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netherfeildren · 11 months

Text

Pink : Part III : Two

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger

A/N: All tags have been updated.

Word Count: 12.7K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

3. Two

“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.

But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”

“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over.

And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you.

But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”

It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity.

He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”

“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you.

“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”

“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that.

And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters.

But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?”

“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”

“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband.

His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open.

“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at.

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her.

“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”

“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe?

“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized.

“I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I have something to do. I forgot.”

“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom.

“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away.

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”

He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”

“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time.

And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head.

“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?

“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.

And you think you��re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full.

“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy.

“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you.

And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind.

“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game.

“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing.

“I’m not your whore–”

“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”

You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you.

“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”

Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”

“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl.

“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now.

“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still.

“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again.

And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one.

He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat.

“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.

“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”

You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat – fucking gorgeous and his.

“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”

You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now.

Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out.

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now.

Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–” he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well.

He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.

He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him.

You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you.

“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.

He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all.

Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”

But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind.

He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard.

“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.

You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”

He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”

What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile.

When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes.

You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father.

He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for.

But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes.

Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”

“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something.

“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection.

“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now.

“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit.

Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”

But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad.

And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.

Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won.

“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”

“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone.

“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.

I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore.

They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house.

He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was.

When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers?

You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask.

“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved.

“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief.

“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”

He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”

But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never.

“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”

“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”

“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”

“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”

“Everything.”

“Or nothing.”

“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie.

His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say.

Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”

And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts.

You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were.

And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.

Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this.

And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that?

People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need.

He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you?

So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good.

End.

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#pink fic #Joel miller #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller/ reader #Joel Miller/ you #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us au #Joel Miller au #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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ariiadnes · 29 days

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ㅤ♡ྀི ₊ I AM THE KNIFE WHICH WILL SLAUGHTER HEAVEN ( part i. )

IT IS YOUR PART TO KILL ME , MINE TO DIE WITHOUT FLINCHING.

❧ ꒰ childe ⋮ ei ⋮ dainsleif ꒱ ⋮ genshin impact × title cr : heiner müller × quote cr : epictetus ╰┈ ✎ ・・・ repost from my primary writing blog!

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ CHILDE

OH, BUT THE BLOOD IN YOUR VEINS RUNS COLDER THAN THE KNIFE AGAINST YOUR THROAT, the ruins of salvageable survival echoing in the remnants of a cruel mind. failure failure failure FAILED. you have failed once more, but you do not know if you are sorry or relieved at the realization. you lay there, chest heaving as your lungs burn in despair, but there is nothing except the calm in your visage.

childe looks down at you, wonders if you feel the iron against your skin. curiosity flickers for one, two seconds in blue hues, quickly drowned out by a wondrous adoration and glee at such a sight.

"poor thing." the harbinger says, and the increased pressure against your neck is the only thing that prevents you from laughing at his almost genuine, sympathetic tone. "you were much closer last time. i really thought you'd get me today."

"so sorry to disappoint you." you tilt your chin upwards, a grin blossoming across your lips. "maybe next time, huh?"

childe freezes, instinctively loosens his hold on the weapon. a maddening sense of nostalgia overwhelms his senses, dulls his blood lust. what a wonderful reunion you both share, he thinks, smiling as he leans down, faces only inches apart.

"maybe next time."

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ EI ; RAIDEN SHOGUN

"it has been a long while, raiden shogun."

she stiffens at your words, finds bitter amusement in such formalities. this is the end-- one will find victory ; another will find death. what need is there for such fronts and falsehoods after all you have endured together?

"have you forgotten my name?"

"impossible, ei. i would remember it for an eternity.”

you almost wonder if you see her flinch, but there is utmost apathy in purple eyes. how serene things used to be back then, an innocent youth and strong resolve once drowned in her colors. the person before you is a vessel of tragedy, claimed by calamity and only existing to seemingly protect others for all the wrong reasons. she remains silent, watches you with a growing grief untold.

there are too many barriers, too many unforgivings and too many regrets. too much missed between lovers twisted into something horrid, something ugly, something gruesome, and in the end, you forget you still have a heart.

"enough. you are not here to speak."

she steels herself for the worst, feels something excruciatingly human beneath it all. but it will fade soon enough, and she will return to a shell of indifference. it is all either of you know now, after all.

𓆩 ✧ 𓆪 ⋮ DAINSLEIF

but the bough keeper knows of his mission first and foremost, heart shattered with destruction and the knowledge of a heavy past. his home is neither here nor there, ruined and fallen to gods known and unknown. to seek happiness is unheard of, and perhaps this is his punishment for experiencing such a feeling with you in days long gone.

sanguine colors your hands, but you do not know where it comes from. how it trickles from your temple, trails down your face, almost mocks him in the way it resembles your tears. your jaw clenched, heart broken ; his honor on the line, resolve wavering. things should not have turned out this way. you and him should not know of violence, not like this, not towards each other.

but a bough keeper knows of his mission first and foremost, and he must protect the fate of khaenri'ah, even if that means destroying himself in the process.

"dain." you choke out his name, watch as his blood drips from his fingertips. you are not mad. you are not angry. you are sorry for what this has become. but you must do the right thing, even if it is wrong to him. you smile, dreadful, and hope he understands your heart. "i wish we could have had a better ending."

this numbness is unforgiving. sorrow sinks into his chest, rips out everything he has ever known. how hideous it is, this crimson that splatters across the floor.

#genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #raiden shogun x reader #dainsleif x reader #gi x reader #♡ྀ : fic #♡ྀ : genshin impact #♡ྀ banner cr : v6que

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nightmareofthelake · 9 months

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rabbit's foot and deer antler (Part 1/2)

Dale drinks to much and David helps him back to his room

Dale missed normal days. Normal, mundane days. Days where he sat at his desk for hours doing paperwork. Days where he would sit in front of the TV and fall asleep after the sun went down. Days when he was sure the blood on his hands came from cutting himself while shaving. Days when he was sure he was still human.

But now he was sitting there at the hotel bar. He had long since forgotten how many drinks he had, but that didn't matter to him. As long as the crow keeps pushing a new glass into his hand, everything was fine. Ms. Pheasant stood on stage and sang her song about the tragedies of the past and the blood of the future while Dale stared into the deep amber in his glass. Her singing washed over him and washed everything away, leaving him with nothing but emptiness. Her voice was nothing more than an echo in his head and the alcohol only tasted like empty promises. His whole body felt like TV static and Dale wasn't sure if it was because he was drunk or if it was just because he was too far gone. Was there even anything human left in him?

The echo became more and more distorted until Dale could only hear static and his own heartbeat. The static slowly began to take over his vision too. Shouldn't he be worried? To panic? Do something to regain his senses? Dale just sat there and let it happen. Why bother and delay the inevitable? Dark spots appeared in Dale's vision and slowly began to grow and grow until the detective could see nothing but darkness.

Dale felt...nothing...

There was only emptiness.

There was something heavy on his shoulder. Heavy and hot. It seemed to be tugging at him and stabbing into him. "Detective?" The voice was closer to a whisper than a scream, but to Dale it sounded like he was standing next to an exploding bomb. Dale's limbs felt heavy and hungover, the taste of whiskey bloomed in his mouth, and the endless darkness gave way to blinding light.

“Detective Vandermeer? Are you okay?" The voice sounded familiar, but Dale's brain still wasn't willing to cooperate. He blinked a few times, hoping to get used to the light more quickly, but when he turned to the person next to him, all he saw was a blurry silhouette. "My God! Detective! I was hoping that you would at least give me a quick glance during my show,” the voice sounded as if someone was forcing themselves to put on a cheerful facade. Dale could hear the worry even in his current state. “But ignoring me this whole time did hurt a bit.” Dale's eyes were faster than his brain, which is why he initially had no reaction when he saw David Eilander's face. In fact, he was on the verge of apologizing before his brain suddenly caught up and anger began to spread within him.

The detective just grunted in annoyance and went back to his full glass. He didn't know what had happened to him before the magician had pulled him back into reality, but he did know that it had left him with a massive migraine. Maybe he just drank too much. A gentle squeeze reminded Dale that David still had his hand on his shoulder. He tried to swat it away, but the sudden movement sent Dale swaying and almost kissing the ground, which was fortunately prevented by the magician. "If you had watched my show instead of setting a new hotel drinking record, this wouldn't have happened," David commented as he tried to help the detective to his feet, which only earned him another annoyed grunt. Dale tried to pull away, but quickly realized he couldn't stand without the other man's support. David tightened his grip on the detective and slowly began to lead him towards the exit. "All right then. Bedtime!" Dale didn't have the strength or energy to fight back and just let the other person lead him. His mind screamed at him why he let this happen but, his body refused any attempt of beating the magician. He basically refused to move at all, which resulted in David dragging the detective along with him.

“I hope you come and see my show someday.” David tried to sound casual, trying to hide both his remorse and his longing for the other's attention. “I hope I see a bullet hole between your eyes someday.” Dale forced the words out. It was painful. Every movement was painful. Just what had that bird put in his drink?

The magician patted him on the back. He could understand the hate and he definitely deserved it, but it still hurt. It hurt more than David expected, but there was nothing he could do but bear it in silence. “Before that happens, you might want to sober up a bit…” David dragged the detective to his bedroom door and had him lean against the wall to take some of the weight off himself. “Where is your key?” In response, David only received an angry look from Dale and the magician sighed exhaustively. He had hoped not to have to do this because he was afraid of upsetting the detective even more, but he apparently had no other choice. He carefully began to search through his pockets and found quite a few things. Two lighters. A tissue. Some change. A signed photo of Harvey. And in the left inside pocket of his jacket he found the key.

David was very familiar with the hotel room keys. A simple skeleton key with a small tag with the room number on it. He saw tons of them and owned one himself. But Dale's key was different. Instead of the usual tag, there was something else hanging on it. It was long and white...and furry? “Is that a rabbit’s foot?” The magician looked questioningly at Dale, but he wouldn't get an answer so quickly because the detective was asleep. David sighed and unlocked the room. Since Dale was now completely hanging on David like a wet sack, the magician had no other choice but to carry the detective into the room. He hooked his free arm under the other's knees and in one gentle movement lifted him up. Fortunately, Dale's bed wasn't far and David reached it in a few steps, as he couldn't have carried him for long. His back will definitely hate him tomorrow.

The magician laid him on the bed, took off his jacket and tie and took his shoes off his feet. He didn't dare to remove anything else because he didn't want the detective to get the wrong impression of him. He already had a reason to hate him and he didn't want to give him more. David covered the drunken detective and put the key with the rabbit's foot on the side table. “Rest, detective. And good night."

David closed the door behind him and made his way to Aldous. He could use a drink now.

[Part 2]

#rusty lake #dale vandermeer #david eilander #my writing #my fanfiction #rabbit's foot and deer antler

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washu-chan · 5 months

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Knuckles truly deserved better, wtf.

I was not going to join in the outrage, even when this show just made me very angry. But I just can’t seem to let it go so I’ll just get it out of my chest.

From this point onwards, this is going to be a rant, so if you liked the show just ignore me.

I despise episode 4. The episode I’ve seen oh so many people claim is “the best” of the show.

How in the world did we get from this

To this!?

But I mean, hey, it’s funny, no? Let’s just turn the worst tragedy in Knuckles life into an awful musical. Who cares his father died, look, he’s a muppet now! Treating Knuckles backstory with respect, oh no, we can’t have that. That would actually mean we take this character seriously, but that just wouldn’t be comedic.

Imagine for a second they did this to Shadow’s backstory? If Maria was that muppet. But of course we would never do that to him. Knuckles though? That’s fine. He’s fair game.

I’m not against comedy. And I’m not against Knuckles being silly. But good stories know when to be silly and when to be serious. For me, it’s important that we treat the things that are fundamental to a character with some seriousness, especially if they are something as tragic as the death of their people.

If this was truly the best they could do for that godawful episode, then just like, don’t touch the subject? You’re already butchering the lore as it is, including Iblis, so, just do that? Or nothing at all.

Out of all the issues I have with this show (and there are plenty), this is the worst offender.

I was never one of those people expecting some heavy lore. I never thought Rouge or the Chaotix were going to appear or that this was going to be even meaningful in any way to the continuity of the movies. I knew it was going to be Wade and Knuckles (and good Lord, it should just have been the two of them). I expected a lighthearted story with no stakes. This was still too far for me though. Unnecessarily bad.

Also, tired of the blame being put on budget. This is a writing issue. There were too many ways to make this more meaningful without increasing the budget. Like just, make it shorter? 4 episodes would have been enough if you take away all the pointless things they added. Don’t put unnecessary characters, and pour those actors' budget into more CGI. If you take out the filler in the story so much more could have been done. But alas, this is what we have. This is what they decided to make of this.

The opportunity is gone now. We could have had genuine backstory for movie Knuckles even in tiny flashbacks. That is now over. Next movie we’re moving on to the next thing.

So yeah, good for people that loved the show I guess.

#knuckles the echidna #knuckles series #guess I'm a killjoy or whatever #just ignore this. It's not like it makes any difference

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lilibrownlabonita · 2 years

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Necio - tenoch x latina reader

Summary: In a broken and unhappy marriage the reader allows himself to meet the man he met in a bar for one night.

Warning: adult content, infidelity. Nothing too heavy, but good to warn. Don't forget that Tenoch speaks Spanish and therefore the fanfic contains phrases in Spanish. This is my first fic after years so please forgive me for any mistakes.

Rating: +18

Work count: 7000-8000 ? Don't know :(

Please if you could listen to the song "Necio" by Romeo Santos I would appreciate it, I got the idea of writing from this song. 💕

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

"...Fool, why do you have an owner

Fool because you are not mine

My forbidden fruit

Awakens my desire to taste you..."

"...Necio porque tienes dueño

Necio porque no eres mía

Mi fruta prohibida

Me despierta el deseo de probar..."

------

His hurried steps to the room I am in wake me up, it makes it seem like he wants to see me I think with remorse. Even after all these five years he still pretends that he doesn't have another woman and runs to her whenever I turn my back, hours later he comes back and says he visited some friends, it's funny how before when he lied I could see the guilt in his eyes and slumped shoulders, now his lies seem like truth and I let myself believe every word, or pretend to believe, it's easier that way.

"I thought it was only a few hours" I say getting up going to the bathroom, I can't stand to look at him while pretending he wasn't between her legs.

"You know Theo likes to drink too much, I lost count of how many times I tried to convince him he needed to come back but he wouldn't give up, I had to stay with him so no tragedy would happen, you know he loses control sometimes. " my husband says as he goes into the bathroom and hugs me from behind like he did years ago when Tom was a good husband and turned to me and his newborn son, somehow everything got out of hand and he lost his way to find himself in her pussy, he is still a good father and goes to our son's swimming lessons, kisses his forehead and tells bedtime stories, but he was never my husband after her. It's like we are in a "friends" relationship but we are actually married, who don't touch or love each other, but we pretend we are a couple for our son and close friends, somehow we have entered into this silent agreement so we never question what each does without the other's presence, a life together but apart, it's easier that way.

That's what I tell myself.

"Tomorrow night I'm going out again" Tom looks at me through the mirror, I think about what an idiot he is and how much I hate him, he just got here and can't wait to see her again, angrily I turn around and look directly at him, my eyes are heavy but I refuse to let a tear fall.

"no"

"No?"

"No, you've been out all day today, it's your turn to stay home and take care of our son, I'm going out tomorrow night, it's been a long time since I've done what I like."

"Wait, what are you talking about?, You just stayed here at home and took care of our son was not difficult at all, I thought you enjoyed taking care of him"

"I do, I love our son, but it's your turn to do this, he misses you, I won't change my mind, good night Tom, take a shower before you go to our bed, you stink of it." I leave the bathroom taking a deep breath, if he thinks he can keep me here forever and get rid of the responsibility he was wrong, it was my turn to have fun, I told myself.

------

"...Sincerely you my love

Make a fool of me..."

"...Sencillamente usted amada mía

Me pone necio..."

-------

I look around and everyone is in company, it's disheartening to be sitting here alone while others are having fun, I miss the years gone by when being in a bar was fun and festive, with sexy drinking and dancing, quick sex in the bathroom and the next day a strong hangover.

-------

"...Fool, why do you have an owner

Fool because you are not mine

My beloved..."

"...Necio porque tienes dueño

Necio porque no eres mía

amada mía..."

-------

A handsome man sits down next to me and returning my gaze he gives me the sweetest, sexiest smile I have ever seen, I feel like a teenager again, falling in love with a stranger in a bar, but I can't help it, his skin just a little darker than mine glows in the light of the bar, his blue suit stands out and his pretty mouth is eye-catching, I drink the wine from my glass which is enough to make my blood boil and send tingles to the middle of my legs, thinking about how that smile can get between them.

"I didn't know married women were allowed here, especially the hermosas." He said as he continued to look at me but now mischievously as he noticed my wedding ring.

"My husband doesn't care about the places I go, he's busy with his mistress." I smile bitterly, looking at my wedding ring, and realizing it's over, with me here trying to flirt with a stranger in an attempt to get revenge for my husband's infidelity, it's humiliating but I don't care, if this strange man wants to take me to the bar bathroom and fuck me against the sink I will accept, I just want to have fun and forget about Tom, I want to feel alive and enjoy myself again after over a year of no physical contact with my husband.

"Hm....I don't understand why your husband can be so dumb and let you walk around in that short, clingy dress instead of fucking you tonight"

"I told you, he doesn't give a shit"

"Well, I care, I'm not going to leave a woman like you unsatisfied"

"Unsatisfied?, Who says I'm unsatisfied?" Don't get me wrong, even though I desire this stranger I don't want to seem desperate, I'm not going to give him what he wants that easy, I want to play a little.

"You don't have to say it love, I know you are, that dress, that smile, you want me to fuck you hard and fast, and I will give you what you want, come with me beautiful" That sweet smile appears again, her brown eyes blatantly devour me.

"I don't even know your name, I don't know you, I don't know what you are going to do with me"

"I'm going to fuck you and then fuck you against a wall so you don't run away from me, my name is tenoch, but you can call me mi amor."

------

"...My hallucinating love was thrown

Into the ocean for stubbornness

And I am sinking..."

"...Mi amor alucinante se lanzó

Al océano por terco

Y me estoy hundiendo..."

------

His hand caresses my pussy while the other squeezes my breasts, his kisses on my neck make me wetter, while I stay on the bed whimpering. Tenoch is affectionate and fiery, his strong hands grip me firmly and squeeze my skin, he runs his hands all over my body until he reaches my legs, squeezing my thighs he licks my pussy while looking directly at me, soon he starts eating me, saliva and my excitement are all around his mouth and mustache but he doesn't stop, He fucks me with his tongue and makes circular movements on my clit making me shudder, shamelessly as he looks at me he starts eating my ass making dirty carnal noises, I feel my body tingling, the fire inside me suffocates me and so I come with my legs trembling around tenoch's head.

"Deliciosa"

Tenoch looks at me with an amused smile, his hands grab my hands and place them around his neck, asking me to hold on to him as he holds me by my thighs and keeping his promise he presses me against the wall and starts fucking me non-stop, hard and fast, the wet sounds of our bodies together begin to fill the room along with the smell of sex, it seems amazing the way his cock enters me, stretching me and going as deep as possible, I can see his volume in my belly, my previous orgasm makes everything hotter when I see his cock dirty with my cum. Everything is so dirty and hot, it's suffocating, but I love every moment of it, his body holding me against the wall makes me feel small and protected.

"¿Te gusta hermosa? hmm..."

"Do you like it beautiful? hmm..."

With my eyes closed and my eyebrows furrowed I nod my head helplessly and can only moan as he shoves himself into me mercilessly.

"Eres tan hermosa, mi amor, ¿me daras tu dulce?, ¿Sí? Por favor, cariño".

"You are so beautiful, my love, will you give me your candy, yes? Please, sweetheart."

"Me dejas loca tenoch, por favor." Now all I can do is beg for him, beg for him to make me cum and make him happy, beg for him to come in me and fill me with his cum.

"Please what?, what do you want honey? do you want me to fuck you hard?."

"Yes, please, please"

Tenoch kisses me as he puts one of my legs on his shoulders and fucks me deeper, that fire and tingle comes back and I feel my orgasm coming, a few more sloppy strokes and he cums with me inside me, moaning in my ear like a miserable man, I was no different, totally ruined, I hold on to what is around me not to fall. I allow myself comfort and lie on his chest as we lie there, listening to his heartbeat, in bed together no words are spoken, it is not necessary we both know this is it, one night and nothing more.

------

"...Fool, why do you have an owner..."

"...Necio porque tienes dueño..."

------

After a hot shower and some food I feel refreshed, I put on my dress again and walk to the cab I ordered, I look back and see tenoch looking at me, we smile at each other for one last time and I get in the car. Even though we desperately want each other, we both know that this can't work, we would never be lovers or just friends, it is impossible for two people who burn for each other. When I get home I see my son on the couch sleeping peacefully next to his father, I smile at the image and say it's better this way, it's easier.

------

"Even if I'm engaged

May it not for a second occur to me to accept you

As a friend"

"...Aunque seas ajena

Que no se me ocurra aceptarte ni un segundo

Como amiga..."

#namor #wakanda forever #tenoch #tenoch huerta #tenoch huerta x reader #tenoch x reader #reader latina #fic

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mossrotts · 2 years

Text

tw for mass shooting, suicide ment, depression and anxiety, self harm, irl body horror ment?, heavy stuff in general

(i am okay, i will be okay, i have good support in my life; but i know that writing out stuff and like, getting it out tends to help so this just kind of talking about some negative stuff that's been happening--some more intense than others)

at the start of january, there was a mass shooting in the town i live. the town i live has a population of 7000 people.

the way i found out about it was this: i went into work and was assigned the route that i'm always assigned on sunday and a coworker came up to me and was like haha, wow, how do you feel about having the murder route? obviously confused i asked what and he said there were some murders on my route. he said it with a weird glee so i wasn't sure if he was making a weird boomer joke i didn't get or if i was just. not reading the social cues right or what.

worried about it, once i loaded up with packages i looked it up and found that there was, on my route on a street with a total of eight houses, a mass shooting. eight people dead; the oldest 74 and the youngest 4. a man killed his entire family before taking his own life. i don't interact with many people directly while delivering mail and so it was with some surprise that i realized i knew them--i interacted with the seven year old son on a weekly basis.

looking up the news that soon afer was. rough. the way it was portrayed immediately was the same way i've always seen it portrayed in Utah--an issue that is prevalent throughout the US, particularly with white male aggressors, but especially in Utah--the picture used showed the man in a happy, peaceful family portrait with all his victims. the article talked about how there was no indication how this would happen, that the wife had begun divorce proceedings two weeks prior to her murder but never indicated any violence. the article mainly focused on what an upstanding member of the (mormon) Church the man was and what a loving father he'd been.

i had no clue the full scope of things and didn't know how the event had happened, but it still felt disrespectful for how much the articles focused on him and integrated him so much with the family he had killed.

and, of course, there was a plea in the article to 'not make this tragedy about politics', and not talk about gun control because they'd had multiple firearms and the wife had asked the husband to remove them (which he said he did, despite keeping one for himself privately) and if she hadn't have done that then "the victims would have been able to protect themselves".

i'll remind you that the youngest victim was his four year old son.

after this, soon all around my town were little yard signs that said '#enoch strong' or 'we <3 enoch!' and that was. that was the only difference. the crime tape was up that one day while i delivered, then gone the next. it was like it never happened.

i've seen that before--though through different tragedies. my best friend killed himself. i loved him--i thought i was going to marry him because even though i didn't feel attraction for him, the way the mormon church is i knew that i would have to get married to a nice mormon boy someday and i would rather it be with him than anyone else. that's a different can of worms though. he killed himself; he set his car on fire, sat in it, and used a firearm to end his life.

my friend suffered from BPD without support and with the direct pressure of his abusive father and mormon Church societal expectation. no article surrounding his death, no memorial, no nothing mentioned the idea that either there should be more support for mental illnesses--and gun control was never even mentioned.

his father, a bishop in the mormon church at the time, headed my friend's memorial. he talked about how much he loved his son, but that he knew his son was at peace now. he talked about how if we turned to jesus we could make it through any trial we were given, even one as harsh as losing a son.

pj hated his dad. i wonder how many people knew that.

and that was it. it was like he just disappeared after that. swept under the rug. no one talked about him, there was no change, nothing to fill his void. there was no burial, no place for closure, and nothing to suggest anyone would try to make sure this didn't happen to other kids after him. i tracked down his mom about four years after his death and was able to find out where she spread his ashes. she picked a good place and i visit it yearly now.

two years before i was born, there was a murder in the college town next to my current town. almost a decade before matthew shepherd, gordon church was brutally sexually assaulted and murdered and his murderers both used the gay panic defense (though, due to the brutality, was in this case ineffective and they were sentenced to prison). a gag order was placed on many parts of the case--further silence pressured by the mormon church--due to gordon church being mormon and his sexuality. the crime was so silenced that many people don't know it happened. years ago i had a coworker, whom i liked and was generally progressive for utah, who didn't understand why the gays were fighting for the right to get married and why they acted like they were still being oppressed--crimes like that didn't happen anymore, and they clearly had never happened here.

it felt like it was happening again. another crime that utah and the church would just hide it again. sweep it under the rug. just don't talk about it. #enoch strong and we <3 enoch is all we need.

i cannot imagine how much the family and loved ones of the victims felt and hurt, how much they still do. as far as i know they've not requested any help and so i'm not going to be posting any gofundmes or anything here, but god if you're able to advocate for gun control and safety or see programs providing support for those with mental illness; please help there. we need it more than ever. and god i know i was not and am not as personally effected as so many involved in this, but i don't know if i can describe the just. idk, heaviness of the thought that it's happening again. that this would be the only thing i'd hear of it and this entire family would be gone like they never existed.

but perhaps something good--i say that with the largest grain of salt--is that people with far more reach than me cared and they felt the treatment of the victims was wrong and they have worked to get more information out. and that comes with two sides. one is that this isn't being swept under the rug, which will hopefully give both the victims the attention they deserve and help to prevent something like this from happening again. the other side is how horrific and depressing some of that information is.

people pushed for the obituary praising what a good member of the Church and upstanding father the killer was to be removed. they did not, as far as i know, try to degrade him or anything. just wanted it removed. and it was. at the funeral the victims were buried together while the killer had a closed ceremony elsewhere.

more information about the situation got out. acab as usual--but apparently neighbors had to all but beg cops to go do a wellness check on the family after thinking something was very off. i can confirm that a cop lives less than a block away.

one of the daughters, 17 years old, apparently claimed her dad was being abusive and that she was "afraid [her] dad would kill [her]". her dad was apparently quoted saying jokingly afterwards "oh, she's so mouthy". we don't have any thoughts from the mother, but i think it's important to know that divorce is pretty fucking rare in mormon communities. and i hate knowing that--i hate knowing that one of the daughters spoke up enough that we have it RECORDED that she was scared--that she was brave enough to say something and she was fucking right and no one listened to her and now she and her five younger siblings are dead. it's not fucking fair.

i don't know where i was going with that, but it fucking sucks and i hate this.

i've also been having financial issues; i wont get into it too much but essentially my meds have jumped up to $200 every time i get them, and for whatever reason the pharmacy accidentally double charged me when i picked them up--which i barely had the $200 and i did NOT have the $400. went into the negative and my bank immediately started charging overdraft fees. i had to call the bank and get it sorted out but god it was awful. also even though i'm not going into depth please look at this hilarious conversation i had with walgreens pharmacy

00:00:26 system : BOT : [...] how can I help you? USER : I recently purchased my prescriptions and in addition to the expected charge I have a duplicate amount pending in my bank account. Why is the system trying to double charge my account? BOT : I haven't learned about that yet. I’ll get someone to help you [...] 00:00:28 Therisa : Hi! My name is Therisa H. How can I help you? 00:01:58 Therisa : The pending charge will fall off for you 00:02:03 USER : Hi, I recently picked up my prescriptions from Walgreens. In addition to being charged the expected amount in person, I have an additional charge (the same amount) pending in my bank account. Are you able to check why I'm being double charged? 00:02:34 USER : I've been charged an overdraft due to the second charge; will this money be returned? 00:02:36 Therisa : The pending charge will fall off for you 00:02:51 USER : Do you know when? 00:03:08 USER : Or how to prevent it from doing a pending charge in the future? 00:03:12 Therisa : 3-7 business days 00:03:51 USER : Thank you. And do you know how to prevent it from doing a pending charge in the future? 00:05:49 Therisa : there isnt a way 00:06:19 USER : alright, thanks.

what a good time. the amount i make per hour at the post office is good, but for some reason they're not calling me in for more than one day a week and i just. haven't been able to keep up financially so i have to start looking for a new job.

and god, if you've heard at all about my personal life you probably have heard about the uh. idk, not great ways my jobs have ended. last job, where i felt like i was doing some good for awhile, i had to report for neglect to adult protective services and when the company refused to change the situation of abuse i had to decide whether or not i wanted to stay on the chance that i was helping people but being a part of a corrupt system or leave. the one before that (honestly the more normal of these) was shit and i quit after a manager attempted to reprimand and punish a coworker and i for talking in private about some of the negative aspects of the job. and the job before that i quit after finding out that a manager was using me to lure in girl coworkers for him to sexually groom/live with. after i and my friend (who lived with him after he'd set himself up to be just a chill place she could rent from for a bit, and who escaped him thank god) gave all our evidence over i left. he was arrested and lost his job, thank god, but i couldn't stay there.

anyway, i have some anxiety when it comes to starting a new job. it gets pretty bad when job hunting and gets real real bad like the first few days before i actually start working. but i haven't had enough money at my current job, working just one day a week, so i need to find a part time job. just started looking this week and i was nervous as my roommate was helping me look and i just kinda started picking at my nail polish. having nail polish is kinda nice because otherwise i start picking at my skin. and i wasn't paying much attention and i was just peeling/picking it off of my toe nails when i looked down and realized i had peeled an entire toe nail off. (well, almost, it was just barely connected at the end) and idk, it was bad. i have a history of self harm and i've... accidentally gone too far with it in the past without meaning to and it felt like that, even though i really wasn't trying to self harm at ALL in this situation. and also i didn't fucking know that was a thing a person could do? just pull off a nail?

anyway i'm okay and my roommate helped me wrap it up and we'll see if it like reattaches or what to do from here (it's still wrapped up rn, hasn't gotten worse if nothing else) but like.

idk where i was going with that either. capitalism sucks so much that i pulled my goddamn toenail off? wild???

or maybe just. like, all of writing this is just parts of realizing that i haven't been in an emotional/not good mood lately for no reason--it's been a lot of stuff that i was handling on its own but has been building up and i'm kinda in a rough place. and i'll be ok. but man it sucks right now.

#personal #delete later #don't need to read this if you dont want/dont have spoons!#and don't need to worry!!!#i know the tw are really worrying #but i am here and i will be ok #just wanted to make sure that if anyone does read that they're not going in blind yknow

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bellaleighwrites · 1 month

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Sangue Collina - Welcome To The (Urban) Jungle

All right, I'm doing this. I mentioned (threatened) that I was thinking about it a while back. Then got sidetracked trying to decide if I wanted to do this now, or wait until it had gone through a bit of revision. And realized that the people who had inspired me were posting first drafts, so... Why not? Anyway... this is rough draft. I'm currently working on analyzing it in order to plan a proper revision. I know that a lot will be changing - including plot things. I'll probably repost when it's closer to being ready for betas, too.

One note, included in the things that will change, is the name of the city. I kind of Anglicized it, and am starting to not like that. I have a few ideas on what to change it to, and will probably end up posting a poll for help deciding. But, for simplicity's sake, the tag will stay the same, even after I figure out the real name of this city. So... without further ado... the first scene of Book 1 of The Vampires Of Sangue Collina. Below the cut due to length

Sangue Collina. Its name means blood hill and many a historian has spent far too many hours hunched over old records, trying to find some indication of the battle or tragedy that earned it its name. They looked in vain. Those that know the truth about who founded it have their own theories, though. Perhaps one of them, or even both of them, is correct. Those in the know suggest that it was to the founders what a name like New Hope or New Haven would have been to a human. A hope for a brighter future. For the founders of Sangue Collina, a land flowing with blood would have been a mecca. Others, those who know even more, suggest that the battle it was named for simply hasn’t happened yet.

Historians aren’t the only ones who scratch their heads over it, though. Architects wonder at the flat roofs that do not seem designed with midwestern winters in mind. And at the number of balconies, not just on houses and apartment buildings, but the upper stories of businesses, as well. Business owners question why so many businesses, from stores to bars, to nightclubs, to movie theaters, have apartments above them. Interior decorators find the number of homes and apartments with heavy-duty blackout curtains fascinating. And, if any of them could remember their own involvement in its existence, there would be a great many people who would question why there is a forge in the basement of a nightclub. Not that any of them would ever guess the truth behind those many mysteries.

The night of the fall equinox begins much the same as every other night in the city. Most of the people go about their usual business, unaware of the two groups of people for whom sunset is either the end of their day — or the beginning. As several people make their way out of the city, heading for the safety of their homes in the forest outside of town, behind those blackout curtains there are others who are just about waking up. As the last of the sun’s rays fade from the skies, the true rulers of Sangue Collina open their eyes and prepare to own the night. Curtains are opened, and men, women, and at least one apparent child leap from balconies. Either down to the streets below or up, turning those flat roofs that architects wonder at into highways. The nightly hunt is on. Not that any of the prey would even know if they had been caught.

There is one house where the curtains are opened, but nobody emerges onto the balcony. For Elijah Cavendish, there will be no hunt. There is no need. Nor is there a desire for it. For him, blood bags work just as well, without the fear of taking too much and accidentally killing someone. And so, his evenings start differently than the others’. With blood drunk, not from a vein but out of a wineglass. Sitting at the desk in his study, staring up at the portrait of the woman he once planned to marry, but who instead was the first person he ever killed.

He finished his glass of blood and set it down on the desk. And then he closed his eyes and Sent his thoughts to his housekeeper. :Good evening, Beverly. Is there anything that needs my attention, this evening?: He smiled when she appeared in the doorway. How she could walk so quietly that even he couldn’t hear her was a mystery. Though, perhaps that had been part of her gift from Nicolaus.

“Nothing at all. The daytime managers of both the Rhiannon and the Athenaeum have checked in and things seem to be running smoothly. As of right now, you can safely take the night off.”

He had to laugh at how well she understood the rest of what he was asking her. Then again, that could have either been in the way he worded the question, or simply because she knew what this night was for him. “I think I will, then. Get some painting in. I’m almost finished touching up Edward’s portrait. Maybe after that I’ll start on something that is more just for fun.”

“It would be nice to see you working on something that wasn’t designed to cause you pain. Maybe a nice landscape? Or the view of the city from the penthouse window?” She came in and picked up his glass. As she was leaving, she turned around. “Happy birthday, Mr. Cavendish. Do try to spend at least some of it doing something other than wallowing in guilt and self-pity.” And with that final jab, she walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his own thoughts.

Too bad what she suggested was easier said than done. He left the room and walked to his studio. And let himself spend a few hours lost in the past. Maybe not the best way to spend his birthday, but in some ways it was easier to think of those who would be long dead even if he had never been born. There were far too many for whom that was not the case.

Though, truth be told, his family did not actually fit that, either. While it was true that they all would have died of old age centuries ago, that was not at all what happened. No, their deaths all came in one blood-soaked night. The night, nearly three centuries ago, that the war between him and Ana started.

Eli would never forget that night. How he had huddled in the wardrobe Edward had hidden him in and tried not to cry as he listened to his parents' and older siblings' screams of pain and terror. Tried to be the brave boy his brother had begged him to be. Tried to block out the noises. All the noises. Not just the screams, but the other noises, as well. Noises he couldn't begin to understand at five years old. Noises that he blocked from his memory as he got old enough to understand what they were. Because they made no sense. Until the night, eighteen years later, that he was made to understand what had caused them. Moans, not of pain, but of the vampire venom induced erotic pleasure they were experiencing even as they were being drained dry.

And, somehow, that was all his fault. It was the opening shot in Ana's centuries-long vendetta against him for some crime he hadn't even committed yet. Two hundred ninety-five years later, and he still didn't know why. Why she had ordered his family killed. Why she had saved him. It was probably why she was still alive. Why he could never bring himself to kill her. Because the night Anastasia Delaney died, would be the night that Eli lost any chance he had of learning why she had hated him so much. What he could have possibly have done to deserve the living Hell she plunged him into. Again and again.

#sangue collina #writeblr #Bella talks writing #writing snippet

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late-nite-scholar · 2 years

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TES Shiptober Day 16-18- Bandaging Wound

Hey again, with another Shiptober prompt (courtesy of @hombrediablo)! I've been having Oblivion and Martin Septim feels lately, so here's some of him and Aethelfrid. I literally said 'I'm so sorry' when I finished writing it. Sadly, it all just fits and I'm helpless to where the story takes me. Their lives are a fucking Greek tragedy. But this is a sweet moment.

Warnings- blood, injuries

Length- about 1.5k

(I don't have that many screenshots of them handy at the moment.)

***

"The Hero approaches!" Martin heard someone shout in the hall. He was on his feet in an instant. She was finally back! Akatosh be praised!

He tore out of his study and through the labyrinthine corridors until he reached the courtyard. He arrived breathless, but with heart leaping at the sight of the lone horse picking its way over the cobblestones toward them. Though as he watched, a sudden spike of fear went through him. Something about the way she sat on her horse was wrong. Usually, she rode so proudly, upright and shoulders squared. Now it looked like she was barely hanging on.

He flew down the stairs, meeting her at the bottom. As her horse stopped, she slid down from the saddle to the ground. The first thing he noticed was that her tanned, ruddy face was pale as the snow on the mountains around them. Well, pale apart from the blood that had dried on her cheek. And he could hardly call what she was doing breathing, it was more a shallow wheezing.

“My friend, what’s happened?” His voice rose, unable to hide his worry.

She replied with a weak smile. “Martin…”

Metal clanked as her knees buckled. He put his arms on her shoulders, but he had no way to stop her as she collapsed. She was larger than him even out of armor, and he cursed inwardly that he wasn’t strong enough to catch her. So he fell to his knees as well; reaching out to cradle her face, to brush back tendrils of hair that had escaped their braids.

“Aethelfrid?”

Baurus appeared at his shoulder before she could reply. “Your Highness, let’s get her inside.”

“Yes, of course.” He found himself flustered. Why hadn’t he thought of that? She clearly needed a healer or something, but his mind had gone completely blank at the sight of her in pain.

Baurus hauled Aethelfrid to her feet, throwing her arm over his shoulder. She grit her teeth and grunted, but said nothing else, only reached out to grab Martin’s hand. He held on tight, hoping at least she could feel the pressure of it through her heavy gauntlet.

"I'm here," he assured her. Though he felt awkward and in the way to be walking beside her and Baurus like this. But she clearly needed him for something. Maybe she had news? Or she'd found a daedric artifact for their work? Any news would help them, at this point. It did make him a bit glad she wanted him with her right now, even if he didn’t want to admit it to anyone but himself.

It was a slow walk from the courtyard into the keep. Aethelfrid still said nothing, the only sound between them her labored breathing. Each pained exhale was a knife to his heart, but he tried to concentrate on the fact that it wouldn't be much farther now. They were in the west wing, and Baurus went to lead them further in. Almost without thinking, Martin stopped him.

“It’s too far. Bring her to my quarters, it’s closer.” He tried to sound pragmatic and forthright about it, but he was pretty sure he failed. But Baurus didn’t say anything about it, just turned them in their new direction.

Once they were across the threshold and into his room, Martin gently relinquished Aethelfrid’s hand and pulled forward some chairs to face one another. Then he grabbed whatever supplies he could; water from the kettle warming over the fireplace, bandages, and a washcloth. He brought these all over as Baurus helped Aethelfrid down onto one of the chairs. Martin took the other, so close their knees butted up against one another.

Baurus now looked every bit as concerned as Martin felt. “What do you need me to do, Your Highness?”

“I will tend to our friend for now. I have some healing knowledge and magic. But if you would send another healer in a little while, I’d not mind a second opinion. Also, have someone bring some food and drink.”

“Of course, Your Highness. It will be done.”

And then Baurus was gone. But Martin was too busy unbuckling and pulling off Aethelfrid’s armor. He’d seen her do it enough times and it turned out to be simple enough. She tried to help but he pushed away her hands.

“Let me. You’re hurt.”

She let him, and soon he had her entire top half down to her undershirt. Once there, he saw the dried stain of blood that bloomed across her side. It was where her armor was only leather, a gap in the plates of steel that would’ve otherwise protected her. The bloodied shirt was stuck to her skin and she hissed as he wiped the blood away and pulled it up. A few inches of an arrow shaft protruded from her skin.

“By the Nine!” He gasped. “My dear, how long have you suffered with this?”

“Ambushed by the Mythic Dawn. Two… three days ago? They said… they said they had an in, that you were next. I had to make sure… make sure I didn’t miss any spies the first time.” She gave him that weak smile again.

He pushed aside the storm of emotions that went through him. “Why didn’t you stop in Bruma for healing, at least?”

“I had to make sure you were okay. I… I brought back some daedric artifacts, too. For the ritual.”

“Akatosh keep me, I could care less about those right now.” He declared, grabbing her hands. “You are what’s important. I…I cannot heal this wound fully. But I can heal a lot of it. I will stitch and bandage the rest. But first I have to pull this shaft out.”

“Do it. I can handle it.”

He took hold of the broken shaft and tugged. She hissed, but said nothing. It didn’t feel stuck, or badly barbed, so he pulled it all the way out. It made her growl, but her Nordic pride stopped any further reaction. Martin placed his hand over the wound, healing magicka flowing into it. It pulled a sigh from her, head falling forward until it rested on his shoulder. Like every ounce of tension had fled her body at once.

Once Martin had healed as much as he could, he rubbed her back gently. “Let me suture and bandage this. Then you should lie down.”

“Okay.”

She winced as she pulled her shirt off, revealing several large bruises, but Martin could see a little color had returned to Aethelfrid’s face. She sat patiently as he sewed closed the arrow wound, then helped him as he packed it and wound a bandage around her torso to keep it covered. After he finished that, he helped her pull off the rest of her armor, keeping a sharp eye for any other injuries. Lastly, he got very close, wiping the dried blood from her face. It had originated from a gash up near her hairline, bits of her flame-orange hair dyed crimson from it. But his hands were gentle, and she relaxed again.

“There, that’s better.” He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, now clean again. And found himself continuing, almost unintentionally, “I was worried about you. You’ve been gone for a long time… I was starting to worry you weren’t coming back.”

She reached up, covering his hand with her own. “The only way I’d not come back is if I’m dead.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. Deathly afraid of. I can’t do this without you.”

She chuckled, “You have the Blades. You have plenty of soldiers and fighters who would love to be your Champion.”

“That’s not what I mean…Aethelfrid…” Though his heart thundered so hard it threatened to burst from his chest, he leaned forward until his lips brushed against hers. She gasped, but instead of pushing him away, as he expected, her large hand grabbed the front of his robe and pulled him closer. It seemed to last forever, and yet for no time at all.

“I… I wasn’t sure if I should do that,” he admitted.

“I’m glad you did.”

“We don’t have to do anything else… I mean, I don’t want you to think… I mean…”

She reached up, pressing her hand against his cheek in a mirror of his own. “My dear, let’s not overthink this. Not yet. Right now, right here, we’re just Martin and Aethelfrid. The rest will come later as it will.”

“You’re right. Thank you.” His eyes danced with sudden mischief. “But certainly being the Emperor, that should mean I can do what I want at least a little bit?”

“I would think so.”

“In either case, for now, you need to come lie down. At least until food arrives.” He held out a hand, helping her to her feet as best he could.

As she settled onto his bed, she grabbed his hand again. “Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

And so they stayed. And at that time, in that place, there was nothing else. No gods and quests, no portals and empires. There was just Martin and Aethelfrid.

#TESshiptober2022 #tesshiptober #tes iv #tes iv oblivion #tes oblivion #cloud ruler temple #martin septim #hero of kvatch #nord HoK #martin x hok #writing prompts

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husbandohunter · 4 years

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Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

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imaginativeamateur · 3 years

Note

can you do 30 with kakashi and a fem reader pls 🥺🤲 I love your work and am so happy for you regarding your follower milestone, congrats !!

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] The Power of Love

|200 Followers Event|

Prompt: 30 — "I mean it."

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x fem!Reader

Note: Aloha, I'm back!!! Thanks for the request and the cheers😝 Okay, this one is AHHH, the title :DD This one is very sentimental but playful at the same time. There's like some serious talk but also entertaining moments, too. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Constant requests that you get married were sent in your way for the past several months. Your parents were tired of having to wait to see you bring a man home, but you had no intention to comply. The topic would come up to the table during dinner every now and then, with your mother furrowing in her brows and your father sighing in distress. On your part, you played cool, soothing them that you just found a guy and dismissing the matter with a feigned grin.

Everything would be ordinary, much to your own liking until your parents secretly signed you up for a match-matching service. You had a big argument that night but they smugly smiled and ensured that you would fall in love with him immediately. It was ridiculous.

“You’d be head over heels in no time, Y/N,” your mother said.

“Like she knows who he is,” you mumbled, scoffing on your way back to your apartment.

Though you completely shut the door to the new romance—the guy that you presumably knew nothing about—you woke up earlier than usual, earlier than you should. You blamed it on your neighbor’s child crying but you discerned that you were being irrational. The whole situation was aberrant. You purposefully threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt that was too worn out for a first date. Still, you could not be any more careless, the last thing you wanted was to get the man to generate some form of adoration for you. You checked yourself in the mirror and made sure that you looked representable nonetheless.

The sun was already high up in the sky when you locked your door and tiredly dropped the keys into your handbag, storming to the destination with angry steps. It was your day off and you could have spent your time on something much more meaningful, training, for example. Kakashi-senpai said you still needed to hone your close combat skills. You pursed your lips at the thought of the Hatake, feeling even more enraged and annoyed. The said Shinobi was a nice guy, he was gentle and mannered with everyone but you. He treated you like his kid, bossing you around, requesting you to dig through the shelves of bookstores to find the limited edition of Icha Icha that was recently published. But you did not quit being his subordinate. Kakashi had everything that you needed to harness, from his skills to knowledge, and you would never let such a golden opportunity go wasted.

Being with him for two long years brought you many benefits and visible improvements, one of them being your patience. You were short-tempered and Kakashi was just the perfect tame to your boiling climate. The silver-haired veteran knew you were cantankerous on some days, like today, when you were having an involuntary sunbathing session, and would always be later than he usually would. Over the drenching months, you grew indifferent to his tardiness, adapted to his peculiar conscience of time, and no longer rambled when he arrived. He would come up with the most bizarre excuses to get away with it, and at first, you were furious about it, but you found them somewhat adorable now.

You smiled, wondering why you were recalling your moments with Kakashi when you were waiting for your date to come. You bit the inner side of your cheek when you realized your patience was running thin—it reminded you of your silver-haired senpai. Releasing a shaky breath, you calmed yourself down, assuring that you would apologize to the man that it was merely a misunderstanding with your parents that they signed you up for today. You rubbed the surface of the table with your fingers and let your thoughts carried you away at the moment, unconsciously drumming the rhythm of your favorite song—his favorite song that you grew accustomed to after years of the very special silver-haired occupying your day.

“You seem nervous.”

Your head perked at the unexpectedly familiar voice, “Kakashi-senpai?”

The silver-haired settled himself in the opposite seat with ease, “Good morning, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?” You did not bother to greet him back properly due to the tremendous shock being registered into your system.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to… to,” you came to a halt, fumbling with the hem of your shirt when you found it impossible to continue. It was embarrassing.

“Blind date?” He questioned, quirking a brow.

Your cheeks heated up in modesty, unable to answer his beseech.

“That seems like a yes,” Kakashi leaned back, enjoying your flustered state, “I’m here for a blind date, too.”

“A what?”

“A blind date,” he repeated without failing to lose his composure.

It took you several seconds to comprehend the whole situation, then you shifted in your chair, propping your elbows onto the table to hide your blush, “This is such an… interesting encounter. But I won’t change my mind.”

You were fairly absolute with the plan to turn the whole thing down, despite whoever was your date, despite it being Kakashi Hatake. You did not want to risk the bond that took you so long to form with him and the trust that he enlisted you upon. You could not.

“I also came resolute,” he made a simple, yet down-to-earth statement. Kakashi caught your eyes and challenged, “What do you want to do after a coffee date?”

“No,” you jerked away, “what are you saying? Are you okay, senpai?”

“We’re on a date and you still call me senpai?”

“Look, we’re not going to do this, we can’t, Kakashi,” you tried to explain but to no avail.

The silver-haired smugly smiled, “Good, Kakashi sounds much nicer.”

“I’m not joking,” you cleared your throat and glared at him.

“Neither am I, Y/N. I mean it.”

Your lips fell apart as the coherence in your mind shattered into bits and pieces. Kakashi silently observed the fleeting expressions that you made, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you stuttered. You knew who Kakashi was and the tragedy of your occupation. The two of you did not deserve anyone’s love, for once that you held the chance of breaking their heart. You looked away from his eyes to conceal the wavering of your emotions, “I never thought about life in that way. I don’t need a man in my life, that’s what I’d like to believe. I don’t want anyone to feel battered when I’m gone.”

“I hate it to see those I love cry and mourn, too,” he mumbled. You listened attentively as though it was yourself confessing to the dark. Kakashi continued, “I only live for a certain amount of time but I have been constantly filling it with despair and loneliness. There were things that I want to do and people that I want to love, but because of my fear of hurting them, I didn’t. But after the massive loss that I’ve experienced, everything was different, I understood how painful regret actually is.”

Tears began to well in your eyes the more his words dropped. You balled your fists, blinking profusely to prevent the warm droplets from escaping. Kakashi noticed your quiet sobs, running his fingers over your trembling hands, loosening your grip, and interlacing your fingers with his. You released a heavy sigh and pulled both your hands back, wiping away your tears as quickly as when they fell and dampened the fabric of your jeans.

“You’re not at the bottom of agony when you lose someone important,” Kakashi breathed, “it’s when you feel empty after they’ve left and mourning on what you could’ve done when they were still with you.”

Your sobs eventually assuaged as you chewed on his words. The silver-haired distracted himself by stirring the liquid of his drink, but he was in no state to enjoy its taste. He already said everything he wanted to say, and the decision was now fully on your shoulders. But by your lack of response, he was sure that you did not see your relationship taking another form—the way that he wished. He abruptly stood up from his seat, fleeting on his feet, “Let’s forget about what’s happened. I mean I still respect you as my teammate, Y/N. Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow.”

“No-no, Kakashi-senpai, wait,” you moved, hastily shoving your hands in his direction, gripping his wrist like a vice. You hung your head low to avoid his investigating gaze as you spoke, “I do.”

His gears in his head turned, and Kakashi smiled with satisfaction, “You do what?”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, so fast that you felt its rapid pumps in your throat. You stuttered out, voice growing quieter the more you expressed, “I-I want to go out with you, senpai—”

“Drop the ‘senpai’ already,” he playfully hissed and you grinned, certain that you just made the best choice of your life. Kakashi leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder blade, snuggling his face into your neck, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for letting me love you.”

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

Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7 @tirzamisu @rinnegankakashi

#kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x y/n #hatake kakashi x you #hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake imagine #naruto x reader #kakashi imagines #kakashi fluff #kakashi fanfiction

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yandere-sins · 4 years

Note

How about a fairytale scenario? A prince/princess/royal is in love with a very uninterested darling who manages to run away and make a deal with a witch who turns them into a monster in an attempt to make their yandere leave them alone? Maybe the cure is true loves kiss but since they don’t love the yandere it never works? Idk I think it’s an interesting concept and it’s been stuck in my head for a while

Ooooh! I like that! Very good idea anon, thanks for sending it in ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

“My Beloved!”

The prince’s voice made you flinch as it shook you from your nap. As good as you could, you heaved your giant head in the opposite direction from the door, pressing your snout to the cold stone wall. Its smell and temperature weren’t pleasant anymore, now that you were... well, whatever creature the witch had turned you into. Your heightened senses didn’t make it easier, now that you could smell every speck of mold and hear the scratching of tiny bug legs skittering through the stones.

The heavy, silver chains all over your body and limbs didn’t help either.

“We found a cure!” he claimed, his voice as sweet as honey, caring and hopeful, and yet so, so revolting since you knew the person behind it better than anyone else. It was easy to fool a kingdom with a sunny smile and encouraging speeches, but the one person he’d never trick again with his rotten personality was you.

Teeth clenched, you tried to ignore him, hoping he might be discouraged by seeing you unresponsive to his words. There had been too many potions, too many plants, he made you digest which were supposed to ‘help’ you, that you’d never want to even open your mouth anymore. You never even asked for his help; you just wanted him to leave you alone! When you hatched the plan of how to escape this fanatic, being recaptured by him and held in the dungeon, far away from anyone except the prince and the magicians he hired to ‘help’ you, wasn’t a part of it. You still blamed yourself that you hesitated to injure him worse than just breaking his arm when he found you. That you hesitated long enough for a bottled potion to hit you, bringing you down into a deep slumber and allowing them to bring you back to your personal hell that was the prince’s castle.

“My Beloved,” he repeated, this time in a tender whisper while he sank next to your disfigured body, a gentle hand coming down onto the fur of your front leg, caressing it comfortingly. “We’ve been wrong so many times...” he lamented, but you could hear the smile on his lips as he continued. “But finally, we know, and it’s no potion nor herb that will turn you back into a human.”

So what is it? you were inclined to ask, though you kept quiet. Just so you’d know what to avoid in the future.

“It’s a true love’s kiss,” he swooned, following it up with a deep sigh of longing. Your stomach churned as you heard his solution to your ‘problem’, but all you could muster was a haughty huff, thinking how you’d never love him. This wouldn’t work, you were already aware.

There was no way you could love the person that tore you from your family for his own amusement. Who humiliated you in front of other nobles so he could have some giggles, and yet, when you decided to run away from his maltreatment, chained you into his private room, sobbing into your lap of how he cannot live without you after keeping you there without food and water for days. What was real and what was fake about him was a thin line to discern, but you had been forced to stay long enough with the prince to not trust even one word of his. He’d try to suck up to you with presents and food, promising the world to you. And then, the moment you said you didn’t like what he did, he’d turn his back on this love he swore to harbor for you, punishing you and threatening to hurt your family too if you’d ever break his heart again.

It was then that you figured out he was lonely, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but be scared of his actions.

“You know there is no one else, no human nor monster, that adores you as much as I do. Thus, I will lift this curse from you, my Dearest! There isn’t anyone else who can do it. Right?”

Hearing his question made you not want to move your head in his direction all the more. But even with one hand, the prince knew where to touch for it to be uncomfortable. That damn spot under your throat made you flinch when you felt his fingertips drag over it, and you raised your head as far as the chain holding you down allowed. Growling at him didn’t concern the prince at all as he scooted closer, his hand falling to the side of your head, his face burying into the soft fur that covered all of your newly-obtained body.

Secretly, you wished that someone would come to save you from all this. Not particularly your new monstrous form, but rather, the prince and his doings. You wanted a real prince in shining armor to come and kiss you, whisk you away on his pretty, white steed. Never to be seen again. That would be your dream. This act and tragedy had been going on too long, and you feared that as it was, it would never end in a happy ending for you.

The prince kissed you between your eyes, observing if anything was happening for a few seconds before his lips proceeded down your snout. After every caress, he stopped, watching if anything changed. As you glanced briefly into his eyes, you saw the frustration grow. It would have been easier if it had worked - you had to admit - for both of you. Because every kiss more he had to watch fail, the more he grew unrestraint, his expression darkening and teeth clenching hard while his hand began to shake from frustration, or perhaps anger already.

“Why is it not working?” he asked as if he expected you to answer him. However, if it wasn’t a growl or whine, your vocal cords didn’t speak the same language anymore. Surely, there would have been a lot you would have told him if you could have opened your mouth and spoken. But this way, and much to your own surprise, he had to figure it out himself.

“Is it because you don’t love me?” he asked, fingers tangling into your fur harshly. “That’s what you said, right? That you don’t love me.”

A short, desperate laugh escaped him as he looked up and stared down at you with wide eyes. “It’s supposed to be a true love’s kiss, don’t you understand? Are you too stupid to even understand that? Do you want to stay like this, looking like a rotten mutt? Do you hate me so much?”

His questions were unanswered, even as he yanked hard at your fur, a stinging pain shooting through your face. “Answer me!” he demanded, screaming it into the void that was the dungeon where no one but you and him resided. “Ha... Hahaha...”

His laugh was muffled by his hand tearing away from you and instead clasping over his face, making him take a deep breath. “That’s okay. You’ll have a lot of time to learn to love me. Or you rot down here, it’s your decision.”

Standing up, the prince left you behind, a pitiful pile of meat and hair, chained to the ground by the most expensive chains he could buy from all the money he possessed. How much did it anger him, you wondered, that even though he had everything, he couldn’t have you?

“Don’t forget.” Glancing over his shoulder, the heavy doors slowly closed behind him. “You can be with me forever, or you can die here alone. No one mourns such a hideous creature when it’s gone. Only I can love you as you are now, but you lack choices. My darling Monster.”

With the prince disappearing together with the light of the torches, you were cast into the darkness reigning in your new home. Alone, pitiful, quiet. Restraint and captured as nothing more than the beast of a kingdom. It was the same darkness that never let you forget who and what you were.

Nothing. You were nothing without the prince who walked in the light while being the darkness himself.

#Prince #yandere prince #yandere!prince #monster #monsters #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #Anonymous

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antebunny · 4 years

Text

Continuation of this based on the Maleficent AU over on @angstymdzsthoughts because I write trash when my life is going terribly.

All his life, Lan Wangji has heard more about his mother than he has actually seen his mother. He and Lan Xichen were taken to see her as many times as they could, but more often than not, it wasn’t safe to be around her. But Lan Wangji heard the other Lans talking about her, sometimes.

“How sad,” the elders would say. “The first not to accept the Grounding.”

On the good days, Lan Wangji’s mother would let him sit on her lap as she combed first Lan Huan’s, and then Lan Wangji’s hair. She would ask about their day, and invariably something Lan Wangji said would make her laugh. But with the good days came the bad days, when Mother flew into a terrible rage and could not be approached by anyone, not even Father, and Father was her fated one. On the bad days, Mother had to be left alone in her house until she calmed down, and no one ever let Lan Wangji go near.

“It’s because of the wings,” Lan Wangji is told. The wings that his mother once had, back when she was a heavenly spirit, the wings that make her want to leave.

“Such a tragic tale,” some of the elders say, shaking their heads. “Such a tragic love the main Lan family faces, generation after generation.”

Mother is never able to accept the binding, and no one knows why. Father performed it correctly, to this everyone swears up and down. Qingheng-jun has always been the pride of Gusu, but he grows increasingly more and more frantic during Lan Wangji’s sixth year, the year that Mother gets sick. Soon, the whole world knows that Madame Lan has a seemingly incurable disease. Before Lan Wangji turns seven, his mother dies. He knows because he never sees his father after that either. He’ll later learn that Father, unable to accept both the loss of his fated one and his own failure, retreated from the world, leaving his sect duties and his children to his younger brother.

“It is the destiny of one of you to find your fated partner in a heavenly being,” Uncle explains to Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, but he doesn’t say it with the same pride and finality that he explains the other rules of the Lans.

Lan Wangji grows up. And though he’ll never admit it, Lan Wangji privately hopes that this destiny is not his to bear. It’s terribly unfair for both the sect duties and the Grounding to fall to Lan Wangji, and consciously he hopes that his older brother does not have to bear both burdens. But privately, somewhere buried deep where Lan Wangji cannot find it or examine it too closely, he hopes fervently that it is not him.

Then he meets a boy with black wings underneath the moon of the Gusu mountains, and his entire world changes.

Wei Wuxian laughs, and Lan Wangji has never heard anything like it before. His great black wings unfurl like ink from a brush, and they effortlessly lift his feet off the roof.

“I’m technically not in the Cloud Recesses,” he points out, silver eyes sparkling with mirth.

Lan Wangji can feel his ears turn a violent shade of red. He withdraws his sword, then, but a single flap of Wei Wuxian’s wings carries him above Lan Wangji’s head. And even then, in the exhilaration and frustration of their first meeting, Lan Wangji hates those wings for taking Wei Wuxian out of his reach. They’re beautiful, his massive crow wings. Each feather is a soft black that shines purple under the right light. Lan Wangji wants to touch them and see if they’re as soft as they look, but he doesn’t dare.

Wei Ying is magnificent, and Lan Wangji can only despair.

His brother is the first one to notice.

“Wangji,” he says, one day when he finds Lan Wangji with two bunnies and no explanation. “I’ve noticed that you seem to be spending a lot of time with the crow spirit, Wei Wuxian.”

Not by choice, Lan Wangji wants to say, but he knows it isn’t true, and lying is forbidden. But he doesn’t know what the truth is. He’s unsure, because Wei Ying is unsure. Wei Ying teases, Wei Ying smiles at him so sincerely and says not as pretty as Lan Zhan only to finish with I’m only joking, Lan Zhan! What if it’s not Wei Ying? What if Lan Wangji gets it wrong?

So instead, he says nothing.

His uncle is the second person to notice.

He’s frowning and stroking his beard after the day’s lectures have finished, and he stop Lan Wangji to talk after the other students have all left. “Yunmeng’s Head Disciple, and Sect Leader Jiang’s adopted son,” he muses out loud. “His…rambunctious personality makes me cautious, but he is one of the best cultivators of your generation. I am confident that he will recover from the Grounding.”

Lan Wangji tries to picture Wei Ying’s loud personality being confined to a single room for any period of time.

“Wangji,” his uncle says, when he notices Lan Wangji clenching his fists. The word is at once filled with pride, a warning, and gentler reassurance. “What happened to your mother was a tragedy,” he says, echoing the words of countless elders. “It has never happened before. There is no reason why it should happen again.”

There is no reason why it wouldn’t, Lan Wangji thinks. Still, it hardly matters, in the face of generations of tradition, in the face of his own destiny. There is no denying it: he loves Wei Ying. His next course of action is to perform the Grounding, before Wei Ying returns to Lotus Pier. His uncle expects him to. The elders all expect him to. Even his brother doesn’t understand his hesitation. And yet–

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “Come flying with me!”

When Wei Ying takes him flying, he takes him higher than Lan Zhan has ever gone by sword. Together, they soar over the misty mountain tops of Gusu, past pine forests and heavy clouds. Wei Ying is an single black spot in the blue heavens, but he dwarfs the entire sky, and Lan Wangji, in a place he doesn’t stop to think about, has never lived more in a day.

“Wei Ying,” he says at the end, when Wei Ying sets him gently back on the ground. His tongue is lead in his mouth. He knows what he should say–he should ask Wei Ying to take him to the cave in the back of the mountains, and there, where the wings have no power, he should perform the Grounding. But Lan Wangji looks at Wei Ying, framed by his crow wings in the green fields of Gusu, and all he can think is: Wei Ying loves his wings.

Which is why all that comes out of his mouth is: “Will you marry me?”

“Wangji,” Uncle says, and now his name is simply a warning. “You are doing this wrong.”

Lan Wangji bows his head low over the table he is seated by.

“I have left the Grounding to your own prerogatives,” Uncle begins to lecture, further angered by his silence. “I have raised you to be obedient and righteous, but if I must perform the Grounding for you, then I will.”

“No,” Lan Wangji blurts, and his uncle raises an eyebrow. Somehow, he knows that is wrong. His hands are clammy in his lap. “No,” he repeats, in a tone expected from him. “I will perform it. Tomorrow morning.”

“See that you do,” Uncle says. A dismissal.

He almost doesn’t.

Wei Ying is sprawled by his side, fast asleep, but his wings are wrapped around Lan Wangji when he wakes up. He rolls Wei Ying over slowly, carefully pulling his hair away from his back. Lightly, he runs his hands over the wings one last time, wings that were softer than he thought they’d be, and then he withdraws Bichen. His grip hasn’t trembled on his sword in years, but it does now.

In the end, it is very simple: Wei Ying loves his wings, but Wei Ying loves him. Surely that is enough. It has been enough for countless generations of Lans.

In the end, it is too simple. Lan Wangji flicks his wrist, and Bichen tears through Wei Ying’s beautiful wings. Wei Ying does not stir. He sheathes his sword and collects the wings reverently. He steps out of the room, long enough to leave the wings on the table, and returns to a devastating surprise:

Wei Ying is gone.

Naturally, the first person Lan Wangji goes to is Lan Xichen, and together they head to the Jiang disciple quarters. Lan Wangji is distressed the whole way, thinking of a Wei Ying who woke up alone, in the dark, missing his wings. He was supposed to be there to explain it to Wei Ying. He was supposed to be there for him.

But Wei Ying isn’t in the Jiang disciple quarters. None of the Jiang siblings are. The other Jiang disciples are still asleep, but when Lan Wangji makes an exception and wakes them up, they have no idea what’s going on. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen split up, but no one Lan Wangji talks to has seen Wei Ying or the Jiang siblings. And when Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen circle back around to the quarters of the first Jiang disciples they talked to, they’re gone.

By the time the sunrise fades into yet another bright day, all of the disciples from Yunmeng Jiang are gone. None of the other guest disciples have seen them, not even the ones awake at that time. It is as if they simply all vanished back up to the heavens without a word, without a single warning.

And Lan Wangji is left reeling in their wake, stunned at the thought that somehow Wei Ying’s Grounding has gone even worse than his mother’s.

#mdzs #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my writing #writeblr #look im tired #angstymdzsthoughts #antebunny's ficlets

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : don’t leave me lonely

— word count : 3 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : when the protective instinct that runs deep within daryl you can’t take how much of a child he treats you, only when words spoken in anger do you both see the truth.

— warnings : swearing, one instance of blood description, vague mentions of daryl’s past and just some general angst

I've heard you're taking requests, soo, Could you please write something with Daryl and 20+62 from prompt list?

Thank you in advance and have a nice day ❤️

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested ? yes ! / requests are open *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

prompt list : 20. “Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?” && “ After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

Pale grey pavement is being painted with the blood of the walkers you had to slaughter in order to survive, to make it back to your family. You dare not speak a word, already predicting a storm awaiting to drench you in its anger that currently forms within the man you slowly began to love. You can’t pinpoint exactly where you began to have these thoughts, experience these feelings, as it hasn’t been an easy road. Loving him is not uncomplicated, the image he shows the world is harsh, though his actions speak louder than his words.

You’re stuck following him and Aaron, the man sparing apologetic glances back every few metres. He has nothing to apologise for, he was simply a bystander to a very awkward encounter between the two.

“ the hell y’doing out here? “

For a moment, your world stops. You hadn’t expected to see anyone out in the secluded area of the greenery that surrounds Alexandria, the whole idea of going from fighting for your life every day to pretending the world isn’t dead is not a pill that is easy to swallow. A potentially horrid coping mechanism, but you have to remember what it’s like out there, to not be protected by steel walls. To pretend you still have to sleep with one eye open, if anything was to ever happen to anyone you love because you allowed your guard to be demolished by a faux safety you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

A timid smile arises on your expression, almost apologetic. You shrug in response to Daryl’s question.

“ y’got no brain now? “ stomping towards you, his eyes burning with outrage and alarm, he doesn’t trust this new situation with you in it.

“ not here, Daryl. “

Trouble has a way of finding you, the unfamiliarity of everything touching the fear that he prays to stay dormant within the walls of Alexandria. At least with you confined to the area he can see clearly, he doesn’t have to imagine the worst possible outcomes to prepare himself for the inescapable of what always happens.

He can’t lose you, he can’t tell you either.

Eyebrows raise in shock over the suddenness of his heated words, never once had he spoken to you in such a way. Even on the rare occasion he was genuinely annoyed with something you had done. You force your features to stay neutral, not wanting a war in front of Aaron, considering you haven’t known him for long.

A mirror image is the displeasure that has stewed within you, the very same of the Dixon man you had shared the road with. Who does he think he is? You ask yourself, that outburst was for no reason and you know it. It’s times like these that confuse you and your feelings for him.

Though you hear no footsteps behind you, you can feel Daryl’s presence stalking you closely, but you pay no mind. Not in any mood to talk, afraid for what you will say in anger.

A temper is something you control, though there are moments it wants to smash down your walls.

With a heavy breath set free into the air, you turn the handle of your home open, leaving it open for Daryl as you know it’s going to be a conversation he will wish to continue. For a rather quiet man, when he wants to, he can say a lot.

Turning to face him, you wet your lips to say something, hoping to calm him before the situation gets out of hand. Hoping to get an idea of why he is so irate, though your expression hardens ever so softly as you realise that he’s most likely going to continue on the tirade he began outside of the walls. Your heart thumps against your ribcage, almost rattling your entire being with anticipation. Being able to hold your own in conflict is something you are able to do, but it doesn’t mean it leaves no scars to litter your soul.

“ okay, so what was that out there, Daryl? “ your words are soft, almost to the tune of a whisper as you question him. Hoping to understand his point of view.

“ y’really gotta ask that? “

Your lips purse, you merely blink in his direction as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Your heart is full of hurt as he treats you as nothing more than a stranger with the heat that coats his furious words that he hauls in your direction.

It confuses you incredibly how the day has gone to hell so swiftly, but you warn yourself about that. Assuming once dawn breaks that the day will bring something good for once, and not news of another tragedy. Even protected by the stereotypical image of a cookie cut American household can’t hold off death. No matter what, it gets its day.

“ yes, I do! “ you raise your voice, fighting the urge to close the distance. Knowing that he’d mistake it as you being on the offensive. “ I wasn’t doing anything except walking! “

“ yeh, an’ that’s what concerns me. “

A pause.

Nothing but the noises from the residents of this small town can be heard, the silence so deafening it almost obliterates your confusion. The room is so quiet that you even doubt that the two of you are even occupying it, the house feeling more and more cold with the seconds that slug by, it feeling that there’s no life to breathe a new warmth into it. Never has it felt so bare to be in that in that very moment than with the two of you ready to cut deep.

This is what he's pissed about? Before you even realise, you snort from disbelief. It’s something so small, so insignificant you can’t even believe it. Their new found safety has affected the group in many ways, but this has to be one of the strangest as you openly stare at his tense form.

“ seriously? “ you ask, refusing to believe he’s pushing this so intensely for that very reason.

“ y’finding that funny? “

“ yeah, because you’re acting like you’re my damned father. “ pointing a finger in his direction, you pace for a few fleeting seconds.

A closeness between you both has long since been acknowledged, but you’ve never divulged to him the true extent of your emotions. Sometimes you think he’s aware of what you feel, though late at night when you’re alone you realise that it may be better if he doesn’t. You wish you have the confidence to even share it with him, although the thought that blares in your ears warns you otherwise. Your heart couldn’t take another heartbreak, opting for his friendship rather than a cold shoulder born out of awkwardness.

Sometimes you’re sure he’s staring at you with a longing glint in his eye when you’re not paying attention, however you often chalk it up to hope. Never are you one to follow the signs, not wanting to be wrong. Your imagination cannot be crushed if it doesn’t have confirmation.

Hope can be cruel as it can be kind.

“ someone’s gotta, I can’t remember all the times I’ve had t’drag your ass outta trouble! “ his crossbow thuds as it’s dropped without a care, his face reddens as it twists and contorts. You haven’t seen him show this much rage since the Greene’s farm.

The day you first met him is permanently burnt into your brain, being half starved and dehydrated you thought you were hallucinating him. Unable to walk, your limbs weighed a ton under the exhaustion you felt under the punishing Georgian sun but there he was. Surrounded by the rays as if he was your very own guardian angel, but that idea had been put straight to bed as soon as you saw the outbursts from him to the other members of the group.

With the months that passed, you had trouble saying that was the same man you knew today. Less prone to rage, clearer about doing anything in his power to aid his family, though you can’t help but wonder if the old Daryl wants to break through the progress he has made so far.

“ and I never asked for that, Daryl. Why are you acting as if you’re my keeper? “

“ fine! it ain’t my problem if y’wanna be a selfish bitch. “

Causing hurt to the people he loves comes easy to Daryl. To wound deep when he’s scared is all he has ever learnt, to show love and affection was never afforded to him as a child, not even when he silently begged for it. Now, he was physically and mentally scarred, even these days were they still plaguing him like a never relenting ghost. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he hates seeing pain in your eyes, but he can’t convey his worry without fury over the idea of losing you.

He can’t imagine having to live a life where you’re not cracking a joke at the worst possible moment, or your selflessness that will surely one day cause you more harm than good. His breathing increases at the thought, his fists clenching, willing him to stay in place and not barge through the door without a second thought.

“ se - selfish? Daryl, you’re making sense! “

“ y’don’t care about anyone but y’self. Doin’ shit like that by y’self is only gonna get y’killed. All y’think about is you, not anyone left behind. “

“ after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you? “ the fire you had once now leaves nothing but dying embers, defeat coating your words as tears shimmer in your eyes

Daryl doesn’t know how to react at your proclamation, the inner battle to stay in the lounge now lost. His mind is unable to warp the idea of you even entertaining the thought of becoming more than friends, never did he dream that the shield he’d built around himself could injure him more than the outside elements could.

Before he even realised it, he’s leaning down to pick up his crossbow and heading straight for the door. Paying no mind to you taking his departure as rejection and not self preservation.

“ if you think I’m gonna come back, I’ll make you wait a long time! “ you call out before slamming the door.

Hands are brought to your stomach, as if to stem the bleeding from a wound made deep into your torso, though it can’t curb the internal trauma you feel from Daryl ripping himself from your presence. You knew it was a bad idea to tell him your feelings, yet you could hardly stop yourself in the war of words between the two of you. Nothing is a big enough wish than to stop the pain that ignites your entire self, threatening to consume you entirely. Only now do you understand the true extent of your love for him, previously thinking it was little more than a crush, though this feels more. Especially mourning what could have been.

You retreat to your room, not even leaving to share dinner with your family. Afraid not if Daryl would show, but rather your ability to hold your composure when you feel as if you’re glass who’s moments are counting down by the second to shatter into nothing more than sharp fragments that will only slice others to ensure they bleed, to ensure they feel as bad as you do.

“ come on, you’ve got to get some air. “

A series of knocks interrupt your sleep, followed by the voice of who you recognise as belonging to Carol. You ignore her, not wanting to face anyone just yet. The trauma on your heart is still too fresh. However it matters not to Carol, for she simply does not take your silence as an answer, but rather as an invitation as she opens your door.

“ just leave me alone, please. “

“ the others are worried about you, so am I. “ she speaks, concern written all over her face as she steps forward closer to your bed, her frown becoming more and more prevalent.

“ let them be, I just want to sleep. “

“ you don’t have to talk to anyone, come down after breakfast. Just get some fresh air. “ Carol gently requests with a half smile blooming onto her features. If anything is certain, she wants to see you and Daryl work through the fog that currently locks you both away.

Leaving the bed, you groan to yourself. You’re not sure how much time has passed since Carol departed, but it has been long enough for your family to have also left the house to either explore more or two engage in their jobs. It’s something you send a silent thanks to the sky for, all you desire is solitude, with the sun etching its warmth onto your face. Opening the door, you see people going about their business with little regard for you, though you’re sure some of them must have heard the commotion the previous day.

You pay little mind to them though, more concerned on piecing together the broken pieces of your heart than anything else.

Sleep never once visited Daryl, never did it carry him off into a peaceful slumber. Though he can’t help but feel as if he deserves it, as payment for having to be the cause of the damage to you, being the reason you sobbed harder than he’d ever heard you. He’d waited outside that door, pushing himself to make things right, but never did the courage arise. Leaving him lonely once again.

Fuck this he curses himself mentally, this is going to be the one time an opportunity for happiness does not pass him by. Not once more, that was the last time he’d be nothing more than a witness.

Astonishment transforms his hardened expression as he comes to a stop, realising you’re already sitting on the porch next door with a blissfully peaceful air surrounding you. You don’t realise he’s there just yet, your eyes closed as you take in the sounds and smell of Alexandria, a distraction to what you feel. Daryl briefly wonders how he should go about patching things between the two of you, the situation an alien one to him. Fingers reach towards the cigarette packet concealed in his trouser pocket, with the barest of shaking from nerves.

Bringing it to his lips, the smoke is what alerts you to his being closing the distance. You can’t prevent the draining of colour from your face, not prepared from yet another interaction with the Dixon man so early in the morning.

“ I - uh, wanna say sorry. ‘Bout yesterday. “ Daryl apologises, with a regretful tone colouring his words with the most vibrancy he can muster.

Your gaze slips to the floor, watching the grass move ever so slightly with the breeze that wanders through. To forgive is in your nature and you sorely want to extend that forgiveness to him, but to do so after that exchange is a difficult thing.

“ thank you, I suppose. “ you shrug, your hands tying together as you try to make up for a lack of words.

“ I ain’t expectin’ y’to forgive me or nothin’, I just want y’to know. “

You sigh to yourself, you know in your heart he means what he says, you hate that you’ve been this mad at him.. at each other this much, even for a few hours. People and bonds are a rare blessing in this world, and you know it’s better to keep them close than to allow them to burn in the fire of hatred and impulse, to leave them nothing more than ashes ⎯ remnants to revere of an age that has since past.

“ Daryl, I do forgive you. I’m just trying to figure out how we move past this. “ you reply with sorrow, your eyes closing, a crease intensifying between your brows. It hurts to even speak into existence.

“ those things you said yesterday ... did you mean them? “

Bewilderment forces your eyes open, your head snapping to meet his figure that still stands. Here you are preparing yourself to move past Daryl, no matter how hard that would be, and he’s asking you questions about what you said.

“ you’ll have to be specific, I said a lot. “

“ it needs sayin’? “

Daryl can’t help but feel put on the spot as your sight bores into him with a forceful amount of strength, scrutinising him with the need to find an answer he’s not yet sure of.

“ yes, it does. “

“ was y’serious about.. bein’ in love.. ? “ with me is the silent end to the sentence that lays peacefully on his tongue as he leaves it out, the invisible presence of it painfully clear to the both of you, knowing that while it wasn’t included, it was there regardless.

“ when it comes to things like this, I don’t lie. “ you rest your head on your chin, a small yet anxious smile fighting to break free onto your features.

Why do I have to be a nervous smiler?

Daryl doesn’t answer, instead he moves to sit beside you on the porch. Closer than ever before, it’s not something that goes unnoticed by either of you, and like that hope is once again reignited within your core. Even small steps like this are significant, physical affection with other people is still something that has not changed all that much with him.. Though, you’ve seen moments on rare occasions, witnessing it before he can even stop himself.

“ so, we boyfriend and girlfriend now? “ you joke, laughter allowing the grief to peel away from your heart, allowing it to flutter in the air at the thought of the potential between you.

“ shut up. “ mumbles Daryl, although there’s a small grin that is peaking through his expression as he allows it to be set free, even though the full picture is still hidden under the grime and the hair that has long since overgrown.

But, you find you wouldn’t change a thing about that. It being part of his charm. You can’t help but find yourself full to the brim of excitement of what can grow between you, with the possibilities endless.. no matter how hard things can and will get, you will have each other in a new way that you’ve never before and that? It’s a heavenly picture you want to cut and pocket away in the confines of your heart.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl angst #daryl fluff

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peachypascal · 4 years

Text

work for it

summary: tensions are running high between you and mando, and after a long day, he loses his patience with you.

warnings: unprotected sex, oral (m+f receiving), choking, condescension, possession i guess?, very lowkey dom/sub vibes, one (1) spank, spoilers for season 2, unedited

word count: 5.3k

you can barely even look at him anymore.

if you could get to his face, if he wasn’t such a skillful fighter, you reckon you might have hit him already, but instead, you’re forced to push all your irritation under the surface. it’s already such a tense environment; there’s no point in making it worse.

he’s been fighting with everyone since the moment you had landed. he’s unhappy. it’s understandable, given what he’s lost recently, but you had lost, too. you had lost the child, and you had lost a piece of yourself. you hurt, too, but he won’t allow you your moment to grieve. for the first time since the two of you met, your mandalorian expects you to stand up. you are meant to be the strong one this time. before he had begun taking his upset out on you, that had been fine. you had been okay with that.

din has lost more than you have. you lost grogu and you lost the ship, but he had lost his child, his home, his creed. din had lost his way. you ache for him, really. it’s unfair that such a good man should live a life so wrought with tragedy and tribulation.

it doesn’t stop you from bristling at the way he talks to you, like you can’t take care of yourself anymore. the two of you had always worked so well together before now. now, he’s pent-up. he’s angry. about his losses, about his mere proximity to bo-katan, who seems to have her mind set on defeating him every step of the way, about the fact that he can’t find a moment alone, not with you staying in the same room he’s in, one hardly big enough to hold the two cots you’ve been sleeping in.

he thought getting off the ship was what he needed. solid ground and natural light and someplace where looking out the windows doesn’t make his head spin, but now he’s even closer to you than before. lately, something that was once so comforting now only reminds him of one more thing he’s bound to lose. against all great odds, he had managed to survive his losses. you, he’s not so sure he could handle losing. you’re the last thing keeping him hanging on, the single thread keeping him where he needs to be, and without you, he’s gone.

after the days that you have been living, all you want is a nice, luxurious bed to fall into after your perpetually long days, but you and mando are barely able to scrounge enough extra credits together for the dingy little box they call a room. you would call it a scam, but after traveling with mando for so long, you’ve grown used to the seedier parts of the galaxy, and you’ll only be here a few days while everyone regroups. it’s a much-needed break from the only person you want to punch more than din and even with your mounting annoyance, it feels nice to listen to the chatter of a city while you sit in your room, watching them from above.

behind you, the door opens. you don’t bother turning around—you fear that seeing him might set you off and vice versa. a deep breath holds still in your chest, waiting, wondering if he’s going to say something to you. right as you begin to let your guard down, your shoulders dropping, he breaks the silence.

“we’re leaving tomorrow.”

they’re the first words in days that he has spoken without malice behind them, but the sound of his filtered voice still grates on your nerves. the two of you have been living in a powder keg, your explosion inevitable, but you had hoped it would stay intact until you left this planet. with the irritation that burns you now, you’re unsure you’ll make it through the night. it fills you with a great sense of dread. no, you aren’t sure you can stand another moment sleeping three feet away from him, but you hate even more the idea of the two of you not even speaking.

you don’t hear him move, still by the door, still in his armor. with a quiet sigh, you glance back at him only to give him confirmation that you’ve heard him. even through the modulator, you hear his disgruntled huff. he begins removing his armor, shaking his head at you. you purse your lips at the sight of him. before grogu was taken from you, it felt as though you two were finally getting somewhere. you had been traveling with them long enough to feel as though you were a part of a small family. you had finally managed to break down din’s walls, to almost get close enough to touch. all your travels had led up to this, all the nervous glances and tentative touches, and now, you can barely look at him. you want to reach out for him, but even in the tiny room, he feels too far.

finally, you sigh. “great.”

din stacks his armor noisily beside his bed, hiding his blaster under his pillow and kicking his boots off. he’s being loud. after so many nights of hearing him take off that armor in the crest, you knew he was always careful not to let it clang the way it does now. if you could see his eyes, you would see the light that flickers in them, just waiting for an excuse to start a fire.

“what did you do today?” you ask quietly, skin burning with the tension and your need to diffuse it.

he sighs, shaking his helmet minutely. “nothing.”

a crinkle forms between your brows. “nothing? you’ve been gone all day doing nothing?”

his shoulders square in irritation and the sight nearly sets you off. “does it matter?” he scoffs, settling his hands on his hips.

your jaw sets and you turn to face him. “no, i suppose not.”

the air is thick between you and a heavy shiver runs down your spine, desperate to get away from him. you stand, in need of a moment of fresh air, but din grabs your bicep before you can pass him, the stoic flat of his helmet tilting to look at you. “where are you going?”

your mandalorian is a man of pride. he would never admit it, especially not after he had sacrificed that pride so much in the time that you had known him, but it was true. that pride means that asking the very question makes him cringe beneath his helmet. perhaps it’s your anger with him, or your inability to keep your mouth shut, but in a quick moment of spite, you sneer back at him. “does it matter?”

before you even have a chance to change your facial expression, one gloved hand wraps firmly around your throat, forcing your gaze up to meet his. you choke, not because he’s holding you too tightly but because of your surprise, eyes wide as you look up at him. “watch it.”

you stare at his visor, hardening your expression. your shock wears off quickly. instead, you find it much easier to concentrate on the fury that has been building for days. “or what?” you spit. “i’m not fighting with you, din.”

the use of his name catches him off-guard. he had only heard it fall from your lips in the most intimate of moments, quiet, long conversations in the cockpit when the child was asleep. then, it had calmed him. it soothed his soul to know that you knew him. now, it fuels the fire already burning in him; it only feeds the need settled low in his gut at the sight of you. it sets him off.

he takes two, long strides and takes you with him, backing you against the wall with his hand tightening around your throat, ignoring your confused squeak. “you don’t talk to me like that,” he cuts out, voice low and tight, and you laugh mirthlessly, still impassioned enough to fight him even with his hand around your throat.

“and you don’t treat me like dirt. deal?”

the two of you stand in a long silence, your nose an inch away from his visor; you wonder if mando will say anything, defend himself, but he seems as though he doesn’t even hear your words. he takes in a slow, deep breath before his fingers tighten around your throat, and you can’t help your quiet moan, eyes fluttering closed. his mouth goes dry at the sound, legs weak at the sound he’s been imagined every single night. even with anger still pounding through you, you can’t deny that you like the position. after traveling with him for so long, always at arm's length, this is all you think about anymore. him, touching you, holding you so close like he does now.

you shudder under his hand and blood rushes in his ears, seemingly amplified under his helmet. his breathing is heavy, pondering his next move cautiously before he finally says, “turn around.” you’re so headstrong, you have been since he’s known you. you don’t take his commandments without question or pushback, which is why he expects you to spit a curse back in his face. you don’t.

instead, for the first time ever, you obey without question.

din feels like the breath he takes is gasping, his mouth open like a fish as his hand falls down to his side, eyes tracking down the arch of your spine. it’s as though you’re presenting yourself to him, the subtle look over your shoulder telling him all the words he wants to hear. take me. i’m ready. the wait is over.

“mando,” you whisper hoarsely, pressing your warm forehead against the wall. “please.”

he’s unsure exactly where to start. after a thousand fantasies, they all seem to blur together until he wants everything, no way to figure out what he wants the most. as he pulls off his gloves, he takes a moment to deliberate, admiring the sight of you waiting for him. all those fantasies and din can only decide on one thing: he’ll take as much as he can.

his bare hand glides over your hip, his touch relaxing your tight muscles as his arm wraps around you, palm pressing to your stomach and his chest pressing to your back. “you’re okay?” he asks, voice tight with barely-restrained need.

your answer is breathy and needy. “yes,” you sigh. “please.”

din tightens his arm around your ribcage with an impatient grunt, his other hand already reaching into the waistband of your sleep pants. your skin is warm under his palm and not for the first time, he’s cursing the helmet on his head. he wants to be closer to you, to bury his face in your neck and breathe you in until you’re all he knows, and just as he begins to toy with the band of your underwear, he pulls away.

you give a frustrated groan, leaning back into him, but it’s fruitless. he’s already crossing the room, bare hands drawing the curtains and turning off the lights. “mando.” it shocks you to hear how your voice sounds, whiny and small while you turn back to him. “what—did i do something?”

“no,” he answers shortly.

there’s a moment where all you hear is the pounding of your own heart and the faraway chatter of the crowd on the street below you before he returns to you. you breathe out gently in relief when his large hands grip your hips tightly again, squeezing once before one travels up and the other goes down. your eyes flutter closed, reaching to grasp at his wrist when he cups your breast.

and then he leans down and presses his lips to the shell of your ear. you jump in surprise at the feeling, at the idea that he would take his helmet off in such a vulnerable position, and your eyes fly open. “mando!”

din shushes you. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, fingers slipping into your pants once again until he’s cupping your pussy, an unfiltered moan vibrating against your neck. “maker, you’re already soaked.” your hips jolt into his hand, desperately searching for any sort of friction. his teeth sink into your earlobe. “needy,” he growls. “always so needy.”

a quick retort is already on your tongue, but his nose nuzzles against your temple and two of his fingers find your clit, lips stretching into a small smile when he hears your soft moan. your head falls back onto his shoulder, sinking into the pleasure he’s building within you. he’s always worked so well with his hands but you have a newfound appreciation for the dexterity of them as he rubs deep, slow circles into you.

din buries his face in your neck, tongue laving over your pulsepoint and teeth biting at your collarbone, savoring the way you take over all of his senses. he grinds against your ass, the thick duraweave of his pants grating against your threadbare sleep pants. “feel that?” he murmurs, just below your ear, and you moan, grinding down against his fingers. you certainly do. it shocks you, at first, just how hard he is, how big he is. he’s always been so broad, so big in every other sense that it shouldn’t surprise you, but you find yourself daunted by the thought of him already.

“fuck, mando,” you whine, unable to decide where you want to be more, grinding down against his fingers or back against his cock, and you let out a frustrated groan.

“what’s wrong?” he coos mockingly, hand sliding from your breast to your throat. “you want more?”

“i want to come,” you beg.

“you want to come?” his grip around your throat tightens. “work for it.”

your knees almost buckle, a loud moan falling from your lips, one that makes din’s cock twitch. you press back against him, grinding shamelessly against your mandalorian with your brow furrowed in pleasure. his fingers work faster against your clit, the arm across your chest keeping you tight against his, and his low moan rumbles against your back.

it’s just out of reach, right at your fingertips; you need just a little bit more. you reach back for him, your fingers tangling in his hair. “din,” you gasp, voice choked. “i’m so close.”

he hums against your hairline, long fingers slipping further into your underwear to circle your entrance just once before he’s sinking one in, enjoying the bliss that washes over his body when you lean back against his chest. “stars, y/n, you feel so good,” he breathes, his eyes falling closed when he adds another finger.

your jaw clenches in preparation for your orgasm, already burning you up when din presses right against your sensitive wall. with a tug of his hair, your stomach tightens, the prettiest moan he’s ever heard in his life falling from your lips. din curls his fingers, breathing heavily when you clench tight around them. it takes over you without warning, your strangled cry of his name forcing his own rough groan against your hair. your thighs shake around his hand as you come, pulling on his hair until he’s hissing.

it’s the first time you’ve come in weeks and by the time din stops pressing against your g-spot, there are tears running down your cheeks. your hips jerk away from him fruitlessly, desperate to get away from the stimulation. din can’t help his soft smile, guiding you to your bed as well as he can in the dark. “c’mon, you need to rest.”

“no,” you insist, eyes wide and searching for him in the black. “no. sit down.” the thought of you on your knees for him, between his legs, it nearly makes him sweat, so he searches for your hand, entwining your fingers. “please.”

you trap your lip between your teeth as you sink down to your knees, listening to your mandalorian remove his clothing before he sits on your cot. your palms find his knees, brushing over the hair scattered over his skin, grinning at the sound of his exhale. you hum, running your hands up and down his thighs, over his hips, appreciating the feeling of his skin against yours until you wrap your fingers around his cock, stomach flipping at his quiet moan of your name.

all you want is for him to feel good, to feel a fraction as blissful as he made you feel, and it’s hard to pace yourself, so you lean forward and take him in your mouth, your lips closing around his head and your eyes fluttering closed. it’s a scene you’ve imagined a thousand times over, but none of your daydreams compare to the real thing. he’s so vocal, his loud moans and quiet murmurings filling the room, and he’s intoxicating you, his scent and taste and the feel of him under you, it already has you ready for him again. you moan around him, tightening your grip slightly, and his hips stutter.

“fuck,” he hisses, grasping the blanket beneath him. your eyes open, desperate to see him, but the way this man, this warrior, whines when you flick your tongue a certain way, you think that’s just as good as seeing his face.

din’s hips jolt at a particularly strong suck at his head. you hum at the taste of him on your tongue, distinct and so uniquely him, taking him deeper to taste more of him. when he hits your throat, your gag makes him cry out, voice thin from the pleasure, and in an attempt to calm himself down, he pulls you off of him, panting loudly. it had been far too long, not just since relief but since he had started fantasizing about this very position, and it’s not unlikely that if you continue, this will be over far too fast for his liking.

wordlessly, he pulls you off the floor and into his lap. strong arms wrap around your waist, and you gasp when he grabs the nape of your neck, guiding you into a kiss. it’s sloppy, a little unpracticed, but you’ve never felt so worked up. you wrap your arms around his neck, eagerly rolling your hips against his. “more,” you insist, grinning against his lips at his silent chuckle.

“what did i say?” his grip on the back of your neck tightens and his voice drops, suddenly serious. “needy.”

without answering, you reach between the two of you, fingers wrapping around his cock again before you drag it through your folds, pleased with the impatient grunt that falls from his lips. his fingertips dig into your waist and his teeth dig into your lip, trying to will you into giving him what he wants and you’re in no position to deny him this; you’re just as worked up as he is. with another long kiss, you sink down slowly, pressing your forehead to din’s. the room echoes with the relieved breaths that fall from both of you, with the increasingly passionate kisses the two of you share as you begin to adjust to his size, and with the lewd sounds of him filling you. he’s panting, holding you close in an effort to not drag you down on his cock. you’re barely halfway and already whining against his lips, and maker, he’s going to leave bruises to show his restraint, a sweat springing at his hairline every time you take him just a little deeper.

finally, with a high, quiet moan, you sink fully down on him, settling on his thighs for a moment of rest, adjusting to the way he stretches you. “din,” you breathe, tugging on his hair. you clench around him, your heart leaping when you feel him shudder. “you feel so good.”

“you’re so tight,” he huffs, thrusting up into you gently. “sweet little thing. i’ve been waiting for this.”

the admission makes you whimper. you kiss him hard, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get him just a little deeper and din’s head falls back, taking in a shaky breath before he’s thrusting into your again. leaning forward, you nip at his jaw. only he will see the marks you leave on him, but you’re unsure what happens when the two of you are done. you don’t know if it will ever happen again. you’re determined to leave your mark on him. you want him to remember this night when he looks in the mirror tomorrow, and the day after, and as long as your marks last. it sets a new fire under you, holding desperately to him while he fucks you, your teeth littering marks on his neck.

“mando,” you whine, sensitive clit rubbing over his pelvis. you want to say more. you want to tell him exactly how he’s making you feel, dizzy and hot and intoxicated by him, but you can’t exactly find the words. instead, you hang onto him like you’re going to lose him. he has you stuffed full and near tears with how deep he’s fucking you and for the first time, you have him. all of him. you feel him all over, breathing his scent in, finally pure and strong without the obstruction of his armor between the two of you. it’s a scent you never want to get rid of.

the way you squeeze him nearly has him coming, hands shaking even when pressed against your skin. he wants to pull you off him—needs to pull you off him—but you feel too good. his eyes roll back, jaw tight when you circle your hips just right, and with no warning, the same way he had pulled you on his lap, he rolls you off onto your cot.

“no, no, no,” you cry, reaching out for him. your fingertips barely brush his bare skin, and he shushes you quietly, grabbing your ankles as though he can see you perfectly well.

“you’re okay, mesh’la,” he says softly, pressing a sweet kiss to one of your calves. “i’m going to take care of you.”

din sinks to his knees, pressing his cheek to the inside of your knee, and you take in a sharp breath, his facial hair scratching pleasantly at the sensitive skin. “din,” you breathe, sitting up on your elbows. he only hums, soft lips pressing a line of sweet kisses up your inner thighs.

oh, he had been waiting for this. all of it, really, but this is his favorite daydream. his mind had worked up the most elaborate fantasies about what you would sound like, feel like, taste like, and his heart pounds at the idea of finally finding out. he’s not in the mood to tease you, not anymore, and his eyes flutter closed as he wraps his arms around your thighs and leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds with a satisfied hum.

you keen, reaching down for his hair without hesitation. the sharp tug makes him moan into your cunt, savoring the taste of you with nothing but pure delight. for a few minutes, all he wants is to taste as much of you as he can, but your quiet, little moans are no longer good enough for him. he licks a thick stripe up your slit and wraps his lips around your clit, tightening his grip around your thighs.

“oh, fuck,” you mewl, pulling on his hair harder. he flicks his tongue before he sucks your clit into his mouth, basking in all your needy little sounds.

din pulls away despite your desperate whine. “can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me, sweet girl,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses to your clit.

your back arches, pushing your hips further toward him. “please.”

as though he hasn’t even heard you, he continues, “but this pussy is mine now, isn’t it?”

those words are enough to have you clenching around nothing, the idea of din wanting you longer than just a night. “yes!” you cry, digging your heels into his back. “it’s yours. i’m yours, din. please let me come.”

his fingertips dig into your skin and his eyes roll back. he ducks his head down and the fervor with which he licks into you has your hips rolling against his face, so close to your release. the room echoes with the lewd sound of him between your legs and your eager moans, teetering right on the edge of another orgasm. your legs struggle against his hold as you writhe around on the cot, voice getting pitchy as he sucks your clit again, humming into you. whatever sound you’re making gets caught in your throat, your whole body tensing around him as you come again. you sob his name out, pulling his face closer and pushing your hips away, unable to decide whether you need more or rest.

din works you through your high with sweet kisses and quiet praises, nuzzling his bare cheeks against your inner thighs as you whine. “c’mere,” you slur, trying to pull him up by his hair.

he complies, allowing you to pull him into a tired, sloppy kiss in the haze of your orgasm. “can you give me one more?” he asks quietly, lining kisses across the bridge of your nose.

his wide hips settle between your legs, grinding his cock against your sensitivity and you shiver, scratching his scalp gently. “yeah,” you breathe, searching for his lips again. you smile against his lips at his sharp intake of breath, hips rolling toward yours in an effort to get him back inside of you.

din sinks his teeth into your lower lip, tugging gently. “roll over, cyar’ika.”

you barely feel like you can get the strength up to do it, even with his hands on your hips. with your hips raised in the air, you rest your forehead on your folded arms, pushing your hips back toward him eagerly. “i need it,” you huff, jumping when one of his large hands settles on your hips. “need you inside of me.”

“so impatient,” he mumbles, the tip of his cock prodding at your entrance. your whole body wracks with anticipation, pushing back against him and grunting when he pulls back. “you are not in charge here,” he hisses, slapping the swell of your ass sharply.

your yelp echoes throughout the small room, the sound fading into a low hum as you push your hips back. “i’m sorry,” you respond smally, reaching back to grab his wrist. “i’m sorry. please.”

his chest burns against your back as he leans over you to slide inside, choking out a moan into your ear. “perfect girl,” he spits, wrapping an arm around your waist. “take my cock so fucking well.”

you brows furrow, hips shifting until he’s brushing that perfect spot inside of you with every single thrust. still sensitive from your last orgasm, you can’t help the way you cry out at the stimulation. “right there,” you wail, your head falling from your arms as you grab helplessly at the blanket.

it feels so good that it nearly hurts, the tears that had dried after your first orgasm springing to your eyes again. “right there,” he repeats. “is that what’s going to make you come again? hm? is that the spot that’s going to have this pussy squeezing around me?”

your head feels foggy, unable to focus on anything other than the way he feels, not just inside of you but around you, too, his hot breath fanning over the side of your face, the heat of his skin warming you everywhere. one of his hands slithers between your body and the cot, finding your sensitive clit and drawing lazy, tight circles around it. “i— fuck, din,” you blubber. “it’s too much.”

“too much?” he asks gruffly, teeth sinking into your shoulder. you think the lapse in his movement will give you some relief to that unbearable ache growing between your thighs, but when his hips slow, his cock nestled as deep as it will go and your fingers still rubbing your clit, your hips jolt in a dazed panic. you can’t afford for him to stop, not when you’re so close again. “are you done yet?”

“i can take it,” you sob, fingers tightening in the flimsy blanket that covers your cot.

he’s beginning to lose control, his thighs slapping against yours as he fucks you, your face buried in the mattress as you blubber. din desperately tries to hold on but the way you cry for him leaves him reeling, counting backwards in his head to keep from coming too soon, and he’s unsure how much longer he’s going to last while you squeeze him so tight that he has to clench his teeth.

“c’mon, mesh’la,” he whispers in your ear, voice tight as he staves off his orgasm. “let me hear you.”

“din,” you whine, your thighs aching with how tight your muscles are. he hums, kissing the shell of your ear. his orgasm is already taking root in the pit of his stomach, so he pinches your clit gently.

“can you come for me? one last time?” he asks, but you’ve already clamped down on him, a broken moan falling from your lips as you come around him, inconsolably shaking around him, and there’s not a single bit of hope for him. he comes—hard—calling out your name and clutching at you, both of you riding out your highs in the darkness of the room.

after a long moment of nothing but the two of you breathing heavily, din pulls out with a broken moan, rolling to lie beside you on the cramped little cot. he’s never been good at this part—the after effects. he never knows exactly what to say, whether or not to cuddle, or if he should leave. in fact, he he’s already working himself up wondering exactly what he’s supposed to say, or if he should say anything. his eyes move in the black of the room, fingers reaching for you tentatively, ready to take the leap and pull you into his chest.

in the heavy silence, you finally give a tired laugh, rolling closer to him, right under his already open arm. “wow.”

“wow?” he repeats softly, and he can hear the mirthful lilt in your voice. it makes him feel a little better, a little more hopeful that he hasn’t entirely ruined your relationship.

“i’m just surprised that this is what all our fighting was leading up to.” it’s a joke, really, but it makes his lips turn down in a frown. after so many long, unbearable days of fighting, his heart sank at the reminder of how short the two of you had been with one another. the way that he’d treated you. he had never treated you that way before, and he had never wanted to, and even through the veil of post coital bliss, regret begins to eat at him.

“i’m...sorry,” he finally whispers, fingers intertwining with yours.

you smile, lifting your hands up and pressing a kiss to the back of his. “i know,” you assure him. “i am, too.”

and then he’s quiet again. it usually means that he’s searching for exactly the right words, so you allow him his time, pressing your cheek to his chest and breathing him in, waiting for him to finally sort out whatever is going on in his head. “i don’t—i dont want you to think that this was...something i did…” he stumbles through the idea, but you exhale softly, opting to put him out of his misery.

“mando,” you cut him off, turning your head to kiss his shoulder gently. “i know better than anyone that none of your decisions are careless.”

din chuckles quietly, relief flooding through him and relaxing all his muscles. “still, i shouldn’t have treated you that way,” he insists. “this wasn’t how i imagined this happening.”

a smitten smile pulls at your lips. “well, you’ll find some way to make it up to me,” you hum. he rubs a large hand over your back, goosebumps following as the cold air of the room rushes back to your skin. you lean away from him only to tug on the blanket. “in the meantime, i’m exhausted. let’s get some sleep.”

for the first time since he can remember, din sleeps through the night.

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

catch me if you can

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Erwin Smith, Kenny Ackerman

Genres: Mystery / Romance

Summary: The Ackerman duo. Just the mention of this name filled Hange with so many feelings. Mostly, when she reread the files of their cases over and over, until her eyes watered, she felt pricking annoyance. Sometimes, when she stared at the dead bodies of those scarce unfortunates who stumbled upon their crimes, she was filled with hatred and a pushing need for revenge. Hange couldn’t deny, however, there were times when she marveled at the impudence of their crimes. And, when she was investigating the Ackerman’s cases and saw just how meticulously planned they all were, she couldn’t help but feel something close to fascination.No one knew who they were. No one had seen their faces, no one knew their true names. Almost everyone knew of their crimes.Hange was determined to unravel every last one of their secrets. She will put an end to their crimes and then she will get the elusive Ackermans behind bars.

Chapter 12/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Сhapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“Oi, lady, have you gone mute? Or did you call just to give me a silent treatment?”

Kenny, that voice belonged to Kenny. Kenny was just on the other line, Levi had finally found him, in the most unexpected way, in the most unexpected place.

Levi wanted to say so much, wanted to yell and scream, wanted to curse at his uncle before his throat was dry. But his tongue felt heavy, stuck to the roof of his mouth, and in that moment, the only thing he could manage was a breathy whisper,

“Kenny?”

The only reply he got was silence, which grew in intensity with every passing second. Levi could sense Hange’s bewilder and shock, her hard gaze was burning the back of his head. But Levi ignored her for the time being. He’d deal with her later, after he’d get out of Kenny just where the fuck he was hiding.

However… Kenny still didn’t give an answer. The bastard was going to end the call and throw away that phone, he was going to slip away and disappear again. Levi couldn’t let him. He was sick of chasing Kenny, of being three steps behind him.

It was time they talk, whether Kenny wanted to or not. Levi tightened his hold on the phone, lamenting that he couldn’t fist his hands in the lapels of Kenny’s stupid long coat to give him a firm, rough shake. Then, perhaps, Kenny would finally get his head out of his ass.

“I know you’re still here,” Levi gritted, his exasperation slipping through, “So stop fucking around, and start talking.”

Finally, that earned Levi a reaction. Kenny sighed, the sound alarmingly weary. “I told you to quit, didn’t I?”

“I couldn’t, and you know that.”

Kenny let out another sigh, this time accompanying it by a colorful curse. “Are you still running around city with that detective in tow?”

Levi chanced a glance of Hange. She was staring back at him, impatience written all over her face.

“Yes. What of it?”

“Can you shake her off?”

Could Levi do that? Possibly. But did he want to do it? Not particularly. He and Hange had an agreement, after all – Levi gets his uncle, Hange gets her missing girl. Fair and square. He wasn’t going to lie to her again, even for his uncle’s sake.

“I can’t. And cut the bullshit, Kenny. Tell me where the fuck are you.”

There was another beat of silence, this one was aggravating Levi a lot more. He meant to snap at Kenny again, but just as he was opening his mouth, a vile curse on the tip of his tongue, Kenny said,

“Remember the house we used to live in? When you mother was still alive? You will find me there.”

Levi took a deep breath, a million of questions ready to spill out. The call was disconnected before he could utter a single word.

Of course, what else he was expecting from his uncle? Cooperation? Clear communication? That was never their way.

What he found surprising, however, was that Kenny was hiding in their old house. Levi would have never suspected it as his hiding place. He didn’t know that house still existed at all, he thought Kenny had gotten rid of it a long time ago – sold it away or destroyed.

But he hadn’t. And now Levi didn’t know what to think of it. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about going back to his childhood home, a house he shared with his mother, a place where he had spent the happiest of his years, before the biggest tragedy of his life struck.

Would be overwhelmed with sweet nostalgia? Or be struck by immerse grief?

Or, maybe, he would be too occupied with yelling at his uncle to notice any kind of different, more solemn feeling. The third option was certainly the most preferred one.

Turning to face Hange, Levi was meaning to explain everything to her. But as their eyes met, the quiet of the night city was interrupted by a shrill sound of her ringtone.

Hange winced, silently apologizing, and took out her phone, putting it to her ear. Levi frowned, wondering who could call her this late in the evening. He had his suspicion, of course…

It was confirmed when Hange answered the call with ‘Erwin! Is everything alright?’.

Puffing an annoyed breath, Levi paced a few steps away, giving Hange at least the illusion of privacy. But as his legs carried him away from her, his ears strained, catching every bit of conversation that he could.

However, understanding what Hange and her boss were talking about proved to be quite a task, when her replies consisted mostly of ‘Yes’, ‘No’, ‘Huh? What do you mean’ and ‘It can’t be!’. Hange ended the call in less than a minute, finishing it with a decisive ‘I’ll be there as soon as possible’.

She approached Levi immediately after.

“We need to go to the precinct.”

What? Like hell they did, they finally found Kenny, what could be more important than this?

“Reiss showed up there.” Hange explained, answering his unasked question and furious expression. “He wants to give a statement about Historia’s disappearance.”

Well… that changed the outset a bit, Reiss’ statement was if not useful, then certainly intriguing, but they found Kenny. In Levi’s eyes, that was still the more important clue. Not to mention… that was his initial and only goal.

“I know where Kenny is,” he told Hange, expecting it to change her plans completely.

He should have known that steering Hange away from something she had already set her mind on wouldn’t be so easy.

“We’ll go there right after I take that statement from Reiss.”

She looked so calm and rational, a stark contrast to the storm inside of Levi. Did she really not understand how significant their finding was? Levi was ready to growl from frustration.

He took a step forward, his eyes narrowed. “Hange—”

“Levi.” she moved closer as well, almost invading his personal space. “We will do this my way, or you will do nothing at all.”

Oh, so she was threatening him now? As if that would ever work on him.

“Alright,” he conceded, crossing hands on his chest. “Let’s split up then. You go to Reiss and your darling boss, I go to Kenny.”

Levi thought he’d struck gold with his suggestion. Both of them would get what they wanted without sacrificing precious time. It was perfect, wasn’t it?

Hange evidently didn’t think so. She laughed in his face, stating, “Don’t take me for a fool. Do you really think I’d let you go to see your uncle all by yourself?”

So that was it. The good old argument making a return.

“Really, Hange? After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me?”

Perhaps, some of his hurt had reflected on his face, because Hange suddenly deflated, something close to shame flashing in her eyes. “It’s not about you,” she mumbled, looking to the side.

“Not about me?” this spurred his anger even more. “Then, who is it about?”

Hange clenched her jaw. “It’s about your uncle, Levi. I trust you, but I cannot and will not trust him. Would you have felt differently, if you were in my place?”

Hange’s concern and doubts were certainly… reasonable. He knew Kenny would never hurt him, not intentionally, but would he feel the same if he didn’t know him his whole life? If they weren’t family?

Of course, he wouldn’t. And Hange had even more reasons to distrust him, fighting her on that was futile. He could try some more to convince her, could try and make a run for it, but he’ll just end up wasting even more time that was now so precious.

“Alright,” his shoulders slumped, as he surrendered. Arguing with Hange had a way of making him extremely exhausted. “Let’s go to your shitty precinct.”

“Really?” Hange raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You agreed that easily? I thought I would need to handcuff you…”

Well, wouldn’t that be an interesting twist of events. Maybe, he would have enjoyed it. Once the embarrassment wore off, of course.

“Thanks for sparing me then.”

“Mm,” Hange patted his shoulder with a smile. “Don’t do anything stupid, and you’re totally safe.”

Ah, what a relief.

“Shall we go, then?” she started walking, her arm already lifted to hail a taxi. She didn’t even wait to hear his answer.

Levi cursed and hurried to catch up with her.

___

The whole time they spent in the car that was headed to the fucking police precinct, Levi felt like he was sitting on needles. There was another reason why he wasn’t crazy about going to that place, and, although, it was nearly not as important as his primary one, now it was making his anxiety rise to drastic heights.

Here he was, semi-willingly heading to the police precinct again. To the place that swarmed with cops, where some of Hange’s colleagues were probably aware that he was a criminal, where he would once again meet with Erwin fucking Smith.

Their last interaction ended somewhat amicably, but what could guarantee this one would be just as successful? With man as cunning as he was, who could be sure what was going inside that big brain of his?

Besides… there was another problem, hanging heavily on his mind. And in the silence of the taxi car, Levi decided to try and deal with it.

“Hey,” he started cautiously, attracting Hange’s attention. She shifted in her seat to look more comfortably at him. Despite that, Levi kept his gaze trained forward. “We’re going to meet Kenny soon, and, hopefully, untangle all this mess, so… have you decided what will happen with him afterwards?”

What will happen with me afterwards, was the question Levi wisely chose not to voice out.

“What will happen to your uncle?” Hange pursed her lips, a point finger tapping at her chin. “I don’t know yet. I guess it depends on the solution to this riddle.”

“And his…” theirs, “previous crimes? Are you going to just forget about them?”

“I can’t really do anything else about it. Technically, we have no suspects or any kind of damning evidence. Technically, that case has been closed almost two months ago.”

“So…” he put his hands into fists, keeping them from picking at the fabric of his pants. He still didn’t lift his face, reluctant to look into her eyes. He still didn’t ask the question that tormented him the most, afraid to hear the answer.

“After all of this is over… you’re free to go,” apparently, Hange knew what he was thinking about, even without him asking the question out loud. “Like I said, there is nothing I can do to pin those thefts on you or your uncle, and since, unlike your uncle, you haven’t kidnapped a young girl…”

“Oh. So you won’t try to put me behind bars anymore?”

He was almost disappointed to hear about it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Hange protested. “I would love to do that, but I have no means to do it.”

“The horrible bureaucracy saved me?”

That earned him a delighted chuckle. Levi’s chest swelled with pride because of this little achievement. “Unfortunately, you’re not the only criminal that got away because of it.”

“All the more reasons to thank it then.”

“Or curse it vilely.”

Levi shrugged, his lips curling in a smirk. “Depends on the point of view, I guess.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and when Levi chanced a glance at Hange, he found that she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her face was turned to the window, her fingers drumming on the seat between them in a slow, irregular manner. She seemed pensive. Levi wondered about the reason for it.

“Hey, since we started talking about it…” the rhythm created by her fingers grew stronger, more erratic. “Have you decided what are you going to do after we finish the case?”

Had he thought about? He hadn’t had the time. But even if he had, what was there to think about? He didn’t have a lot of options.

“I remember you mentioning some kids from Singapore,” Hange continued. “Are you going to go back to them?”

Going back to the brats? That didn’t sound all that bad. Just this morning they’ve sent him a photo of the three of them, telling that they’ve settled comfortably in Jean’s summer house. They said that they’ve missed him. Levi was feeling the same. But was that enough to build a life there, so far away from his home?

He could stay with Kenny, but what if Kenny went to prison? Would there be a reason for Levi to stay then?

“You know… I think we made a pretty good team. So if you ever tire of being a vile criminal…” Hange trailed off, letting Levi fill the blanks himself.

If he understood what Hange was offering correctly, then… Oh. Levi felt his chest warm up, moving downwards, spreading that pleasant fluttering to his stomach.

Hange still was staring at the window, refusing to meet his eyes. Her reflection, however, was perfectly visible to Levi, and the slight rosy color on her cheeks made his own heat up.

“What, are you proposing I become your crime solving buddy?”

Hange shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I could use some of your skills.”

“I’ll think about it then,” he said, mirroring her detached voice.

Hange faced to him with a beam shining on her lips. It was enough to make Levi smile back.

___

Despite the late hour, the precinct was bustling with activity. Remembering his last visit and the half-dead building he found that time, Levi wondered if he just caught the police station on a particularly slow night, or if that was how it always operated, and the amount of officers running around that they saw now was unusual.

"So Reiss is actually here," Hange muttered. "Or something really bad has happened. Can't imagine what else could cause this commotion."

Oh, his assertion was correct then. The precinct was so active just because of Reiss’ arrival.

Hange walked through the precinct with confidence in her stride. She greeted every officer they passed with a quick nod, they answered her in kind, and, thankfully, most of them were too busy to pay attention to Levi. He would love if it stayed that way for the rest of their visit.

They took the stairs, crossed a couple of hallways, turned a few corners, and there they were - walking up to Hange's office. There were a lot more familiar faces there - Levi could see Nana— something, talking with two officers, and Mike, leaning against the coffee machine at the other side of the room.

Hange immediately changed their trajectory, heading to him.

"Mike!" she shouted, causing him to turn in their direction.

As they approached, Levi raised his hand in greeting. When they were close enough, Mike raised his hand too, but instead of a friendly salute, Levi received a dizzying, lip shuttering punch.

Woah, apparently he was not only a towering height, but a mountain of muscles as well, the force of that punch reverberated through his skin and almost sent Levi flying through the air to land right on his ass. Mike certainly wasn't going easy on him.

Comprehending what was going on around him became a vexing task after that hell of a punch, but Hange's loud, laced with anger voice still cut through the fog.

"Mike! What the fuck? Have you gone mad?"

Mike's answer was much quieter, Levi only barely managing to catch 'You're the one to talk..."

Whether Hange heard her tall friend or not, she gave no reaction to that line. Instead, her strong arms wrapped themselves around Levi's shoulders, making the ache in his jaw turn into a barely noticeable dull. She made him face her, her fingers gripping his chin. Despite the outrage swirling in her gaze, her touch was gentle, more like a caress.

"God, Han, he's alright, it was just a punch, I'm sure he had worse. And, he more than deserved it."

Hange looked up at Mike, long enough to give him a death glare and hiss, "Shut the fuck up now."

When her eyes were back on Levi, her voice softened considerably. "Hey, Levi, are you alright?"

He gave her a nod, tenderly clenching and unclenching his jaw. Seemed like... Mike was right. He did have it worse.

Besides... having Hange so close, seeing that worried look in her beautiful brown eyes was... extremely pleasant. Enough to make him want to remain in this position for a while longer, just to enjoy that blessed feeling for another moment.

"I told you everything was fine with him," Mike grumbled suddenly, startling Levi. With Hange in front of him, the rest of the world was left in blurs, even the man who assaulted him had faded to the background. "Now, leave the thief alone and hurry to Erwin. The big man is already in his office."

That got Hange's attention. "By the big man you mean..."

"Yep, it's Reiss. I’m sure I don't have to tell why making him wait is extremely unwise."

"Got it, got it," Hange pushed the hair back from her face, taking a step back, much to Levi's disappointment.

"Don't you worry, I'll take care of your buddy," Mike reached out to Levi, and the arms that Hange still had around him tightened. Levi felt an illogically massive amount of pleasure.

"Mike, don't you even think—"

"I won't hit him anymore. I swear," he added, when Hange just kept giving him a look full of skepticism. She left it on for another second, and then nodded, letting Levi go.

She marched off to the office without another word or even glance. Without her, Levi was suddenly too cold. And the jaw ache returned with vigor.

"Here," Mike thrusted a handkerchief in Levi's hands, pointing to his still bloodied chin. Levi accepted it with a grateful nod, wiping the blood with a disgruntled grimace.

"Now let's go, I won’t waste my smoke break babysitting you." Mike pushed him forward, back to where Levi and Hange had come from.

As he finally got a good look around the room, Levi noticed that they had an audience, quite big and intrigued one. They kept staring at him as Mike led him to the elevator. Thankfully, no one uttered a single word, or, god forbid, a question.

Levi would have breathed out in relief once the elevator doors closed, if his companion wasn't so... unnerving. Mike didn't say a word, didn't as much as glance in his direction while they rode the elevator. He was silent when they left the elevator. He was silent as they moved towards the exit. He was silent as they walked outside. He was silent when he lit up his cigarette, was silent when he offered another one to Levi. Mike was silent before he took his first drag and after he let the smoke out. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and only then he fixed his eyes on Levi.

Levi held his breath, the tips of fingers trembling in anticipation for what was to come. Hopefully, not another punch.

"I was with Han, you know? When she found that note of yours. When she realized who you actually were."

Oh... Then Mike's ire was more than justifiable. And Levi digressed – a punch would be probably a less painful option than having this conversation.

"Did she..."

"No. I've never seen Hange cry, but—" Mike put cigarette back to his lips, inhaling it slowly, as though calming himself down. Levi waited for his answer with a bated breath. "I've also never seen her look so lost. At first, she wasn't even angry or hurt, just confused. I couldn't bear to see that look on her face. So when today I saw you waltz in our precinct like that, with Hange by your side..." he trailed, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry." Levi said.

He really was. He didn't mean to, didn't wish to hurt Hange. That was never his intention. And yet, he still did hurt her. That mistake would weigh on his soul forever.

"I know you are," Mike replied, surprisingly easy. "I used to think you're a scumbag and that my nose has failed me…"

Shit, he was really serious about this whole nose thing?

"But it turns out you're not that bad. You did lie and broke Hange's heart," and for that, Levi already received a punch in the face. "However, Erwin told me what happened yesterday. You really called him and asked to take Hange home?" Mike chuckled. "Man, that took some balls."

...To put it lightly. The memories of his last clash with Erwin still elicited a shiver from him.

"I was actually worried he'd throw me in jail," Levi confessed. "I'm surprised he didn't."

"Oh, believe me, he was very tempted to." Mike revealed.

"Then why didn't he?"

Mike shrugged, shaking off the ash from his cigarette. "Because it wasn't his call, it was Hange's. Whatever that she sees in you, it is enough for our Han to trust you. And Erwin respects her enough to not get involved in that."

Oh. That was actually reassuring. Perhaps, now Levi could stop feeling like a naughty schoolboy in Erwin's presence.

"But if you make the mistake of hurting Hange again," and just like that, the reassurance was gone. "We will make sure that you regret it. Next time, I won't be pulling back my punches."

So that hit was Mike going easy on him? Fucking hell. Levi hoped he wouldn't anger that man again. His skull may not survive it.

As Mike grew silent once again, Levi finally remembered the cigarette he was still holding in between his fingers. It almost burned out, he hurried to take a drag before it went out completely.

He regretted his decision almost immediately. Mike had a fucking terrible taste in tobacco.

Discreetly, he put the cigarette out and threw it into a trashcan.

"What do you think they're even doing there?" Levi raised a finger in the general direction of where Hange, Erwin and Reiss were. "Reiss showing up, it's a big thing, isn't it?"

"The biggest one we had in a while. Have you seen that shit inside? The precinct isn't that lively even during daytime. The bigger commotion would have happened only if we got you Ackermans in handcuffs."

Luckily, that would never happen.

"And? Do you think something... useful might come out of his visit?"

"Don't know," Mike stared down at his cigarette, rolling it between his fingers. "To be honest, I thought that Hange's new case was just another dead end. But now guy as big as Reiss gets involved? I guess it's more complicated than I expected it to be."

Complicated? That was one way to put it. Levi was still baffled by the notion that Kenny was working with Frieda Reiss. Clearly, this case was much, much more complicated than they've anticipated. Clearly, he needed to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.

As though hearing his thoughts, Mike put his cigarette out. "C'mon, let's get you back before Hange bites my head off."

"Doubt that four-eyes will care so much about me."

Mike raised an eyebrow, his face screaming bullshit. But he said nothing, only smiled enigmatically and patted his shoulder.

"Whatever makes it easier to sleep at night, man."

___

Inside of Erwin's office was brighter than Hange had ever remembered seeing. Usually he used only two sources of light - his battered desk lamp and computer screen. But today, the ceiling lights were on. Hange didn't know that he even had them.

What's more, for the first time in a while, the leather couch standing beside his desk was occupied - by Reiss and a woman Hange had never seen before. Although, Hange had never seen her, that didn't mean she didn't know her. The hair color, the face structure - it was almost identical. Eyes, however, were different. Historia had definitely inherited them from her father.

Compared to Reiss’ bright ones, Alma’s eyes seemed practically lifeless. Her expression was completely neutral, like she wasn’t entirely there, her thoughts a long distance away from Erwin’s office.

So that woman was the mysterious mother? Hange longed to hear what she had to say.

"Sorry for the wait," she flashed everyone in the room a smile and swiftly strolled inside, taking a seat across from Erwin.

"You're dressed very smartly this night, detective Zoe. I do hope I didn't interrupt your date."

The smile didn't slip of her lips, as Hange shifted, facing Reiss. "I appreciate the concern, but it is uncalled for. Nothing more important than my job."

"Your date must be very understanding. Is that the same fella I saw you with last time? I thought you'd broken it off."

Ah, so Reiss was keeping tabs on her? Lovely.

Luckily, Hange was keeping tabs on him as well. She shifted her gaze to Reiss’ companion.

"And can I ask you who is that, Mr Reiss? Is this your—"

"That's my secretary," Reiss' smile became just a fraction more strained. Hange internally cheered. "Alma."

The same name that was listed in Historia's birth certificate. That bit of doubt Hange still had, now vanished without a trace.

"She's got valuable information regarding your recent case. And since you and I are already acquitted, I decided to accompany her."

"How nice and generous of you," Hange told Reiss, before returning to his secretary. "It's nice to meet you, Alma," she put her hand out for a handshake. Alma accepted it, albeit weakly. And only after receiving a nod from Reiss. Interesting. And creepy. "Why have you come to see me?"

The question was directed on Alma. But Reiss was the one who answered it.

"Alma has something to share regarding the disappearance of her daughter."

"Oh?" Hange shared a look with Erwin. His bush eyebrows were up to his hairline. So he had no idea about it, huh? Well, wasn't it good to finally be one step ahead of him?

But for the moment, Hange had to feign shock as well.

She cast her eyes down, hands dropping to her lap. "I was under the impression that Krista was an orphan." Then, with a slight frown, she added, "Why didn't you report her missing then? We caught news of her disappearance almost a week later."

"I..."

Alma paled, her hands began to tremble. Hange's grin began to spread, she almost got them—

But then Reiss— damn him— interfered. He covered Alma's hands with his, holding them gently, like a caring father.

"Alma and Krista had just recently reconnected," he explained in a quiet, saddened voice.

"Yes," Alma confirmed. Seemed like Reiss' support has given her the needed strength - she sounded surer now. But her gaze kept its strange detachment. "Krista and I rarely talk. I had abandoned her at the orphanage when she was just a newborn, so there are obviously... some tensions between us."

Despite the emotional flavor of her story, Alma was anything but. She was talking about her missing daughter and the rocking relationship that bounded them, yet nothing of it was mirrored in her. Her voice didn't waver, no muscle twitched on her face. Alma looked bored, like she was talking about something more trivial than even weather. Damn it, even Ackerman would have done a better job at pretending.

Although, perhaps, Hange was judging his acting skills a little too harshly. Earlier that evening, his kiss was more than just convincing. Hange felt tingle in her lips at the mere thought.

The sound of Erwin clearing his throat brought her back to present, rather abruptly.

"That is a very tragic story, Miss... Alma, but what is the reason for your visit?"

"Oh right," she freed her hands from underneath Reiss' and grasped her purse, opening it. "I found this on my lawn."

After a moment of rummaging through the purse, Alma laid before Hange a phone that was wrapped in a cellophane bag. Huh, for a simple secretary she knew more than enough about preserving evidence. Not to mention that if Hange found the phone of her missing daughter lying on the lawn, preserving evidence would be the last thing on her mind. But, oh well, what wasn't suspicious about that woman?

Reaching out to Erwin, Hange silently asked him to pass the sterile gloves. Any other day she wouldn’t think twice about simply grabbing the piece of evidence, but if that's how they wanted to play, she would have to indulge them.

Once the latex was pulled onto her long fingers, Hange took the phone - eagerly, impatiently. It all might be just a ruse, and she'd be damned, but she was intrigued by it.

The phone wasn't in the best shape - a large crack ran through the screen, the sides of it were covered in bumps, and at the bottom of it— oh, just a speck, but it was undeniably blood.

Hange shivered at the thought about its origin.

Once unlocked, the phone destroyed the little doubts she had. It really belonged to Historia, the picture on the lock screen confirmed it. The photo showed Historia, who was smiling at the camera with all of her loveliness, and Ymir, who was facing away, her lips at Historia's cheek. Ah, so that's why she was so dead set on saving her? Interesting. And so romantic. Hange didn't expect such a thing from Ymir.

"You found it on your lawn, right?" Erwin asked, signaling Hange to pass him the phone. Once she did, he looked at it, with both skepticism and curiosity.

"Yes," Alma said. "I called Mr. Reiss as soon as I did."

"Alma hopes that the phone would shed some light on where Krista disappeared."

"Hm." Hange couldn't shake off the feeling that she was walking straight into a trap. Why did Reiss decided to finally act, and why today of all days? Was he aware that they got to one of his daughters, and now were close to finding another one? Did he even care? And what was the importance of the phone? It was some sort of distraction or diversion, Hange was sure of it. But for now, it would have to remain a mystery. As suspicious as Reiss' actions were, there was a more pressing matter now. They had to get to Kenny Ackerman, and get out of him everything he was willing to share. Hopefully, with Levi by her side, he'd be much more amenable.

"Thank you for your cooperation," getting out of off her stupor, Hange smiled and shook first Reiss', then Alma's hand. "If we find anything regarding Historia's whereabouts, we'll alert you immediately."

"Krista." Reiss spoke in a voice so low that Hange had to take a double take to confirm that yes, that scary tone was coming from the honest, kindhearted, absolutely innocent politician.

"What?"

"Krista, Alma's daughter is named Krista. And you were just talking about some Historia."

Some Historia, huh?

"My mistake," Hange chuckled, rubbing her neck. "It was a long day, sorry."

"Forgive that slight mishap. Detective Zoe works day and night to find your daughter." Erwin chimed in, calming everyone down with his soft, unassuming smile. Hange could barely keep her delightful giggle.

Your daughter, Erwin said, while looking Reiss in the eyes. So he already caught on? Hange wasn't surprised.

"Thank you for the visit and have a good night, Mr. Reiss, Miss Alma. My assistant will walk you to the door."

Reiss nodded, his eyes still darker than a night's sky. He helped Alma get to her feet and led her to the door, where Nifa, Erwin's assistant, was already waiting with a tired gaze and polite smile.

They left, without looking back even once. Alma didn't say goodbye to Hange, didn't grab her arm and beg to bring her daughter back home. God, that woman could have at least tried to do a more believable act.

Once the door was closed, and they were left alone, the amicable expression was gone from Erwin's face. His jaw was set, his lips pressed in a line, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I hope I don't have to tell you that you're walking on a thin ice, Hange. And that this endeavor of your—"

"I know."

"And working with that Ackerman—"

"I know." Hange repeated, firmer this time. She knew the dangers, knew about possible consequences. Last night, Erwin made sure to explain it to her in vivid details. "But this girl is in trouble, Erwin. I can't let it go before she's safe."

"Your heart was always your biggest weakness," the stoic mask on his face hardened, and then cracked, revealing a fond smile. "But it's also your biggest strength. Don't lose it."

Standing up, Hange hid Historia’s phone inside the pocket of her jacket, then flashed Erwin a cheeky grin. "Is that an order, Captain?"

"It absolutely is, detective. You may go now. Someone is very impatient."

Hange followed Erwin's gaze, turning to the door. Even through the closed door, Levi's silhouette was transparent. He was pacing back and forth, and Hange could bet that he was scowling. She confirmed that guess as soon as she left Erwin's office.

"What the fuck had taken you so long? C'mon, four-eyes, we have to hurry."

Right, Kenny Ackerman was waiting for them. Kenny Ackerman who most definitely had the answers, who probably knew where Historia was. Hange couldn't allow another second go to waste.

She quickly skipped to where Levi was standing, prompting him to start moving.

"Let's go then! The solution awaits!"

___

"Wait!" Hange stopped them as soon as they were out of the precinct. "We need to call Ymir."

Levi groaned. Why, oh why, would she want to call that impossible brat?

"We wouldn't have found your uncle if it wasn't for her help. The only thing she asked in return is to find Historia. We owe her that much."

Perhaps, that was true, but Hange hadn't considered one very important factor - Levi really, really didn't want to face Ymir again. The last embarrassment was still too fresh in his mind.

"We haven't found Historia yet," he tried to argue.

"But we're as close as ever," Hange chirpily replied, overthrowing his whole reasoning with just one hopeful sentence.

Well, his battle was doomed before it had even begun. Levi lamented this loss with a sigh. "You're too kind, four-eyes."

"And you're too cranky," she retaliated, following that devastating blow with a mighty clasp to his back. "Call taxi for us while I talk with Ymir, okay? You know where to go, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sobering a little. Amidst his banter with Hange, he had completely forgotten that right, he was going to visit his childhood home, the same house where he had found the breathless body of his mother at the ripe age of nine. The feelings this trip was awakening in him were still unclear.

"And where exactly are we going?" whether his face, voice or general stiffness betrayed him or Hange was just that attuned to his emotions, but worry took residence in her gaze. She froze with phone raised to her ear, waiting for his answer.

"It's at the edge of the city."

"Near the docks? Some kind of abandoned warehouse?"

"Um." Something pointy stuck in his throat, making it hard to speak. However, Hange's gaze didn't waver, as she continued to expect a continuation from him. Swallowing his discomfort, Levi muttered, "We're going to my childhood home."

"Oh." The hand holding the phone lowered. Hange took a step in his direction. For one terrifying second Levi thought she was going to hug him. But, apparently, she decided to spare him from further embarrassment and concluded that gripping his shoulders tightly was enough. She stared straight at him, and in the darkness her eyes shone with sincerity. "If you want - or need - to talk about this, I'm ready to listen. If you—"

Fucking hell, compared to Hange, every other human seemed like an utter piece of shit.

"It's fine, four-eyes. It's just the house where I found my dead mom."

Saying that was obviously a mistake. Hange gasped, her eyes widening. Her hands on his shoulders tightening. "Levi, that's—"

"Yeah, one hell of a traumatic experience, especially for a brat who barely turned nine."

Another wrong line. Now Hange looked close to tears. Levi didn't know what urge was stronger - to wrap himself around Hange and ask her to never let go, or tear his hair out.

"Listen, I've dealt with it a long time ago," he didn't, hadn't even tried, but today and right now was very obviously the wrong time to go soul-searching and uncover what consequences his mother's death had on his psyche. "Don't worry about it."

"I can't help it, but if you insist..."

With that lost expression on her face, Hange looked so damn adorable, Levi was pissed off at himself for being so unwilling to look away. Thankfully, she saved him from this heavy duty by being the first one to turn around, the phone back to her ear. Levi turned away as well, escaping temptation. His finger was just hovering over the order button, when it dawned at him.

"Wait!" he pulled Hange back to him. "Did you just call me Levi?"

It wasn't the first time this evening as well, but all the previous occasions had him too occupied with something else to notice that slight change.

"Where did the damned Ackerman go?"

"Um." If he hadn't spent the previous two days learning just how bold and forward Hange was, he'd say that right now, she looked ashamed. The red in her cheeks certainly spoke in favor of that theory. "I'll be dealing with two Ackermans from now on, right? So to avoid any confusion..."

That was a very logical, reasonable explanation. So why Levi wanted it to be something more— personal?

"The taxi will be here in five," he said, distancing himself from these pointless, foolish thoughts.

"Ymir said she'll be waiting there for us," Hange nodded readily. "Shall we go?"

And so they went.

___

By the time Levi and Hange walked out of the taxi, Ymir was already waiting for them. She was standing near the sidewalk, leaning against a shiny black motorcycle.

Levi rolled his eyes at the sight of it. Of course, Ymir rode a motorcycle. As though she wasn't already a personification of every possible lesbian cliché.

"Oh what a baby!" squealing, Hange ran up to the motorcycle, looking it over with eyes burning from excitement. "I'm sure Historia would love to take a ride on this beast!"

"What can I say?" Ymir huffed, puffing her chest. The smirk on her face was absolutely horrendous. Even Kenny couldn't quite recreate a look of that much self-confidence. "Chicks dig bikes."

"That they certainly do."

Aha, so Hange liked motorcycles. Levi made a mental note about that.

He then left behind Hange's shrilling coos and Ymir's bratty replies, taking a step closer to the house he had grown up in.

It was dark now and seemingly empty, but years ago it was always filled with light. It was filled with life - his mom's cheerful laughter, his uncle's merry jokes, Levi's own insistent, curious questions about everything he encountered. It was filled with love— but now, it was just a house - old and cold.

Although, other than that, it looked exactly like Levi had remembered. A light green house in the suburbs, with a garden, little white fence and even playground, all of it was a gift from Uri Reiss, the only real friend his uncle had.

Oh, how his mother loved that house. How she enjoyed tending to the garden, how she laughed when she watched Levi play on a swing. They were happy in this house, the happiest Levi had ever been.

Standing before it now, after so many years, felt strange. Noticing all the little signs that someone had been looking after the house - the lawn was moved, the trash sorted and neatly packed, even the lane was swept - was even stranger. And he used to think that Kenny had sold the house long time ago. Evidently, the old bastard was more sentimental that he let on.

"Hey," a gentle voice was in his ear, strong hands on his shoulders. "Do you need a moment or—"

He was grateful for Hange's concern. But that concern - as sweet as it was - was misplaced. They didn't have time for it.

"I'm fine," he assured, lamenting that he was too prideful to take Hange by the hand. Not that he needed it, but— it certainly would make him feel better. "Let's get moving."

They did, all three of them in perfect unison, and be it her detective's sense or simple intuition, or, perhaps, Hange really could read him as easily as a book, but she took her hand in his, squeezing his palm reassuringly. It certainly worked, her touch was like a magic that chased away the tense feeling in his muscles. Now, Levi could almost breathe freely.

When they reached the door, Hange lifted her free hand, probably with intent to knock. What a dork, Levi thought fondly. Pushing her aside, he kicked the door open with one mighty hit of his leg.

"Levi!" Hange yelled in shock. "You can't just—"

"My house, remember?"

Without another word, Levi passed the threshold, Hange and Ymir trailing after him.

Even engulfed in darkness, the inside of the house looked just like he remembered - soft, crème carpet under their feet, fern that had grown so much bigger standing near the door, a photo of—

Oh. Levi averted his eyes with lightning speed. The last thing he wanted to do was to start crying. Especially with Ymir present.

The house seemed emptier with each step they took. Doubt started to arise within Levi, and along with it - his anger. If that son of a bitch lied to him—

But then he heard it. Just at the edge of his hearing, but that sound was as familiar as it was unmistakable. The sound of Kenny playing with his lighter.

He hurried in the direction of that sound, it led him to the living room. The room was dark, the only source of light was the old TV-screen that did a very poor job of illuminating the rest of the room. Levi could barely see the outlines of the couch, but the figure lying on it— oh, Levi knew it so well.

The sight of Kenny with a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other was all too familiar. And just as infuriating. Still holding onto Hange, Levi marched to his uncle with the full intent of kicking his insolent ass.

Kenny shot to his feet moments before they reached him.

"Levi!" he spread his arms in a greeting gesture. Levi's scowl darkened. "You brought friends!"

"Kenny—"

"And before you or your detective—" Kenny swept his eyes all over Hange, his grin growing, "friend punch me, let me show you something."

"Something?" it came from Hange, who sounded simultaneously intrigued, cautious and fucking furious.

"Someone," Kenny corrected with an enigmatic wink. Before Levi or Hange could force him to explain, he shouted, his voice carrying over the entire house, "Girl! Come here, you have guests!"

There was a beat of silence, then, they heard a sound of hurried footsteps that came from the upper floor. Levi held his breath. Hange did too, and, holding her hand, he could feel her pulse beating strongly.

At last, the door to the living room opened.

"What the hell do you want from me again?"

Levi's jaw dropped. Dressed in lilac top and shorts, with her hair up in a messy ponytail she looked a bit different from the perfect girl from the photos, but truth was impossible to deny.

Before them— in the flesh, stood Historia Reiss.

#fuck i don't have a silly joke this time soooo just enjoy?#levihan

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