Letting the cold water from the tap, run across your face. Why do people keep meddling in your business? It's exhausting. A sudden burst of rage and anger courses through you, but it ebbs away as quickly as it came. Leaving you feeling defeated and numb again. Falling back into the kitchen chair. Gaze fixated on the moonlight illuminating the scenery in front of you —mind blank.

 Footsteps approach from behind you. You’ve heard the door open and close. You assumed your friend left. But an unknown voice calls to you. "Hey…"

 "You can go." You respond instantly; without looking,  waving him away. "Please." Releasing an unintended long sigh. Sinking deeper into the chair. Your gaze fixated on the endless void in front of you.

 "I can't." The voice says calm and controlled. "I'm booked for the entire night."

 "I don't care." Shrugging your shoulders. "Please just leave me be. Tip yourself on the way out, wallet is in my coat." You just sit there, sulking in your own misery.

 It's quiet for a good moment. You guess he's probably still there. Standing a few feet behind you.

“You’re awfully calm for a situation like this.”

 "Right…" You chuckle to yourself. “Thanks.”

 "Your friend told me." Hearing his footsteps approach instead of fading away, sending you an uneasy feeling down your spine. "It's ok…" You hear him right behind you. “He means well.” Your body jolts up in the chair, as his hands rest upon your shoulders. His hands just rest. Nothing more. Yet you feel every touch of his finger, every point of contact upon your body. A weird sensation. Even more, as his thumbs begin pressing and rolling around the lower part of your neck. Rubbing your skin. Slowly massaging your sore muscles. A sudden involuntary grunt escapes you.  "I know it's difficult."

 "I… I don't know if… I…" You try to shake the thought of it out of your mind. It conflicted deeply within you. Yet, his touch. So simple, yet strangely satisfying. A different kind of emotion began to rise. Something that had been locked away, far and deep.

 "Please…" He says with subtlety and kindness in his voice. And as he moves past you. The man came into view. Your eyes are somehow captivated by first sight. As he sinks down onto his knees. A thin smile cracked his wistful glance. "It's going to be okay."

 He looked so young, yet worn in a way you couldn't put your finger on. A sorrowful face you had never seen. Long, brown curls gracefully tumbled down his head. The contours of his face were absolutely stunningly shaped. The thin lips and sharp jawline. A work of art. A little imperfection on his right brow. Small hairs rebelling against the flow. Yet his face drained with a gaunt stare. The eyes didn't fool you. Set deep into his face. Small and brown, caramel-like of color. They showed little signs of life left in them. Hollow. Like a flame died out long ago. A spark long lost. A view into the past what once used to be. It lost its touch. It’s humanity...

 Yet, somehow you feel magically drawn to those sorrowful and silent features. Most fascinating, almost hypnotizing. The moment of eye contact was unexpected long. His touch sending you back reality.

 With both his hand on your inner thigh, slowly rubbing his way upwards. The touch of his fingers sends shudders through your systems. They felt so warm. You close your eyes for a moment, shielding your crotch. A moment of insecurity. You couldn't do this. This feeling. Your body, its sending signals you haven't felt in ages. "I… I… don't think I'm ready for this, I'm sorry…"  

 “I get that.” He says, while with one hand lifting your chin. You feel his soft fingers on your cheek. The first touch of a man in months. Your heart flutters excitingly.  And before you open your eyes to meet his. His lips tenderly grace yours. For a brief moment, they join each other. Soft as a cushion, and so warm. It happens quickly. But you want it to last forever. As he disconnects, his dark brown eyes stare at you with compassion. "Your body is, though." He smiles thinly, interlacing his fingers with yours. Gently rubbing down onto your growing bulge.

 “W-Wh …” You stutter and try to protest. But your hands pull back slowly, bit by bit.

 He seats himself back on the floor, spreading your legs apart. Positioning himself closer. With care, he begins to remove your belt. Halting at the first button of your pants. "Try to relax."

 You hesitantly look on. As the zipper opens up. Latching both fingers on the band of your underwear, he slowly pulls in down. Removing your pants, revealing your member, semi-hard. Waiting for the action.

 Leaning forward, he tilts his head and slowly begins working. One simple touch and you were gone. This soft, warm tongue, stroking gently along your length. In a matter of seconds, it's standing full mast. Wrapping his fingers along the base, he continues at a slow pace. Meanwhile, your heart was beating like crazy against your ribcage. You're breathing fastened and irregular.

 “W-What’s your name?” You interrupt. His eyes connect with yours as he looks up through his laces. But doesn’t respond. “P-Please…” You whimper softly.

 He stops, holding your length in one hand. “I’m Tom.” Wetting his lips as he watches you struggle. “You doing alright?”

 You nod quickly, struggling to get your words out. Swallowing the lump in your throat. “T-T-T…om”

 But before you manage to utter another word. He brings his tongue in contact with your tip. Keeping eye contact with you. With a few simple licks, slicking it wet with his saliva. The sensation of his tongue working his way round and round your tip was tantalizing. But the sudden, slide of your tip past his lips and down into his mouth was heavenly. Your body tenses up, hip bucking into his grasp. Moaning his name in response. With your hands clamped to the side of the chair, your fingers digging deep into the wood. Turning your knuckles white, the muscles in your arm cramping up as you can't hold up. You shudder from pure bliss. Only a few strokes up and down with his hands combined with his mouth made you groan deeper and deeper.

 Your eyes widen as he suddenly stops. He rises to his feet, keeps his gaze at you, and with both hands lifting the hoodie over his head. And as the hoodie came off, your eyes hunger for every bit of exposed skin you could possibly find. Giving you a glimpse of a well-trained body. A sneak-peek of a six-pack. Broad shoulders, pecks shining through the shirt. Leaving a much revealing, loosely hanging shirt on his figure. But you feel somewhat caught the moment you get eye contact with him again. His expression was painful to watch. You could almost sense his disappointment. His misery. It's only then you realize the shame. The realization hits you that you view him as an object. As lust.

 "It's ok." Seeing his eyes soften before you, followed by a small smile.

 But it's only a split second before he's back at you again. You can't help but peak past his face down into his shirt. Past his collarbone, onto his muscular torso. God…  

 You snap back to reality, feeling his hand reach for yours. Pulling it from your side. "Hold my hair."

 "W-What…?"

 "Fuck my throat." Sliding his mouth over your member again. Slowly picking up pace. "Go on." He gurgles. Keeping eye contact the whole time.

 “Why are you doing this, Tom?” You ask with a slight tone of disappointment. "You seem so out of place." Lifting his face from your member. "Terribly out of place."

 "Please don't (Y/N)." The mention of your name makes you blush.

 "No, Tom. This isn’t right." You point at his shirt. “Let me look at you.”

 "Wha…-" He sighs, hanging his head down in shame. "No, please don't."

 "Tom, I mean no wrong." You couldn’t help yourself. You could foreshadow what was beneath that shirt. Being in that sort of business took its toll. You caught a glimpse of it when he got rid of his hoodie.

 His gaze was stuck to the floor for a moment. Contemplating on his actions. Before taking to his feet. Slow and defeated. Averting your gaze before turning around. With crossed arms, he takes the corners of his shirt. And pulls it over his head. Waiting for your reaction. You swallow the lump in your throat once again. Seeing the small spots of discolored skin on his back. The bruises. Some larger than the other. Some bright red, the others darkened. The words stock in your throat, feeling the tears well in your eyes. The thought of him suffering by the hands of others made you sick. The poor thing.

 You rise to your feet, closing the distance between you and him. Gracing your fingers on the bruises. “Do they… hurt you?” Tracing your fingers down his side. Partly feeling the muscles under your fingers. But the fact that he didn’t answer your question made you more than worried.

 “Promise me one thing, (Y/N)…” He stops your hand from trailing along the side of his figure. Resting his hand on yours. He’s glowing. Warm to the touch. You can’t help but close the distance. Placing your other hand on his hip.

 With a thin smile, he turns around. Your eyes take in every inch, from his pecs to his abs. A breathtaking body stood in front of you. Strong and masculine. But not too big. "God…" You awe. "You're g-gorgeous-..." Your throat falls dry at the sight. You feel flutters deep down. “I… I’m sorry.”

 “It’s okay.”

 Small bruises dotted down his side. Dark from color, pain from long ago. "Tom…" You mutter worryingly. All the time you awed at his body, he averted his eyes. Looking aside. You now understand why. As your eyes sink lower and lower. You spot the bulge in his pants. Impossible to hide. "Are you…" Not finishing your question because of the obvious. The red rushing to his cheeks.

 He still nods in acknowledgment. "I…I… never had this happen before.”

 “Do you…” A finger on your lips silences your words. Stepping very close to you, spotting his watery eyes up close.

"Yes! Yes, I do!" He confessed, with tears welling in the corner of his eyes. Shaking as he struggles to get his words out. "But promise me…that when…” His nostrils flaring. “-This will never work (Y/N)…" Smashing his lips into yours. You didn’t want to listen to his words. None of it. His arms reach around you, pulling you in. Wrapping your own around him, feeling every part of his skin. Pressed tight against him. Ripping the remaining clothes off your body. You just wanted to feel that perfect body. And so did he, roving his hands all over yours.

 Every kiss has a raw intensity. There’s just too much skin and too few hands and tongues to worship it all. Both your bodies collide against each other completely naked. His firm and rigid cock pressing against your skin. It glides through your hand as wet as it can be. Tom jerking you off at the same time. Moans and grunts fill the room. Tom’s member too slippery to even get a hold of. The sight of it makes you weak in the knees. The chair behind you topples over from your vicious play. As you stumble out of the kitchen. Against the doorpost, over the couch. Towards the bedroom.

 Together you fall onto the mattress. Rolling back and forth. An intense play of hands and lips. Dry humping against each other. You both can't get enough of each other. His lips kissing every inch of skin. Forcing his weight onto you, making you lay flat on your back. He arches back, and sensually starts grinding his pelvis onto yours. Rubbing your balls and cock together into a soaking wet mess. He must have done this hundreds of times. It looked so smooth and sensual. Moaning softly as he held both of your members together. With gentle hands, but a firm grasp nonetheless. Thrusting both cocks through his hand. His fingers teasing the ridges along the lengths. Spreading the pre-cum with the pad of his thumb. Looking at his face, he's so concentrated that you once again get caught staring at him.

 Both moaning, the air is thick of pheromones, the smell seeping into your mind. Both wanting it badly. As he locks eyes again, he smoothly reaches round with one hand. He seemed really flexible, propped on his knees. Arching backward as he lifts his ass up, guiding your tip to his entrance. A slight resistance gave way, allowing you to slide far and deep into him. The moment you sheath yourself into him deeper and deeper, you watch on as he shudders. Contorting his face. Both hands cling to your chest. With both his hands resting on your torso, the fingers dig deep and hard into your skin. Feeling his shaking and shuddering throughout your body. He closes his eyes for a moment, moaning your name in pleasure. And sinks further forwards to your chest. Panting heavily. After regaining himself, he adjusts his hands on your shoulder. And locks lips with yours. "Y-You… f-feel amazing." Moaning into the kiss. The praise turning you on immensely. Growing impossibly large inside of him.

 And so he slowly begins grinding his hips back and forth with your shaft deep inside him. Feeling yourself widen him further and further. Tom’s moans become long and raw. Sitting up straight again, he takes one hand and forces your cock deeper into him. Reaching further and deeper. While trying to clench his cheeks around you. Hitting different and deeper spots. The sudden increase in pressure and warmth were becoming too much. Not only for you. You see Tom's mouth fall open, gasping for air, his eyes shut tight from ecstasy. His other hand caresses the skin of his neck.

 Your grunts become shorter and shallow. You’re a lost cause. Your mind is blank, completely lost at the sexual pleasure coursing through your body. Racing towards your climax. Both hands clinging to his hips, but your strength wasn’t helping much.

 Tom could feel it coming. Your balls churn. A pent up force, craving to be released. And all it takes is a look into each other’s eyes for you to fill him up. And before you tip the point of no return. He picks up the pace. Making sure to milk every drop by clenching his cheeks harder on you. A loud gasp follows. Shuddering your body to the very core. Your hands dig deep into the side of his hips. The splashing inside is intense as you cum, spilling all over. And Tom just keeps riding. Until you just turn limb. Gasping out his name.

 "Felt good?" He asks, breathing heavily, watching his chest heave up and down. A smile on his face. You again realize what a beautiful person he was. His body atop of yours, glistening with sweat. And a damn cute smile.

 “Out of this world.” You pant, laying your head to rest on the cushion. “You’re incredible.”

 "Good." Cupping your cheeks with both hands and kissing you. The smile on his face was larger than you'd ever seen. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." You notice a sudden sparkle flaring in his eyes. Something igniting deep within.

 "How about you…?" Eyeing his erection. "You didn't blow your load." Wrapping your arms around his neck. Pulling him towards you for a slow and passionate kiss.

 "Don't you worry, I did enjoy it very much." He smiled. "More then I should." Pushing strands of hair from your forehead. "I was close…" He confesses softly.

 "Then why didn't you keep going?"

 "Because that would hurt you…" He blushed.

 "How?"

 "You can't just keep going if you blow your load. At first, it's really sensitive, but then it becomes increasingly itchy, to a point it feels like it burns. Quite painful."

 You're both lost in each other’s gaze. As he falls beside you, curling up to cuddle. Tom resting on your chest. Your fingers playing with the brown silky smooth curls of his. "What can I do to make you feel good?" You whisper to him.

 "You already did." Pressing a soft kiss on your lips. You can't help but notice the way he smiled. It's wholesome. To the point of a complete cuteness.

 "Tom, I want you to feel good too." Slowly tracing your fingers up and down his spine. "Because that smile suits you."

 "But, I don't want to hurt you (Y/N)." He looks up with a growing expression of worry on his face.

 "It won't, Tom." Cupping his cheek. "I want to feel you."

Through all the glistening sweat and wetness on your bodies. You feel his length grow against your thigh. Yourself following along. "Give it to me, baby…" You whisper close to his ear.

 Tom helps himself on his knees. His member standing fully erect, ready for you. A jolt of excitement shoots through you at the sight. It's been forever since you've been pleasured since your break up. Something you actually look forward to now. So you roll onto your knees. "Wait…" You look back at Tom. "Turn over."

 On your back again, eager and waiting, Tom takes you by the hips. Reeling you in. Positioning himself behind you. And turns you on your side.  “This is most comfortable for you.” Kneading your ass cheeks with gentle hands. Captivated by your hole. “Alright?”

 You can’t help but chuckle at his carefulness. How soft and tenderly he was approaching you. Putting a cushion under your hips. Rearranging the sheets. Therefore receiving a semi frowned questioning look from Tom.

 “Sweety, I know what you’re going to do.” You give him a reassuring smile. “I’m ready.”

 “Trust me, if you do it wrong, it’ll hurt like hell.” Giving you a little kiss. “I wouldn’t want that to happen.” You stare at each other for half a second. You draw a deep breath, dizzy with anticipation.

 He moves one leg aside, revealing your entrance. A little gasp of excitement leaves, as you feel his tip slowly slide at your hole. “Please tell me if it hurts.” He asks. You nod eagerly. His hands grip onto your hips, the pressure on your entrance increasing. You lick your lips and suck in another deep breath.  You stifle a groan as you feel your sphincter grip the head of his cock. You’re legs feel numb. You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling, releasing a silent moan.

 He holds the moment your face contorts even the slightest, waiting for you to adjust. Slowly accepting his length. Every inch he enters you, you hear his grunts become heavier. Your warmth and light wetness guiding him deeper. “Y-You’re tight.” He moans, trying to regain this breath. “Fuck…” Wiping the sweat from his face.

 Your dick is throbbing, there was no other way to describe it. Pressed against the sheets. No stimulation but only the motion of his thrusts. Stimulated by his presence. His looks. His thrusts. You're breathless, staring at his physique. He is masculine, but not too much. So complete. The view of his muscles tensing and relaxing. Utterly mesmerizing to watch. Even as he begins to move back and forth. Sweat breaks out all over your body at the first couple of thrusts. Very slow and lovingly.

 Stretching your further as he goes in. His breathing slow and ragged. He pushed deep. Reaching far inside you. Warming places you didn’t know you had. The feeling of his dick fully inside you was driving you to the point of an unexpected climax already. The rigidness of his cock, rubbing your insides. Making you shudder to your very core while praising his name. Your cock already leaking on the sheets.

 The pressure inside you rising faster than ever before. It’s impossible to think straight, his pace was slow and passionate. Yet, you only feel his cock hitting your insides. You grip your sheets, whimpering uncontrollably. You only manage to utter his name, squirming under his pressure. The cum just starts pouring out of you, uncontrollable amounts soaking the already wet area. Tom follows up with another thrust, making you squirt even further. You moan long and hard, feeling your entire body shudder from the release. “Holy s-shit… Tom.” You sputter.

 As you open your eyes, you watch Tom hunched forward. Panting heavily. Eyes clenched shut. "Tom…?" You ask. He holds his hand up to you. Signaling you to wait. After he regains himself again, he positions himself further above you. You hear his hot ragged breath, tightly hugging his hips against your ass cheeks. Cock buried deep inside you. “F-Fuck, (Y/N)…” He grunts. “That was hot…”

 He takes a moment to gather himself again. You do the same. Catching your breath and calming your senses. You wait for Tom to move again.  Before he does, he starts to pepper your body with wet, hot kisses. Moaning your name softly as he begins to roll his hips.

 Goosebumps shoot across your skin at the mention of your name. A sudden yelp escapes your lips, grabbing his attention immediately. To your surprise, you feel a moist sensation touching your cock. You gaze at your member, while it hardens without touch. Only by a few thrusts from his shaft.

 “Shit…” He grunts as he wraps his fingers around your length. An awkward position, but he manages. Stroking your cock, coated by your own cum, slow and steady. Completely captivated by it. You sense it's turning him on immensely, as you feel him thicken inside you.

 You release a silent moan as your mouth falls open. Feeling his girth stretch you even further. The ridges rubbing you in unexpected ways. After a few strokes, he loses his grip, licking the wetness from his fingers, one by one. You watch as he sucks each of his fingers dry in his mouth. “Fuckin’ hell...” He groans. “That’s really good." Leaning in, he lands his lips on yours. "I'm getting close, baby." He moans into the kiss.

 “Go for it.” You whisper into his ear. Holding him close. “Blow your load for me.” As he picks up pace. Desperate for release. His cock feeling incredibly hard inside you. Swelling even further at the mention of your dirty talk. “Blow it all inside me.”

 He grunts deep and hard into your ear. Rolling his hips faster and faster into you. “C’mon, baby.” You encourage him. Feeling his cock grow inside you. His breathing quickens, as does his momentum. Rutting into you faster than before. Not relentlessly, but with a comfortable pace.

 Already widened and stretched from before, you feel his cock hitting you deep again. Each time he hits your thrust back, hitting that same spot, you feel the sensation ache in your cock. Twitching from pleasure. “R-Right there, Tom.” You gasp again.

 He shoots a look at you, realization hitting him that you’re getting close again. “Keep going.” You moan out loud. Not a moment later, you feel him pulse inside you. With a cry, he thrust once more, deep and hard into you. You lift your ass to meet his thrust, his balls slap against your skin. The splashing inside you as he cums is so intense that you feel it spilling down your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. Watching him pump load after load into you. Your cock twitches, barely holding on. As your insides were coated.

 He just pulls out, like a plug of a bathtub. You gasp of relief, feeling the wetness seep outwards.  Drops of wetness fly from his still erect member as it bounces upward. Giving a quick tug on your legs, so you end on your back again. Spreading your legs.

 You’re out of breath for a moment. Not sure what he was going to do. Watching your own dick spring back into view again. All wet and swollen. With force, he pulls you to the side of the bed and kneels down. His fingers wrap around your member. As he suddenly starts suckling on your balls. It's strange ticklish feeling at first, but combined with his firm grasp on your length, and strokes, it became more than that. Your balls begin to churn. Gripping the sheets around you, your head falls back onto the mattress, overwhelmed by this quick handling.  

 “T-Tom!” You cry out. “God!” You plant both your feet on the mattress. You shut your eyes tight, pressing your head back into the mattress, thrusting your hips into his grasp. But he doesn’t slow down.

 “Tom!” You burst out, not only in words. Your eyes widen, gasping out loud as he rubs down hard on your shaft. Cum jets from your swollen cock. Stroking you hard, milking every last possible drop.

 It's only hazy from thereon…

 You’re not sure if you passed out, but it felt like you sprayed the ceiling with your load. The next moment you open your eyes, you find Tom cuddled up against you. Just some sheets covering a few parts. “Did I pass out or…?”

 “You didn’t.” He chuckles, looking up at you with a smile on his face. “You dozed off very shortly after. I don’t blame you.” He sniffles while tracing a finger up and down your chest. You wrap your arm around him. Just living in the moment. "I'm so happy, your friend picked me." He whispered to you. That comment stuck with you.

 "Thank you, Tom." Pressing your lips on his forehead, tasting a taint of salt. Picking a few strands of hair from his forehead. Cuddling together in the safe comfort of each other. The sharing of interests you had in common. Followed by simple chatter about the things in life. Making each other laugh. Having a good time. For once, in a very long time, you felt whole again. His smile. His presence, something felt right. Something clicked.

 And it's that sort of thing you just can’t get enough of. Your eyes are glued to him. The heat rising in your system. That flutter in your stomach. It hurts. In a good way. He is everything you ever wanted in a man.

 You love him.

 All cuddled up against each other, it falls to you how sticky everything actually really his. His skin glistening with sweat and wetness.

 “How about we freshen up?” Rustling your fingers through his curls. “Shower is big enough for both of us.”

 “Good idea.” His lips meeting yours in agreement. "I'll gladly join you."

 Being close to together, naked, warm water, and soap. Things get heated again. You don't know how long you been in the shower. And you don't mind. Because for the time, you felt the rush of living again. Being alive. Receiving praise. Kind words whispered into your ear.

No denying that his smile was infectious. A smile that wouldn't disappear, you noticed. Tom was a whole different person to the one that stepped in earlier tonight. Deep down, you could feel that this version of him was the real him. Loving, caring, passionate.

 And no matter how dangerous shower sex was told to be. You did it. And more. Memories burned into your mind forever.

 You take a moment longer to rinse off the sweat and wetness under the steaming hot water. Recollecting those wonderful moments again. Tom already out. You can't seem to shake your smile. This was right. This is how life should be.

 Turning into the bedroom with your towel wrapped around your waist, your smile drops immediately. "Where you going?" He hastily pushes his phone back into his pocket. Tom was already dressed, ready to put on his jacket.

 "I have to go." He mumbled, avoiding your gaze. His smile nowhere to be seen.

 "Please, just stay."  This moment was bound to happen. But you weren’t going to give in. You’ve seen enough people leave through that door. "Stay with me."

 "I… I… can't… I need to go." Checking the time on his phone.

 "You don't have to do this, you know. I can-" But midsentence, you're cut off.

 "Don’t… (Y/N).” His voice skips a beat. You’re pretty sure you could see tears welling in his eyes. You have to fight to keep them back as well. “P-Please…” He stutters, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Don’t make this harder than it already is."

 "Tom, it's doesn't have to be this way."

 "I warned you. It can't be helped." He sobbed. An hour ago, the man standing in front of you was majestic, beautiful, and full of life. What remained now was nothing of that. Hunched shoulders and hands stuffed into his pockets. Eyes wet from tears.

 "I'll take a chance."

 "Please, stay out of it. Just leave me be. Forget about me."

 "Oh no, I can't. Not in a million years. I'll get you out whatever shithole you got yourself into." You’re just glad he didn’t walk right out. Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to follow him. Something was holding him back.

 "It's not worth it. It can't be fixed."

 "Everything takes time to heal."

 "Not me, not me." He snickers. “I… I need to go.”

 You rush to your drawers, pulling fresh clothes out as fast as you can. "Wait, I'll bring you wherever you're going."

 "You'll get into trouble if they see you."

 "I don't care." You quip while jumping into a pair of pants.

 "But I do!" He cries. “I do!”

 "The feeling is mutual." You growled. With your shoes and jacket on, you interlace fingers with his. Dragging him outside. And as you open the door, the pizza delivery shows up. “P-… Pizza delivery?” The man hesitates, looking at the both of you weirded out. “Here.” You shove a bill of cash into his hands. "Now, go!" He instantly rushes off onto the street. With screeching tires, the little scooter darts back up the road. In a big arch, you toss the pizza inside, cheese, and all flying everywhere before you close the door behind you.

 The car ride was uneasy, to say the least. No music. Only darkness and the rain hitting the windshield. Sometimes a finger, pointing you in the right direction. You appeared mad. To say you weren't was a misconception. But not at him. And what kind of music was even appropriate at that moment? Your mind was conflicted. You could just drive the opposite direction. Away from it all. He would be save.

 Would he?

 You couldn’t judge if you didn’t know where he was living. What if they came after him? That would endanger you as well. No, this required a different approach. This needed planning. God, you were in a state to do anything.

 Breath in, breath out. Calm yourself down.

  Hope.

Was it misplaced hope

?

 Hope for a happy ending.

 But hope is the worst of all evils, for it prolongs the torment of men. Words from an old book. Spoken by wise old men as they say. But in the end, the truth runs from the first to the very last word. How naive could you be? Deep down, you knew this was impossible. His words spoken earlier that evening kept circling in the back of your mind. Yet, you cling to that glimmer of hope. Those words in the shower. Those moments together. This couldn't be it?

 You hoped not.

  “Stop here.” He says. “It’s down that alley.” Pointing to a small flickering light in the distance. You could only get a glimpse as the windscreen wipers came by to clear the pouring rain from your window. You spot the outline of a figure standing there. "Turn around the moment I enter that alley. Don't come near.”  

 “I need your number.” Pulling out your phone. But he had already opened the door. “Tom!” You hissed, leaning over to passenger’s seat. Barely in time to get a hold of his arm. “How can I find you?” The wind and rain washing into the car. You have to blink once or twice to keep the rain out of your eyes. “Tom?!”

 “T-Thank you for tonight, (Y/N).”

 "No! Tom!" Tears welling in the corner of your eyes. Awkwardly constrained by your seatbelt, struggling to get a firm grasp on his hand. "Don't do this!" Your fingers begin to lose their grip on his hand, the rain hitting you relentlessly. This sting of pain. You felt this moment before. Slowly slipping away from your fingers. "Not like this!"

 "I'm so sorry…" And with a tug, he pulls his arm free, slamming the door into your face.

 You scream from the top of your lungs. Tears rolling down your cheek, you fumble with the seatbelt. But it won't open. Tears cloud your vision, anger raging from deep within. Forcing you to watch him run through the rain towards that accursed alley. You let your fury loose on anything in range. Until you're deprived of energy. Resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Watching the tears fall from your cheeks. You lost.

 A knock on your window makes you jump. “G-Hello?” A thick accent calls out to you. Your eyes spot the contours of a man. His face closing in on the window. His features unpleasant to the eye, looking like a common fugitive. Not with the best intention. "You zhould not be ghere.”

 So many things raced through your mind. You could just mash the door against his burly, ugly set face. Giving you an advantage to whatever came next. But… What would you achieve with that?

You nod quickly and steer your car the way you came. Driving around mindlessly. Gaze fixated on the horizon.

 It’s been minutes, hours, and days. They’re as grueling as you could possibly imagine. Tormented by your own thoughts. How could you save Tom? You couldn't admit to yourself that you actually knew nothing. There's only a location. That's all.

 Taking a few days off only makes it worse. Sleep doesn’t come at all. Falling back on drinking makes no difference. It only forces out the anger. Until the tipping point of intoxicating takes over your senses.

 Until your eyes spot the flyer, you’re hands tremble as you gaze on the picture of Tom. In all fairness, there wasn’t even a name mentioned. Only a number, like a damn menu. You scramble for your phone, shaking with nervousness. It takes a moment for the number to connect, until you hear a lady’s voice call out the name of the business.

 “Ehm… Hello, I… want Tom, p-please." You stutter, sweat breaking out across your body. While your fingers play with the edges of the picture. Gaze stuck on the picture of Tom. It remains silent on the other end of the line.

 “He doesn’t work here.” That single comment makes your blood boil. The thought that some filthy businessman groping him was sickening.

 “I meant number 26.”

 “I don’t know either. Anyone else?”

 “JUST GIVE ME FUCKING TOM!” You scream from the top of your lungs. “How hard can it be!”

 "I'm afraid I can't help you, sir." And the line disconnects. You're fumingly mad. Realizing your failure.  Gritting your teeth, you barely able to control yourself. Your thoughts sink deeper, and deeper in desperation. You could pull each and every single hair out of your skull out of frustration. Kicking chairs over and destroying stuff didn't satisfy in any way. Only the pain halted you momentarily. This couldn't be the end. You wouldn't let it end this way. You can't.

 You can’t let him go.

  - - - - -

From around the corner, you watch the alleyway. It’s been days. You thought this through countless times. Overthinking is what they call it. Days on end. If Tom was there, you needed to take a shot. You have to do something. What else is there to live for anyway? That is one way to boost your morale you chuckle to yourself. You take one last sip from the bottle before putting in back in your car. Releasing a hiss as the strong liquor burns its way down your throat. In a weird way, it makes your head clearer. Calms the nerves. Brings peace to your mind. Boosts your confidence. If only for this moment. You double-check the surroundings. Everything's in place.

 With confidence in your step, you lock your car around the corner and make your way down the street. You straighten your collars before sheathing them in the pockets of your jacket.  It takes quite a few steps to get there. The man on the corner of the alleyway can’t help but notice you. Trying casually to walk towards you. And as you approach the man, you notice he’s definitely one size larger than you. It surely wasn't the man that warned you in your car. This one had a more pleasant and kinder look to him. "G-Hey you…" He nods at you. "You ghot businez here?” Speaking with the same Eastern European accent as the other.

 You halt in front of him. Taking a moment to answer him, trying to keep your nerves in check. While looking calm at the same time. “I’m here for this.” Revealing the flyer from your pocket. “Is the manager in?”

 “Da, but why zhould I let you through?”

 You sigh with discontent. Revealing a stack of money from your pocket. "Here." Handing him twenty or so bills. "Don't bother me anymore." And take the gamble by walking past him. You hear a whistle behind you. Just as you are about to turn into the dim-lit alleyway, another man halts you. An impressively large man. You weren’t small either. But he towered over you, by far.

 “Got any on ya?” Surprisingly, this man wasn’t Eastern European looking or sounding at all. Holding your hands up beside you, you shake no. But the man still searches you. Keeping an eye on you at all costs. Mumbling to himself a few things. "Follow me."

 Through the dark passage, you’re led towards a metal door. Only a dim light above it shows the entrance. The rest is barely visible. The man engages the locking mechanism and opens the door. Through a series of corridors and stairs, you get the impression of this operation. A series of rooms, followed by cells. Giving you an inside look of how dilapidated and horrifying the building actually is. Your worst nightmare just becomes a reality. It's beyond belief how Tom managed to survive in these conditions.

 You try to keep your gaze fixated on the man in front of you as you follow him. But you desperately hope to see Tom here somewhere. What if you don't get out of here… alive? You draw a deep breath and focus on what’s next. A sudden halt at a room, makes you jump a little. “In here.” Pointing inward to an older lady behind a desk. "Make your request." He grunts, crossing his arms as several other people in the room watching you enter.

 “How can I help you, sir?” The woman kindly asks you. You recognize her voice from the phone earlier this week.

 “Alright.” You say, unimpressed. “Cut the middleman.” Turning around to the large man. “Bring me to the manager.” His gaze far from friendly. From the corner of your eyes, you see the nearby, you guess guards, take a step closer. Some whispering to each other. As the large man takes a few steps towards you. Ending up so close to you, he’s literally looking down on you. The smell of smoke and sweat hinted at your nostrils. His warm, foul breath fanning onto your hair.

 “Why should we… little one?” He growled demeaningly. Not a smile in sight. “You walk into here with loads of cash, and demand to see the manager. What is so important you have that you need to see the manager?” Crackling his knuckles close to your face. His hands were large, fingers short but fatty. Stained by all kinds of things you rather wouldn’t know about. “For all I know, you were never here, to begin with…”

 “Excellent threat." You sniffle, revealing a stack from your pocket. As you do in the process, you hear guns being cocked. "Here." Stuffing the stack into his pocket. “Problem is, my burly friend…” You gaze up to him, forcing a grin on your face.  “I didn’t wander in here unprepared. You see, If I don’t return within… let’s say… the next two hours-…” Letting the moment sink in. Eyeing the people in the room. Everyone eager listening in on your little conversation. “-shits going down.”  

 “What did you call me?” His hand resting upon your shoulder, leaning down.

 “Do you call the shots for your boss?” You tilt your head slightly. Looking at him with a playful smile. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate the news I have regarding his ratline from Europe.”

 The man looks past you, nodding to the lady behind the desk. Returning his gaze to you.

 "Not willing to take the risk, hmmm?" You joke. Behind your back, you hear several whispers. The eyes of the man shot back and forth between the lady and you. Before pushing you down the hallway again. Again leading you through some corridors, down the staircase. Ending up in a luxurious room.

 Behind a desk sat a figure, so bulbous and fat, you’d never seen anything alike. Gold rings on his meaty fingers. The room decorated in some sort of Russian style. The left wall accommodating a series of monitors. Probably surveillance. But as you keep your eyes longer on the screens, you see the prostitutes. Man and women. You try to keep a straight face. “I heard interesting things about you, young man…” The blob of a man behind the desk mutters.

 “I always thought Russians started with a drink, before doing business.” Keeping a straight face.

 The flesh of its body bounces and flays around as it laughs loudly. Signaling the large man to pour the glasses. He couldn’t even do it himself anymore, his fat little arms limiting his movement. “Nasdrovia!” You both cheer and cling the glasses, chucking the content.

 “Let’s talk business.” The man says with a thick voice.

 "I have intel, concerning the safety of your cargo." You glance over to the guards. "Can we get the room to us.” Looking at the Russian for a confirmation.

 "Give him a minute." He waves at you with his fat fingers. "Continue." The large man that led you here hesitates. Keeping his eyes on you. "Go!" The Russian shouts again, waiting for the door to close.

 You take a deep breath. And focus on the conversation. The details are important. Focus.

“You need to relocate within the next… 24 hours.” Checking your watch. “They’re on to you.”

 “How do you know?” He burst out laughing. “Do you have any evidence? Because my business is at an all-time high. My man and woman are booked like never before. I even have a new shipment comin-”

 "Container #556121 on the SSE Georgia has been snitched." You say with a reassuring tone. "Go ahead. Tell me if I'm wrong." He has a distrusting look on his face, hesitant to believe you. But still goes ahead to unlock his drawer, revealing a sort of book and a laptop.

 Bluff. Neither the name of the ship or the number was anything close to what you were supposed to say. Through all the nerves, you just made something up. You just simply couldn't remember what the police told you. Your heart pounded in your chest. It's now or never. Everything depended on the next few minutes. On that little wire, you were carrying. The strength of your arms. Your will. And above all, the speed of the police. Your fingers tremble as you grab your watch. It's bound to happen at any moment.

 What happened next went so fast. It's all a blur. One distant gunshot set off a chain reaction. You jump over the desk as the door behind you swings open, blood splatters all across. The razor-thin wire detaches from your watch, and you swing it around the neck of the bulbous man. His fat little arms couldn’t reach around. Shielding behind his humongous chair and body, you restrain him. You watch the bullet impacts on the wall near you as the guard curses loudly. The fat man’s arms flap around.  “Tell me about Tom, you fat fuck!” You shout. “I need to know!” Tightening the wire. With your “Where is he!?” Bashing his head from behind. “WHERE IS HE?!”

 The man fights and struggles heavily, barely able to breathe—coughing and desperate for air. The giant oak chair the man sat in, shook and trembled on the floor by the man's panicking movements. Screeching back and forth. His spasming legs hit the desk to the floor. Sending loads of stuff flying. The man points his finger to the guard. “K-K-Kill T…Tom!” He gurgles to the guard. The words reach your ears moments later, processing what the man just said. You panic as the guards suddenly darts off, grabbing his phone.

 “Noooooo!” Storming off towards the door, fueled by rage. Blinded by anger. Falling over several items on the floor. You regain your footing and continue to run towards the door. Turning the corner without a second thought.

 A bright flash. A high pitched noise. A ringing in your ear. A wince of pain, tearing into you, forcing every thought out of your mind, paralyzing your body. Only by a deep groan. Your eyes are blurry, your vision doubles as you stagger on your feet. Trying to blink it away didn’t help. You feel the pain worsen. Deepen. Sharp pain lances at your abdomen. Another flash close by. Jerking your body around.  Excruciating pain. It all happens with such force. It sends you stumbling backward. Your hands reach for the doorpost, trying to remain afoot. Holding on for life. But strength ebbs away. Your limbs feel numb. Fingers shaking, losing its grip. Slumping down to the floor, onto your knees. Everything hurt. Sharp, deep, unstoppable pain. Each exhale of breath stings your insides. Chocking the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurs, slowly turning red—darkness pressing in.

 But it wasn’t your vision turning red. It’s the pool of crimson red blood forming under your hands. Warming your pale, cold hands, oozing from your wounds. Panic hits. You’re short of breath, experiencing extreme difficulty with breathing. The cold gripping you. Your words strangled by the welling of warm blood, filling your throat. “T-Tom…” You manage to bring out in faltering gasps. Draining the last bit of energy left in you. “T...o...m…” Before your arms give in. Your head slamming against the crimson tainted concrete.

 Then silence.

 Silence.

 …

 …

 ...

 Is death near?

 …

 …

 ...

 That ringing noise in your ear. Coming closer.  Your head felt heavy and painful. As you slowly regain consciousness. You blink a couple of times to readjust to the intense light blinding your eyes. After a moment, you notice the light that shines in your eyes are rays of sunlight. Your try uttering a few words. But your throat was as dry as the desert, and rough like sandpaper. Forcing out an awful cough. "Am... I in heaven?" Your voice sounding croaked and harsh. Followed by another coughing fit. Your lungs hurt. A sharp pain lancing in your chest. Contorting your insides. Everything hurts. Each movement you made, your bones and muscles ache in response.

 “Sir?” A calming voice of a woman called to you. “Sir, how are you feeling?”

 “Terrible.” You cough, struggling to breathe. “Where am I?”

 “The hospital.” A young woman in nursery clothing showed up in your field of view. “You’re in good hands.” Everything looked pale white. Painfully white to the eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”

You have difficulty in paying attention to her. Your vision doubles, sound dissipates. She was trying to say something, but you couldn’t follow it.

 “The man that saved you is here.” Shaking your arm. "Sir..." Trying to keep you from passing out. "Look.” Helping you up. Your eyes slowly adjusting to the light, taking in the room. Loads of flowers decorated the space. Accompanied by colorful cards on the wall. “He stayed by your side the moment you came in. We could-"

 Her words fall to deaf ears. You couldn't believe your eyes. Blinking repeatedly. You try to sharpen the image. The tears welling in your eyes, not helping a bit.

 “This is heaven.” You mumble. The woman stops and looks at you. Giggling at your comment. Sitting there beside you, resting his head against the side of your bed. Eyes shut, snoring softly with his coat wrapped around him. "T-To…m…"  You try to say, falling into a terrible cough.  

 He jumps a little in his seat by the touch of the nurse. Rubbing the sleepers from his eyes, taking a moment to gather his bearings. But that moment you make eye contact. “(Y/N)!” He cries out. You can’t believe your eyes.

 “It’s really you.” You cough while trying to sit up. Tears streaming freely down your cheeks. "T-Tom!"

 "I can't believe it!" He snickers. Diving onto you, his arms closing around you, sobbing against your neck. You remain like this for a while. Deep in his embrace. Tears, only tears. But tears of happiness. You couldn’t remember when you experienced those.

 “T-Tom…?” You’re afraid to ask but needed to know. “Is… is it over? Is it done? A-Are you free...?”

  “Yes…” He nods, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Yes, I am. You did it. It's over." Cupping your cheeks with both hands, kissing you like you never been before. Euphoria. Blessed. Relieved. You feel alive.

“I cried myself to sleep that night (Y/N). Thinking I would never see you again.”  

 You nod. "I felt so lost without you." Knowing precisely what he meant. "I was so scared, Tom. I… I… thought I… was d-dying." Your body shakes at the thought and recollection of that moment. "It all… happened-d… and… I… I… m-missed you… so m-m-much." The sobs turn into long wails of emotions running freely.

 "It's ok." His arms reach around you, hugging your fragile body close to him. Letting all the tears flow freely. Crying in each other’s arms. "We’re going to be fine.”

 You hold him close, not ever wanting him to go. Locking eyes with him again. The reality of him beside you was heartwarming. That wonderful smile. It filled you with joy and happiness. But the questions burned at the back of your mind. "The nurse said you were the one who saved me? How…?"

 "I found you..." Enveloping your hands in his, pressing kisses to your cold fingers. "-on the floor." His eyes turn red, the tears running down his cheek. Crying for a moment, before he continues.

"A-A-After I heard the first shots close by, everything went so fast. I... saw guards being shot, and I ran… I knew something was wrong. I heard more shots. And… that’s when I turned the corner… I found you..." He weeps. "One moment you were there…" His blood-red eyes look at you with terror. "-the other I realized you were… close to… d-dying in my arms."

 You can't help but kiss him, hold him close. Comfort him as he wailed softly.

"Poor thing." The tears rolling down your cheek. “It’s going to better from here on out. I promise, Tom. I promise you.”

 "I love you (Y/N)." He whispers. His watery eyes lock with yours. "I love you with all my heart."

[imagine-loki]

Taking turns

TITLE: Taking turns

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki getting a touch of heatstroke while in Jotun form, and climbing into a bathtub full of ice cubes to cool down.

One slight hitch – his low Jotun body temperature makes the ice cubes stick and freeze together, trapping him in a block of ice

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: Started out as a comedy idea and ended something entirely different. Some language, suggestions of sex, and soft Loki. 

Forty minutes. Loki was forty minutes late. Loki was forty minutes late and they were all starving.

“Becks, you want to go check on the drama queen? Tell him he’s either here in five or we’re leaving without him!” Tony grumbled, looking a little worse for wear with his black eye.

The team had gotten back from a mission in South America. They were all sporting various colored bruises, cuts, and casts. They were all exhausted. Still, they had decided, as a group, that they would go and grab dinner to celebrate a successful expedition before they all crashed for a week. However, while everyone had showered, patched up, and returned to the common room within a half hour, Loki was still nowhere in sight forty minutes after their accorded meet time. While Loki was known to prod at Tony’s buttons just for the hell of it, he had never gone as far as dragging the full team down. And he was a stickler for a schedule.

Becca sighed, abandoning her spot on the couch with a groan. The angry cut on her side that Bruce had finished patching a few minutes prior screamed in protest. “He’s probably moving slow. He was kinda fading there, at the end of the mission. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

“There better be! If not, why the hell is he not here?”

“Jesus, Tony! Your pockets are filled with blueberries. Have a snack. Settle down.” She skirted around Wanda and Vision on the loveseat before taking off down the hall.

Loki’s rooms were at the end of the furthermost east wing. It was a nice enough area, but there wasn’t much more around. That was on purpose, both on Tony and Loki’s part. Though there was some semblance of mutual respect between them, they generally tried to be as far apart from each other as was physically possible. And Loki liked the silence. No one interrupted his odd sleeping patterns or quiet contemplation. It made it a little hard to make sure he was alive, though.

“FRIDAY, is Loki OK?” Becca asked when she reached his door, finding it locked.

“Er… define OK.”

A million thoughts raced through her mind. The mission had been intense, but it was mostly due to being in unfamiliar terrain and climate. It had been a full week of unbearable heat and dastardly humidity. Her own Caribbean countenance, well-versed in matters of heat, had swayed dangerously under the oppressive temperatures. Ever since Loki revealed the truth about his parentage to the team, Becca always made it a point to check in with him if they were under blistering sun or steamy foxholes. She clearly had not paid him enough mind this time around.

“Open the door.”

“Loki asked–”

“NOW.”

FRIDAY was not about to argue with her, it seemed. The lock clicked under her fingers and the door swung open easily.

The living room and kitchen were empty, as was the bedroom. She could see the door to the en suite slightly ajar and light spilling out into the shadowed bedroom. Her feet moved on their own accord towards the brightness.

“Loki?”

A handful of Asgardian curses accented the air. “Don’t!” He hissed, just as her hand met the wood of his bathroom door. “Just leave.”

He was promptly ignored. “Are you alright?” The door creaked open, but she did not enter.

“Please, just leave.” His voice sounded shaky. It didn’t give her much incentive to turn around.

“Tell me what’s wrong or I’m coming in.”

“Rebecca…” Without waiting for the rest of his excuse, she slipped through the doorway.

Loki’s bathroom was lovely. A large sunken bath took up most of the space that was paneled in dark woods and golden accents. There was the faint smell of sandalwood in the air, which seemed to hover at a perfect 75 degrees. The Asgardian was in the bath, covered in what Becca now noticed was ice. It disappointed her to know that she truly hadn’t paid enough mind to his propensity to heatstroke. Her concern was great enough that she had not even spared an extra thought to the fact that he was blue and his eyes were red orbs that ominously followed her around the room.

“Are you OK? What can I get you? Fuck.” Her right hand reached for her ear, activating her comms. “Tony–”

“No, don’t!” Loki’s instinct was to lunge in an effort to stop her, but succeeded only in moving the awkward lump of ice around his form to leave him slumped forward.

Various expressions flashed through Becca’ face–concern, alarm, confusion, amusement. Her comms buzzed in hear ear, prompting a follow-up. “Er, you guys are going to have to go on without us. Bring us something back, OK?” The hand in her ear lowered to cover her mouth. Loki didn’t need to see her mouth to know she was grinning or that the noise was trying to conceal was a snort of laughter and not a cough. “You, er–”

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

A giggle overcame her. “You OK there, buddy?”

The snarl from his curled mouth gave her a clear view of sharpened teeth and plum-colored gums. Her hand dropped, knowing it was no use to hide her amusement any longer. Bending at the waist, she pulled the laces off of her combat boots, toeing them off, before pulling her socks off after them. Her bare feet pounded tile until she was at the edge of the tub and was able to sink to her knees.

“Go. Away.” The growl that punctuated his words was lost in the shiver of his voice. Maybe Jotuns could get cold.

Becca tutted under her breath, holding her warm hand onto his cheek. Her thumb trailed distractedly over a raised line before sweeping inky black hair away from his eyes. “Loki, you’re stuck in an ice cube. I’m not leaving you here.” The whispered words held no jest or mockery and the warmth emanating from her digits seemed to be well-received, if the way he pressed lightly on them was any indication.

She carefully clambered over his form to reach for the extendable shower-head mounted in the wall behind him. “It’s going to have to be warm, OK?” Her hands fiddled at the taps and experimentally sprayed at her hands to gauge the temperature. “If you start not feeling well, tell me.” Her warm brown eyes maintained contact with his until he was forced to nod.

A hiss leaked through his clenched teeth as water trickled between the ice cubes and found its way onto his skin. By the time that happened, it would cool considerably, but it was still an uncomfortable sensation, nonetheless. Becca mumbled apologies as her hands turned pale, and then a chilled pink from shifting cubes away as they melted.

“This is taking forever,” Loki muttered, resting his head back against the wall, eyes clenched closed.

“I’m afraid of going any warmer when you’re like this, Lo. I don’t want to hurt you.” His brow pulled tightly in a frown before moving back to concern. It was as if he had forgotten he was in his other form, but the tight clench of his jaw told Becca that the detail was sure not to escape his notice ever again.

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah, but I do.”

Getting the bulk of the ice not stuck to his body to melt away was the biggest endeavor, but it was happening quickly enough. Once the bath was only about half-full, it was easier to start freeing Loki’s limbs. The problem was that steam was starting to fog up the room and his head lolled to the side every now and again as he became weaker. There was still a layer of ice, a few inches thick, preventing him from moving.

“Hey. How about you talk to me? To keep awake,” Becca urged, carding her fingers through his hair to clear his face. “Tell me a story.”

Loki groaned, eyes barely blinking open to look up at her. The noise of complaint only deepened at the genuine smile that greeted him on the other end. “Once upon a time, I was an idiot and got stuck in ice and a mortal too stubborn for her own good had to get me out of it. The end.”

Becca giggled. “I think you forgot to mention how cute the mortal was or how handy she was with a shower-head.”

“Oh, forget it. Just leave me here to die.”

“You should have just called me.”

“Why on Earth, would I willingly call you to free me of this embarrassment?” His scarlet eyes bore straight into her soul with annoyance and irritation, but couldn’t help but soften at her playful expression. “I don’t want to furnish you with anecdotes to tell Stark and the others.”

“I’m not telling them about this.” At his questioning stare, she continued. “I only need to tell them that you weren’t feeling well and I chose to stay behind. They don’t need details.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I wouldn’t want them to know if it had happened to me.” Most of the loose ice was now gone. Becca put the shower-head down and moved to the other side of the bath to activate the stopper and open the larger tap. “I’m going to fill the tub with warm water and that will probably melt the rest away without much issue.”

“I… I don’t think I can go much warmer without passing out.” Loki admitted, softly, eyes rounded and pleading.

She turned her face to him and smiled. “I’ll be here. I have you. I promise.”

The tub filled and the faint crackle of shifting ice could be heard over the sound of their breathing. Becca fished her cell phone out of her pocket and tossed it a few ways away from the tub, before slipping into the water, jeans, t-shirt and all. Loki was lolling again, so Becca thought the best course of action was to put a little force on the already fissured sheets and easing them off.

Her hands started at his legs, squeezing lightly at places where the ice seemed to give and breaking apart the pieces, watching absently as they bobbed up the surface before melting away completely. It wasn’t until she reached his thighs that it occurred to her that maybe feeling Loki up was not the of ideas. Still, he was drifting in an out and fading fast. She would risk a little awkward groping for the sake of getting him free before he drifted any further. She paused near mid thigh, her cheeks turning a deep pink before she pivoted and worked on his arms. His hands and wrists were already free, and it took little effort to slide off the ice off the rest of his arms. His back was mostly thawed and she could remove a large piece covering his chest. There was only the awkward bit to get through now. Biting the inside of her cheek, she prodded for any loose ice and broke the sheets as gently as she could while not wasting time.

Pulling the stopper, she gathered Loki into her chest, putting her arms under his and pulling him to the edge. He was deceptively heavy, Becca realized; a dense creature like a collapsing star. She struggled with the settings on the shower-head and gradually turned the water spray from warm to cool to frigid cold. She shivered heavily behind him, Loki only stirred, slowly coming back into himself.

Becca clambered out, clumsily. Her extremities were cold and numb and she was shivering heavily. Knowing she wasn’t going to clear walking for another moment, she pulled her knees up to her chest and folded into herself for warmth. Her eyes fell onto Loki who, now alert, was taking the steps out the tub with her zeroed in his sights. Despite the fact that she had just run her hands over every line, dot, and hash of his body, seeing it in plain display felt more intimate. He made no effort to cover himself or change back into his Asgardian form, though she suspected that was more so the fact that he was still weak. Not that she minded. In this form he was terrifying. He oozed brute strength and savagery–very different from his Asgardian counterpart–but she found that she liked it. It was akin to finding money in an old coat–you weren’t expecting it, but you’re glad you did.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes.” He sunk to his knees before her with a guarded look.

“I would, but my hands decided to stop working.” She forced a laugh. “It’s OK. Just let me warm a degree or two and I’ll get out of your hair.” He pressed a hand to her back, making wide circles to create friction. His touch made her shudder gratefully. “At least I’m not warm enough to make you uncomfortable.”

“I like you warm,” he offered after a long pause. His black talon-tipped hands slid under the back of her t-shirt and pulled the material away from her skin, easing it off gently. It took little prodding to make her unwind her arms from around her knees. He discarded the garment beside her before working on the clasp of her bra, which joined it a moment later. Pulling her jeans off her hips was a bit harder, as the denim adhered to her skin like it was another living layer, but he managed to tug them off and down her legs along with her underwear. Reaching behind her, he pulled a towel from the shelf, putting it around her shoulders and proceeding to rub her down. “Thank you, Rebecca.” She got the distinct feeling he didn’t just mean for freeing him of his ice prison.

“Not a problem. Just… maybe don’t do it again without supervision.” The words had left her mouth out of their own volition and the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks was all but impossible to hide. “That came out weird. I didn’t mean it like–not that I don’t find you stupidly attractive–I just–”

He slanted his lips against hers, cutting off whatever rambling rabbit hole she was fixing to throw herself down. “Let me warm you up in my bed,” he mumbled against her lips, his fingertips making sinful shapes against her naked skin.

“But–”

“You can cool me after. We’ll take turns.” With a half-suppressed moan, she threw her arms around his neck and allowed him to carry her off into the bedroom. She would worry about him overheating later.

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight | chapter nine

chapter 9 - blood witch of whereverthefuck

SFW, Heisenberg finally bridges the gap. around 3.4K words.

The sun was but a distant sight in the sky when Karl Heisenberg emerged from the depths of his factory, cast iron pot in one hand, cigar in the other. He imagined it was an amusing, yet terrifying view for a passerby, the way the place seemed to be on fire behind him, the weird shine in his eyes through the tinted glasses.

Despite the badassery of the almost action movie worthy scene in his mind, there was an air of domesticity about it all that he did not particularly appreciate, like he was a steel worker bringing his lunch pail home after a long day’s work. Well, he was, in a way, but there would be no wife in a polka dot dress with victory rolls in her hair where he was going. There would be no record player, no brand-new, shiny vacuum bought with much hard work, no red lipstick kisses on his collar when he passed through the door. It would be nothing like the perfect married life he had been sold back before the war, back before he lost everything, even the hopes of getting a shitty wife and a shitty marriage, if the perfect ones weren’t an option.

Well, looking on the bright side, he might not get the wife but he certainly would get the dinner, with none of the weird recipes people came up with back in the day. He could still taste the sugary hell of the jell-o salads garnished with contraband whipped cream that had somehow gone off in transport, the absolutely disgusting texture of the jellied chickens. It was the first thing he had when he arrived back home, the family’s neighbor having invited him over for dinner to celebrate his survival after the brutality of the battles he had seen. It was a joyous moment and they pitied his family, applauded their devotion to the Black God, and so such a generous display of goodwill was the least they could do. They had pulled out all the stops, brought out the good china, went to the Duke in order to illegally get the powder that would be used to create the stuff of nightmares. The entire time he sat at the couch and listened to the lady of the house ramble about how much of a refined woman she was, that this was an American recipe and she had, through resourcefulness alone, managed to get her hands on a copy. The house was too small for him to move over to another room and evade her. He hardly remembered the rest of the night, mind fuzzy with infection and a likely deadly cocktail of experimental medicine, but the taste of sugar had forever attached itself to his memory.

He looked down at the iron pot in his hand with the highest of hopes.

Dusk painted a fascinating picture on the sky, a gradient of red and orange bleeding into the clear blue, the moon rising solemn from somewhere behind the tree line. Heisenberg stopped halfway through as he made across the yard, allowing himself to wallow in the quiet, eyes roaming from the sky to the forest like there was something he sought after. He did not know what he expected, perhaps an unexplainable crimson mist that looked suspiciously like a witch’s hand grabbing a tree trunk, or maybe something as small as a pair or two of glowing eyes staring at him in the distance. Now, he did feel like he was being watched, with special care and attention being devoted to his thighs and ass, but he was aware it was simply because lycans were everywhere and they always went for the juiciest bits.

He took another drag of his cigar as if to end the ritual there, his decennial moment of meditation coming to an end about two or three minutes after it started. He had never been one for standing still and thinking about life for too long. Idle hands and all that. Plus, he had much to do tonight, this very convoluted plan that he had begun concocting after getting to know that amazingly singular woman that had stitched him up in record time. He had considered his options carefully - go through the bridge and up the chalice shaft, past the altar, into the village, out of the village, and into the forest. The exact same path he had taken yesterday, with the same nosy villagers, with the same rat that had scurried back to the castle to give Alcina a report, the same twenty minute trek up ways and byways of the mountain to find the witch’s cottage. Simple, yes, but so very pedestrian, so unfit for his genius. He would rather take the scenic route.

The fence almost seemed to know what was about to happen as he came upon it. A flick of his hand and metal screeched and contorted onto itself, opening a perfect human-sized hole so Heisenberg could walk through and out into the woods behind the factory. He made sure to lock it back up with a well placed car door, some extra twists for good measure. Wouldn’t want rabid lycans giving Miranda information she did not deserve to have.

The woods greeted him like an old friend. It had been far too long since he had taken the now almost hidden path, visible only to the trained eye of someone who had walked it a thousand times over. He hadn’t brought the hammer, confident that their dealings had been amicable enough despite him having lost his temper, a single knife tucked away inside his inner coat pocket, though it was not meant to be used - at least not by him. He had never been one for forests, much preferred the comfort of metal and steam, but the emptiness of the land was a comforting sight. Some minutes of snow crunching under his boots later and he could see it in the distance, the porch covered in dirt and piles upon piles of pine branches, the shingled roof almost invisible amid the white of the landscape. The glass panes of the windows had broken long ago, the front door hanging on a single hinge, wooden boards pulling apart and away from the skeleton, rusty nails spilling out like the shack oozed under the abuse of time.

Heisenberg was far from interested in taking a peek inside. Instead he made for the edge of the canyon, where the river roared beneath him, cutting its way through the mountains, molding the stone with an unrelenting chisel. Not too far from him the suspension bridge swayed in tandem with the wind, rickety planks whining with every movement. He peered down after the first step, the creaking of wood promising a swift fall, the water below a monster waiting to swallow him. Only his freshwater Charybdis would most likely be Moreau, and he would very much prefer not being covered in disgusting green goo.

This would have been much easier if he had taken a leaf of steel, a chunk of iron; anything, really, to secure his steps and shield him from an untimely dip into ice. He walked with confidence, as if the bridge cared any for his belief that it would hold, and the cross felt like it took hours, relief washing over him when his feet finally touched solid land.

For a moment, Heisenberg wondered if he had taken the wrong turn and entered the wrong forest, if he had crossed the wrong bridge or passed through a portal to another world. The brush was no longer quiet, vibrant and full of life tonight, as much as the bleakness of winter would allow it; crickets, ravens returning to their roosts, hares out and about, even the odd lycan shyly watching him from behind a bush, too far from its pack and stronghold to have any edge in a fight. It was as if the fog had ceased to exist overnight, the witch’s sinister curse lifted as if this corner of the world was much too far from her domain. And perhaps it was, the backwoods ingrained in the locals’ collective memory as a place rife with spirits that wouldn’t rest, cave complexes that took nowhere, dens of boars and bears and wolves and all manner of things that would not hesitate to end a poor unfortunate soul’s life. He knew of a collapsed mine somewhere near, an escape route dug underground by the forefathers of his forefathers, before Miranda, before his lineage was cast down and stripped of rank.

Heisenberg recognized the hill that hid her cabin, like a hand that shot up from the ground to cup the house like one would hold a precious memento. He barely spotted the narrow path that went up and around it, a mite-eaten, ancient wooden post the only evidence of the fence that once stood there. He saw the smoke before he came upon the house, a strange sight from this angle, a large pile of firewood lined up against the kitchen window, flint axe resting against it. The clothesline than ran from the roof to a hook carved into the mountain stood empty, no doubt because of the heavy blizzards that had hit them recently, and a row of parallel wooden boxes covered with a good foot of snow called his attention, took up most of the space behind the shack. Figured that the witch in the woods would have a garden all year round.

He circled around to find her crouched, close to the tiny goat that had taken a liking to him the day before, petting its head affectionately, talking to it like one would to a child. She spoke as if the animal could understand her, invited it to go back into its coop with its mother, to have a nice, delicious dinner and enjoy a good night’s sleep. The goat bleated as if it understood, followed her into the pen like a dog follows its master. If she could talk to animals, that would seriously be the last fucking straw.

The actual dog was the first to spot him, sitting at the entrance to the porch, watching over their land through the curtain of hair that covered its eyes. The mutt stood to attention at the sight of him, ears perking up slightly, a huff pushed through its teeth, snarl starting to bubble within its stomach. He saw the witch straighten up her back at the sound, head turned slightly towards the guard dog as she listened intently. She returned to her chores when Heisenberg did not move and the sheepdog deemed him a safe intrusion.

“Good evening, darling,” he hollered, genuinely happy to see her, making her jump at the sound, a startled gasp escaping her lips. Her hands momentarily lost control and dropped the bucket of feed she carried. The grain spilled everywhere, chickens running amok trying to catch every kernel, and he could not help but laugh at the way her shoulders slumped and she sighed. Her hand came up to rest at her breast, near her heart, and she turned to face him with the most adorable, indignant expression.

It struck him that she looked even more beautiful here, away from the darkness of her cabin, bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun, amber eyes shining almost a golden hue. Her features looked to have been sculpted with great care and concern, no detail left to chance; rounded eyes that spoke of innocence with an edge of mystery at the corners, well-defined lips that could curve into the most wicked of smiles, aquiline nose that gave her the semblance of some noble of a bygone era. Her eyebrows had just the right arch to them to make her friendly but give her an edge, and he was convinced she had to be the most expressive person he had ever met.

She stared daggers at him, brow furrowed, the sketch of a pout on her lips. Her hands came to rest on her hips and she puffed, as if wanting an explanation, an apology for the sudden intrusion. She would get neither. Her chest heaved still from fright, that delicate bosom that haunted his thoughts unfortunately covered by a thick charcoal-colored shawl. She wore a dress today, much to his delight and dismay. The embroidered shirt fit loosely around her waist, called attention to threaded relief; the skirt was placed too high on her hips to give her body any definition. The burgundy dress she wore now hugged her form beautifully, laces tied into a bow just below her waist. It was an invitation, almost, the way that he could take but a few steps forward and tug at the ends of it, watch as the fabric parted to reveal the soft flesh underneath. But this is what she wanted, wasn’t it? There is no doubt in his mind that every move of hers is meant to distract him, to lure him in like before. Sneaky little snake she was, dangerous but enticing.

“Good evening, Lord Heisenberg.” The witch greeted him at last, her expression softened. She, too, seemed glad to see him despite the mischief, a notion that both puzzled and pleased him more than he cared to admit. He could not remember the last time someone had smiled at his arrival, had shown him anything akin to a warm welcome. It puzzled him - they had met a day ago, under strange circumstances and stranger dynamic. But there was no denying the warm, fuzzy feeling in his heart, so foreign after decades of isolation, at the thought that they seemed to click perfectly, like their alliance, their friendship, was but a natural step in the course of their lives. He would never admit it, not under torture nor inebriated after a dozen drinks, that the prospect of not being so alone was almost as exciting as his plans to decimate his family.

He noticed how she seemed to stare beyond him, over his shoulder and through into the forest, eyes averting to the footprints on the snow to figure out just where he had come from. No doubt she would secure the way after he left, maybe cut the ropes on the bridge for good measure. It’s what he would do, anyway.

She soon busied herself again, bent down to pick up the bucket, turned around and walked to a wooden shed with its door ajar, lantern light shining bright to help her navigate the room. He followed, both her actions and her silence, and found that all manner of tools and bins were organized on shelves and boxes. It amused, but did not surprise him, to see that every last tool in her shed was made of bone, wood, stone or a combination of those. The shovel looked like an ox’s shoulder blade, the hay rake was made of nothing but wood and twine. A spear for fishing with flint for a tip, traps for fish and snares for game, a carved unstrung bow and a basket full of wooden arrows. Forget the rudimentary lifestyle of the village - she was positively prehistoric.

She refilled the bucket and went back outside, didn’t meet his eyes as she did, promptly taking the feed to the horse - the real, flesh and blood horse. It was as tall as she was, but its frame was massive. A work horse, undoubtedly, well built and taken care of. The red coat glistened against the lantern light, mane black as coal, and the eyes of a creature who had been through some shit. It nuzzled its snout against her hand as she sang its praises and a whole lot of gibberish about how cute it was. “If I may be so bold as to ask, were you sneaking behind my humble abode, my lord?”

“The bridge is still standing,” he shrugged and she nodded, her curiosity sated. “This was all ours once, you know.” Ours, he ruminated, glancing over the tree line. His family’s, the land where the factory was built and the land around it, her little hideaway included. It was theirs because no one else dared tread it, the frontier between civilization and the deep wilderness of the mountains. They were hardy of constitution and stoic in their beliefs, the perfect guardians of their haven and way of life. Father always spoke proudly of it, of how House Heisenberg had defended their home for generations. To think that he was now an eccentric recluse with no family to speak of or future in sight always left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Why yes, the lord and lady Heisenberg were ever so kind to allow us to live and care for this neck of the woods.” She spoke as if she knew them, as if she had spoken to them on occasion. His parents had never been the chatty kind, a characteristic he did not seem to inherit. They were proud and wary of strangers; he could not picture his parents giving away a chunk of land to a miserable family of no title or influence. And yet he could hear the smile in her voice, like she had recalled wonderful memories. Still she did not face him, closing up the animal pens for the night, fluffing up the hay for the animal’s bedding, bolting doors shut.

“The lord and lady Heisenberg have been dead for almost 90 years, buttercup. You alright in the head?” He let out a laugh alongside a puff of smoke from his cigar. What was her game?

“Indeed, a true tragedy, that.” There was sadness in the way she spoke, in the way her voice lowered as she continued. “Lady Kora would not let me near her,” the story was foreign to him, but the mention of the name lit something within - not a comfortable warmth, not a hint of nostalgia, but the sort of panic that destroys everything in its path. “I told her it was of no issue to me, but she would not hear it. She was worried that I, too, would come down with fever. I was much too young then, she said, such a bright future ahead.” Her sigh was not one of contentment but of grief. “I could have healed her.” She murmured at last, turned and held his gaze, a thousand apologies in her eyes, as if it had been her fault that he had never come to know his grandmother. He had her name and a portrait, a locket that had long belonged to her and the stories his mother told him. Father would not speak of her, having never recovered from the grief of losing her so young. She had died of smallpox, he had heard, when the virus swept across the village and left many graves in its path.

“You sure know your history,” he meant to chuckle nonchalantly, but instead grimaced, deeply uncomfortable with the idea that perhaps he had come across an immortal being that knew far too much, as absurd as it all sounded. “Very creative, too.” She seemed offended at the implication, chest puffed and mouth agape to answer him. He cut her off before she could scare him any further with her intricate web of lies. “It got a name?” Heisenberg pointed at the horse, and the beast eyed him warily as he approached, pawing at the ground when he was close enough to touch.

“Sir Bernhard von Rothenberg,” she announced proudly, outrage forgotten - at least for now. “My friend and guardian.” The hardy bear of the red mountain. For some reason, the absurdity of the name did not surprise him. To be fair, the horse looked like it would square up and try his best to kill him if pressed. Still, the thought of a woman rumored to be powerful referring to an animal as her guardian brought a laugh to his lips.

“And what about you, darling?” That was the burning question, was it not? Who was she, this woman so tightly wound up in mystery, who seemed to know too much and yet have lived too little, tucked away in her rickety shack with nary a hint of modernity in her accommodations and mannerisms. The question seemed to offend her, but most of all confuse her.

“You, my lord, may call me,” she began, voice lathered in drama, a perfectly polite curtsy as she spoke. “The Blood Witch of Whereverthefuck.”

[primergon]

i’m searching low in the night , starscream/fem!reader

Summary : What could he possibly want from an organic? A filthy, weak, and incompetent organic? An organic whose tears he could not stop imagining, an organic whose eyes follow him everywhere he goes, an organic whose laughter crowded every space of his silence.An organic, who is out there, unknowingly waiting for him.

( Starscream meets shattered glass! Starscream and discovers somethings better left unknown)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/M

Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime

Relationships: Starscream / reader, Starscream (Transformers)/You

THE locks hissed, latching themselves in place. Shockwave remained unperturbed by the whole scenario, mulling about as if it was nothing short of a usual day in the lab. If this couldn’t shake the stoic Mech, then Starscream doesn’t want to know what will. Knockout seemed much more hesitant, shooting glances at him every now and then – Starscream would have found it comical if it wasn’t for the look everyone’s giving him.

Starscream marched to his counterpart, peeling himself off the wall. “ You’re an Autobot.”

His doppelganger shot him a no slag look. The Autobot insignia gleamed above his armor, a stark difference to the walls that held him prisoner. Starscream took the chance to observe him – or himself, up close. Aside from the minor scratches he got upon entering the portal, he seemed unharmed. The color scheme of his plating was enough to make Starscream nauseous. It was white down to his claws – no, fingers. It was white down to his fingers.

Starscream scowled.

“ Pathetic,” He scoffed, “ I expected better from myself.”

“ Makes the two of us.”

The vehicons left once their work was done, ushered out by Knockout. There was comfort in knowing that Megatron won’t be around to witness this himself, even if a field report was inevitably going to inform him of it, considering that Shockwave was with them – yet his temporary absence gave Starscream the closure he needed to let his curiosity wander.

Mirror-Starscream – as Knockout has dubbed, looked uncharacteristically calm, which only serves to agitate him even more. Deep down he was rooting for him to resist, to fight back – to even beg. Where was his cunningness? Where were his shrewd quips and witty reasoning? Why isn’t he trying to talk his way out? Was he that much of a coward? Yet the look in his eyes stated otherwise. It was one of determination. One of courage and loyalty and – bah! It makes him sick.

Pathetic.

Shockwave can toss his words to the Pit – there was no way he was staring at his alternate self. Whatever failed science experiment the one-eyed slagger had conjured, it couldn’t have possibly brought back anything that resembled him. This must be some sort of trick, a curse, a bad omen.

“ Mind sharing to us how this all came to be?” Knockout hummed, attaching the very last wires into the system. The computer whirred to life, the noise enough to set him on edge – again Mirror-Starscream was almost unresponsive, merely glancing around as if he’s laying on a human beach rather than the torture chamber of a Decepticon warship.

“ You’re going to pry it from my head anyways.” He tugged on the restraints. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter – you won’t get any information that you can use against my friends, because I don’t know how the slag this happened either.”

Starscream scoffed. “ We’ll see about that.”

Starscream slid onto the opposite berth, letting the doctor ease a cable around the back of his helm. His double regarded him silently, confusion in his eyes – as if he couldn’t picture what they’ve become. “Why ?”

“ Why not?”

Knockout gave him the signal and at the count of three, Shockwave activated the cortical psychic patch. His double gave him a horrified look, before falling into his memories, pulling Starscream with him.

He shouldn’t be surprised – no. He’d seen many things throughout this war. He’d seen Vos crumble at his feet, he’d seen flyers getting their wings ripped out by blasters mid-air, he’d seen Megatron on his worst days. He’d seen it all, nothing could catch him off-guard.

Except maybe this.

“ W-what is this?”

His double raised a brow at him. “ This is the part that surprises you?”

Starscream recoiled. “ Why am I touching that organic?”

His double searched his gaze. “ That organic is our – my Conjunx.”

Starscream swore he could hear Knockout’s gasp, or perhaps it was his own. The seeker retreated, looking back and forth. “ I would rather go to the Pit than admit that-that creature is my – “

“You don’t recognize her?”

His double moved forward, walking past Megatron – a parallel Megatron, where he wasn’t a bloodthirsty warlord, but instead, a scientist whose driving force is to protect humanity and take down Orion Pax. Orion Pax, Optimus, for short - who is supposedly a gladiator of Kaon. Starscream could barely picture the red and blue Mech even taking down a vehicon before the primacy, what more Megatron? Then again, the silver Mech didn’t even look threatening – with no claws and blue optics. Primus, what happened to his optics?

Starscream pretended to be nauseated, insulted, infuriated – yet he couldn’t bring himself to pry his eyes away from the sight. The scene had melted into another one, the once vibrant colors peeling into a dark room. He could hear the sound of rain, and the roof above his head suggested that he was inside a human home. He flinched when the wood creaked below his feet, only to realize that it came from the memory.

He could walk only to where his double stood, not daring to reach out any further. In his double’s memory, he was hugging – hugging? Yes, hugging the organic. They were laying down on a human berth, limbs tangled. He was nearly lost in the intimacy, watching as she dragged her fingers across his wings. This would imply that – Primus, they really are Conjux Endurae. Watching himself being courted is weird enough, watching him being courted by a fleshling is even worse. Then again, she was being extremely careful, reaching out to cover the expanse of his wing with her faint caress.

“ Are you falling asleep?” She asked, whispering into the dark. Their bodies were illuminated by the half-light pouring through the window, shielded from the ongoing storm. It was quiet, so quiet, that he could hear her breathing.

“ I am.” He murmured, burying his head deeper against her clothed stomach. Starscream wanted to flinch at that, to rage at the idea that he would give himself to something so –

She laughed. The noise faint and brief, yet enough to send something through his spark. He retreated, watching as she pulled him closer. “ That’s good to hear. You’ve been working so hard, and I’ve been worried. I can’t imagine anything happening to you.”

Outside he could hear the roll of thunder. His double raised a finger, tracing it across her cheek. “ I should be the one that’s worried.” He pulled himself up, sitting upright. “ What did the doctor say?”

There was a moment. He should’ve taken this as a chance to break the vision – they should be looking for information. One related to winning this war, yet he felt anchored to the ground, unable to move. The fact that they haven’t shifted to another memory meant that Shockwave no longer has control over the psychic patch, leaving them with no room to argue.

The human woman hesitated. He waited, combing her hair. “ Tell me, please.”

There it was, begging. Starscream stole a glance at his counterpart, who was leaning by the wall, looking away. She rose to sit, placing both her hands across his cheeks. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his own. He felt appalled, but the feeling ebbed away when she started crying. Liquid leaked from her optics – eyes, humans called them.

“ Starscream.” There was something in the way she uttered his name. He’d heard people shout his name, scream his name, belittle and butcher his name. He was used to the anger dripping from their voices when his name was called, he had grown to the cruel and sneering way everyone would refer him to.

That’s why hearing his name uttered so gently was enough to shock him into flinching.

He couldn't remember the last time someone did that.

“ We both know I…my life is finite compared to yours. We both know I will leave you much sooner than you want me to. I wished we had more time, but if this is all that the universe is going to allow me, then I want to spend it with you.” The tears continued to spill, even if she’d buried her face on his shoulder. “ I’m sorry…I’m sorry that we’re so unlucky in this lifetime. I’m sorry, I had to get sick, I’m sorry I’ll – “

His double shushed her. She was hiccupping, spilling her tears all over his armor – yet he didn’t seem to care. All he did was hold her, rocking her sideways. Warmly, tenderly, intimately. “ Don’t apologize for something you cannot control.”

He laid her back down on the bed, the two of them facing one another. It was at this point that Starscream felt as if he had interrupted something private, something he shouldn’t see – but the rain outside was growing stronger. The wind howling and shaking the trees.

Once she’d calm down, she raised a hand above the pillow. “ I didn’t know I was sick. But, if you had known earlier – will you still stay?”

“ I would.” He answered.

She narrowed her eyes.“ Even if it would hurt you?”

“ I would.”

His mirrored-self embraced her in a way that seemed so foreign – could he do that? Was he capable of really giving her that kind of security? That kind of comfort? Here, within these four walls, the war couldn't reach them. Here, in this far, distant memory coming from a life he could have had, she laid next to him as if she trusted him more than anyone.

She could have never done the same with him – yet this was him, wasn't it?

“ I wish we are luckier in another life.”

She murmured, eyes struggling to keep themselves open. He – his double, continued to rub comforting circles around her back. Under his metal fingers, her skin looked so pliant, so inviting. He nuzzled the column of her neck, arching into her touch.

He could crush her, hurt her – yet he didn’t.

Why? Starscream didn’t understand. Why, why, why, why –

“ Why?”

Once again, the scenery before them started to blur, fading into the next one. His mirrored-self ex-vented.

“ Why not ?”

Even after they’ve severed the psychic link, Starscream still finds himself going back to the memory. He could never forget the look Knockout had offered him. He could have handled the gloating or the disgust in his face. Yet everything about the medic screamed pity, and Starscream had to walk out of the room to stop himself from getting angry.

At what, he didn’t know.

His double had managed to escape. After three days of captivity, Mirror-Starscream was rescued by his team – Starscream scoffed bitterly, all that hassle, all that trouble, just to rescue one Mech? In this world, Megatron would have left him for scrap.

He let his hands fall to his sides.

He would have left him for scrap.

The warlord was indifferent to the incident, if not a little agitated with how they’ve managed to still return empty-handed. The Vehicons had initially gossiped about it, whispering to one another whenever he would pass down the halls. After a week, however, it died down – any talk about his second life vaporizing into thin air. Disappearing without a trace.

Starscream wished it was the same for his memories.

Yet, here he lay – awake at night in his berth, staring at the ceiling. If he closes his optics, he could hear the pitter-patter of the rain above the roof. He could hear her breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. He could imagine her hands against his skin – warm. They would be very warm. Initially, whenever the thought would arise, he would push them away. He’d spent weeks running from it, only to find that he’s been going in circles – haunted by a memory that wasn’t even his to begin with.

What made it so appealing?

What could he possibly want from an organic? A filthy, weak, and incompetent organic? An organic whose tears he could not stop imagining, an organic whose eyes follow him everywhere he goes, an organic whose laughter crowded every space of his silence.

An organic, who is out there, unknowingly waiting for him.

“ I wish we are luckier in another life.”

He clenched his fists.

He stared at the datapad. At that time, he had caught a glance of her name written above what seemed to be a medical report. He had entered the syllables into a humans search engine, scrolling through the world wide web for her identity. He stared at her picture on a social platform – social media, they call it.

He groaned. What am I doing?

She was smiling. He noted. She looked healthy here.

But will it stay that way?

“ Even if it would hurt you?”

He stood by the roof of the Nemesis, feeling the clouds cluster oppressively around him. The onslaught of rain did nothing to deter his stance. He watched the storm below, observing the flash of lighting. Thunder followed not long after. The wind strong enough to faintly rock the ship.

 Just one look to quench your curiosity, he reasoned, just one look so you will stop thinking about her.

He turned off his comm-link, severing all communication with Soundwave. This should buy him some time, how long ? He doesn't know. Hopefully, it will be enough.

All he needed to do was jump, and somewhere below – inside a human home, you were waiting for him.

Pathetic. He thought - leaping off the platform.

A/N :  I hope this isn't too OOC, you can set the timeline anywhere you want - but I'd like to think it's somewhere around season 2. Don't hesitate to tell me what you guys think and correct my mistakes <3

AO3 Link : I’m searching low in the night