#online nesting table | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bedlam-barbie · 5 months ago

Text

Attention

Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x recruiter!fem!reader ; slight Salesman x fem!reader

Warnings: jealous!In-Ho; slightly obsessive!In-Ho; slightly suggestive themes and words: yearning; angst; probably ooc!In-Ho

Word count: ~4k

Author’s note: sooo this is my first fanfiction I have written in 10 years, what this man does to me… I needed some more recruiter!reader as I am so obsessed with the idea. I also included the Salesman as he is my other guilty pleasure. I deeply want to write a part 2 , let me know if you are interested!

Hwang In-Ho had always hated clubs. He hated the obnoxious music. He hated the smell of sweat and desperation. He hated people pushing into each other. He hated the shameless displays of people grinding and almost taking their clothes in the middle of the dance floor. He hated the cheap liquor diluted with water. He hated random people getting it on in those disgusting toilets. It was safe to say, In-Ho would rather be anywhere else than there.

But there was one thing he didn’t hate about it.

Her hair was bouncing to the rapid rhythm, her body somehow knowing how to sway to every beat of every song, sending him into a trance. She would always make eye contact with him lip syncing to the filthiest lyrics. Her lips always painted in a beautiful red color almost begging him to come over and taste them. It was almost like their own ritual. He would sit at their reserved table in a leather armchair, nursing a glass of whiskey, while she would be just within his eye reach dancing, a mischievous look behind those oh so pretty eyes.

But tonight was different. Tonight, unless absolutely having to, she would not look at him, not address him. It was like In-Ho was not worthy of her attention. He was aware he fucked up, that was the whole reason he even showed up to this God forsaken rats’ nest. The more she ignored him, the more starved he became, a combination of anger and hurt playing at his heartstrings.

Lust and guilt coiled tightly within him, indistinguishable from one another. She wasn’t just beautiful—her beauty was deliberate, a weapon she wielded with precision. And him, unarmed and unprepared, stood squarely in her sights. He should’ve looked away. He didn’t. In-Ho took another sip of the whiskey as he watched her dance with him as he contemplated what has brought him to this specific moment.

It was a sunny morning in Seoul, a rare occurrence in the grey autumn. He looked over at the other side of the bed, finding her sleeping peacefully. She was sleeping on her back, her beautiful hair splattered on the black satin pillow. Her chest was slowly rising and falling, his white crisp shirt covering almost nothing of her perfect figure. For the first time since he had met her 3 years ago, she looked delicate, youthful, carefree. Gone were the sassy attitude, the makeup, the expensive clothes and her sharp tongue. In-Ho placed a soft kiss between her breasts as he made his way out of the bed into the shower.

The smell of her skin, the sound of her voice moaning, the softness of her delicate body, they were all stuck in his mind, as well as her little love confession. He was planning to get started on breakfast, make some coffee, treat her like a princess. As he exited his shower, he took a look at his phone, making sure he hadn’t missed any important work-related calls. The games were going to start in just over a week and everything had to be perfect. That’s when he saw the date.

25th of October.

In-Ho’s heart dropped as he read it over and over again. No, it wasn’t possible. The 25th was going to be in a few days. He franticly opened his calendar checking again.

And again online.

And again, on his physical one.

And all over again on his phone.

He felt a rush of panic wash through him. Hwang In-Ho was not a man that panicked. Or a forgetful man. Ever. But even so the thought was plaguing his mind: He had forgotten. How could have that happened? Afterall, it was the anniversary of his wife’s death. He would always buy her flowers on the 25th. He would always bring them over to her grave. He would always spend at least 2 hours speaking to her, to her and their unborn child.

Well, until now, he did at least. Uncontrollable anger burned through his mind. Anger at himself, anger at her. He was supposed to be at the cemetery. Not saying yes to her invite to have some drinks at the bar near their work. Not letting a spoiled insane subaltern seduce him with her long lashes and playful smiles. Not fucking said stupid girl who was two whole decades younger than him.

He didn’t even realize when she sneaked behind him, putting her arms around his waist and smiling into his back.

“Good morning, handsome” her voice whispered softly.

The sweetness in her voice made his heart flutter. Which in turn, made him even more inexplicably angry. His body tensed up under her touch and he pushed her arms away.

“Someone woke up to the wrong side of the bed” she teased.

Under any other circumstance, he would have been amused. She would always tease him and he quite frankly found it as endearing as it also turned him on.

“It’s time for you to go” In-Ho replied coldly.

He could see her tense up as well. Her hands crossed over her body. His dress shirt which he found so unbelievably hot on her earlier now looked like a painful reminder of his own shame.

“Excuse me?” her voice was controlled but she was hiding her built up anger as well.

“I said, you should leave. You were great last night and everything, but let’s not treat it as if it was more than us scratching an inch.” His voice was measured and he looked into her eyes. He could see she was hurt by his words. Damn it, he hated seeing her in pain.

“In-Ho, you said you loved me last night. You told me how long you’ve waited to say it, to kiss me. You kissed me as if you were dying and I was the only thing that could save you.”

God, she was right. He did and say it all, and he did mean it. His face was cold unenterable.

“Maybe you should not listen to what old perverted men like me tell you. God, your father really did a number on you if you are dumb enough to sleep with any old men.” In-Ho knew his words would hurt her, but he needed her to stay away. It was better like this. The anger he harbored in that moment for himself and for her would only end in one way: violence. And while he was all for rough play, he would not touch her in that way.

“I called you a taxi already”

Smack

The sound of her hand hitting him across the face echoed in the penthouse. His jaw clenched, his eyes suddenly burning of desire. The thoughts of his wife finally stopped and there was nothing but silence. Without giving it another thought, his palms found her cheeks pulling her into a desperate hungry kiss. He felt her body tense up and she pulled away.

Smack

Her eyes were burning of unspoken anger and pain, some tears threatening to fall. She angrily spit in his face. It took him by surprise. Everything was so quick.

“Fuck you” she whispered.

She turned around grabbing the remains of her dress and heels and she hurried out. She looked almost pathetic. Her figure gathering everything in the stupid white shirt. To him, she never looked so small, so broken and his heart almost ached. When she left, silence took over completely. In-Ho knew he screwed up, badly, but in that second, her feelings were the last thing on his mind.

The next time they met was just after the games, earlier tonight. She had not tried contacting him after the incident and neither did he. Whether it was guilt or his shame it did not matter. He poured it all into the games. In-Ho tried to pretend it was just another incident that did not affect him in the slightest. At the end of the day, she was just another employee, another recruiter. He promised himself he would never betray the memory of his wife again. As long as he did not see her it was fine.

Then it came the celebration. Oh Il-Nam decided for everyone in the company to meet for dinner and a poker night at one of the most reputable places in Seoul. Their blackjack table was set apart from the others in a private room overlooking the city. It was a tradition after all, every year after the end of the games, they would come together to celebrate it. As he was very much aware, that would probably be the last one hosted by Il-Nam and as Frontman and the next in line to take his place as the Host, he knew it was mandatory for him to attend regardless of personal feelings.

At first, he told himself that it was fine. That he will see her again and they would both be acting professional for the sake of Il-Nam. While she was an attention seeker through and through, In-Ho was not about to grant her the satisfaction of regretting his choices. As expected, he was one of the first ones to arrive. One by one all appeared before the scheduled time 20:00. His heart quickened as the arrival time came and went but she was not there. He scoffed to himself. Of course she was late, always making an entrance, always captivating the eye of every man that dared to breathe in her presence. In Ho liked to lie to himself and say it never affected him like that. Sure, she was stunningly beautiful, but she was just another woman. And then she did finally appear.

Dressed in a mini black Yves Saint Laurent dress hugging every curve of her body, her red bottom heels clicking as she made her entrance. Her signature red lipstick and blow out making her look utterly ethereal. She had a black leather trench that one of the valets quickly pulled down. She was wearing tight high stockings and for a few seconds, In-ho forgot how to breathe. The officer looked at him knowingly and handed him a glass of whiskey.

She was a storm that commanded surrender, and everyone fell willingly.

Throughout the whole night, she did not even glance once towards him. She sat down next to the Salesman. God, how he disliked that one. In-Ho saw him as nothing more than a psychopath. A useful psychopath, but none the less, a psychopath. He never even bothered to know his name, for him it did not matter, he was as important like a gum stuck onto his shoe. He could remark that he was a loyal one though, every year bringing one of the biggest number of recruits for the games, as big as the ones she did. After all, he was the one that recruited him as well. He supposed his disdain for the man came from that.

As dinner finished, the mandatory game of blackjack started. At this point it was tradition. It was Il-Nam’s favorite game and as it was most probably the last year he would take part in it; he saw it as proper to participate. However, he could not concentrate on the game. He heard her giggle, and his eyes instinctively went to find her.

In-ho saw her arrange the Salesman’s tie, while whispering seductively in his ear, her hand touching his chest for a little more time than necessarily. He felt himself getting angry as he saw the perfectly manicured hands traveling onto the other man’s body. It was not like he has not seen it before. He was perfectly aware of her flirtatious manners, at the end of the day, she acted the same way towards him. So why was he getting so irrationally angry?

“I win again. At this point, you guys have to try a little harder, it is getting exhausting to keep on seeing you lose” she said smugly as she dragged the tokens towards her, a smirk playing on her perfect lips.

“And what do I win, if I may be so indiscreet?” the Salesman’s voice purred close to her ear.

“Children, behave, there are elders present” In-Ho’s voice rang before he could control it. He was starting to get irritated by the sound of his stupid voice.

“Oh, In-ho, it’s fine. I think it is rather exciting to raise the stakes. You know how these young ones are, they would do anything for the thrill” Il-Nam’s voice said amused. “And after all, I think they would make quite a dashing pair.”

Jealousy coiled in his chest like a venomous snake, hissing and writhing with every stolen glance he dared to throw at her. What did he even mean? The Salesman was 42 for god’s sake, and she was 25! It was not as if they were witnessing some sort of young exciting love story. No, it was a psychopath and a brat trying to get his attention. However, he gave a cold smile towards the pair and returned to his hand, wishing this night would end already. He had no idea that it was just getting started.

After about two hours, Il-Nam announced that he would be leaving. And that was the moment, In Hu knew things were about to take a turn. Until that moment, everything between her and the Salesman were casual touches. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he was aware of her intentions to make him suffer in every way she could imagine, and he was not about to let her succeed.

“Full house” her voice sang.

She won. Again. It would have been impressive if it was not so annoying. Did she have to be so good at everything? In Hu thought gritting his teeth. It was unfair how natural everything came to her. She was the most interesting and exciting person he had ever met. Every single move was perfectly executed with grace laced by playfulness, her fingers intertwined with a martini glass in one hand and a cigarette in another. Every time her lips pressed to the filter fascinated the Frontman completely. Every strand of hair framing her soft features, reminding him of the night they spent together.

“Not going to lie, you guys are really boring” she said raising an eyebrow. “But since I won again, I propose the following, you each owe me a drink at a place of my choosing.”

“And where would that be?” The Officer asked.

“Oh, I want to go dancing” she smirked as she left the martini glass on the table.

“Dancing? I would rather shoot myself” In-Ho scoffed.

“I’m sorry, did you win? No, I didn’t think so” she said looking straight into the man’s eyes.

If looks could kill, he would have been a dead man.

“Well, I for one would love to take you anywhere you wanted. A deal is a deal” the Salesman added, his hand slipping on her exposed back.

While going to a club was the last thing that In Hu wanted, he was not going to let him take her out of his sight. He clenched his jaw tightly. He thought about how easy it would be to simply pull out his gun on that psychopath’s head and simply end it right now. God why did she have to make it so messy? While replaceable, he thought about the hassle he would have to go through to find another man to take his job and actually do it as well. No, killing the Salesman would only create more problems for himself, but the image of her pretty face being covered in a quick splash of his blood was tempting.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

And now there he was, watching her like a hawk, toying with his drink, while she was dancing with someone he should had squished like a bug, the second he got in power. No matter, in all due time, he would be gone. His beautiful muse was swaying seductively to the beat of the song while playing with the Salesman’s tie, her eyes hungry for more. In Hu knew that look well. It was the same look she had in her eyes while she was on top of him just a few weeks ago. Hungry, desperate, mischievous.

“So, are you going to do something or let that piece of trash get your woman?” the Officer inquired pulling the Frontman out of his spell.

“I have no idea what you are talking about” In Hu replied coldly downing the rest of the drink. He had asked the bartender for the whole bottle; he knew he would need it the second they entered. He lit up a cigarette while pouring another glass, his eyes still stuck on the two of them.

“Come on, you look ready to jump and kill him on the spot” the other man said lighting up a cigarette of his own. While technically not allowed on the premises of the club, what were they going to do? Kick them out?

“Maybe I will”

“We both know that would be unwise. And besides, I’ve seen her stealing glances at you, that is exactly what she wants. So do all of us a favor and fuck her good, cause if you don’t… I just know he would make sure she screams.”

“Mind your tongue, Officer.”

“Come on man, we both know her type. Bitches like her need to know their place.”

The second the words came out of his mouth, In hu took his cigarette from his lips swiftly and extinguished it on the back of the man’s hand. He would not have anyone speak that way, not of her. The Officer winced in surprise but did not have the courage to say another word. This was a warning.

“Next time I will not be so nice about it. Speak another ill word about her and I just might shatter a glass and cut that finger of yours off. Or better yet, your tongue.”

His eyes went back to the show in front of him. There was his woman, dancing now on the top of the bar with a bottle of Don Perignon champagne. Her smile was big and seductive, her moves perfectly rehearsed. God, the more he looked at her the more stunning she looked. Her skin glistened under the club light. Her hair once styled to perfection was bouncing around wildly to the music. She moved effortlessly, like gravity was an afterthought, and the air around her seemed taut, tethered to her presence by an invisible string.

Seeing her like that, made his heart flutter. She truly was spectacular. And for a second, she looked at him again. He could have sworn the planet stopped spinning in that moment. Everyone else fading into darkness as if they were the only two people in the world.

“Do you believe in true love?” Her question surprised him.

It was the night they met randomly in the bar by the office. In Hu was dressed in a jet-black Versace suit, his hair slicked backed. Expensive shoes were slowly tapping to the sound of jazz music in the background. He took a moment before he responded, his face staring into his empty glass.

“If you had asked me this 5 years ago, I would have said yes.”

“And now?”

“Only sometimes. Usually when I look at you.”

His words surprised even himself. Maybe it was the one too many glasses of whiskey, or the way she looked at him from behind those doe eyes. Maybe it was the way her knee was slightly touching his or her scent. Amber and vanilla. Always amber and vanilla, sometimes with a faint cigarette smell. She smiled and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. If only she knew the effect she had on him, he would never hear the end of it.

“Now, Sir, maybe you should stop speaking like that or I might start to believe you are in love with me”

In Hu did not respond but a smirk appeared on his lips. He leaned over to her and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. His palm then travelled onto her cheek finally resting by her lips. She looked at him, a seductive grin taking form. Carefully, she kissed his palm, and each finger, while maintaining the Frontman’s gaze. When done with her little show, she lightly took his thumb in her mouth slowly sucking on it.

“Tsk tsk, little dove, careful what you wish for” he warned her, his face stern but feeling his heart rate go slowly upwards.

Her eyes effortlessly left his, her attention peaked by the Salesman’s voice, breaking their trance. As soon as he no longer felt her gaze, In-Ho made up his mind. He had made a mistake, one that he would do anything to fix. While he hated the way the Officer spoke about her, he was right about one thing. She was his woman after all, and this cat and mouse game was getting old. He was man enough to admit that he had lost against her and now all he wanted was to take her to his bed and fuck her hard to show her who she belonged to. He got up the sofa just as he saw her get down from the bar.

“Finally,” the Officer muttered.

“Did I not make myself clear last time?”

In Hu’s voice snapped glaring at his colleague, taking his eye off her for just a second. His gaze went back to the spot he had left her but she was no longer there. In the dark he saw a glint of the back of her dress leaving towards the side of the bar. The Frontman finished his drink and made his way to follow her. He was not even sure what to say to her, he had never acted impulsively before. Every single one of his actions had been perfectly calculated for the past few years.

Lost in thought he had caught up with her. That’s when he saw the scene unfolding in front of him. Her back was pressed against the wall, her hands folded around the Salesman’s neck, fingers tangled into his dark black hair. His woman’s legs were resting around his torso. He could make out the man’s face buried deep into her neck kissing it sloppily, her head tilted slightly on the side, a soft moan escaping her beautiful lips. And then she looked straight ahead into In Hu’s eyes. A sarcastic smile played on her mouth. Fuck you, her eyes said before capturing the Recruiter’s lips in a passionate kiss, her beautiful legs pulling him in closer to her own body.

The Frontman froze for a few seconds as he watched them kiss as if there was no tomorrow, their bodies busy in a seductive tango. Anger and jealousy danced within his veins fueling his body completely. Not now, he thought desperately trying to keep his mask of coldness from cracking under the club lights. But deep inside he also felt the familiar sting of a feeling he long ago buried.

Pain. Gut wrenching pain.

#hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho #the salesman #squid game #hwang in ho x you #salesman x you #squid game s2 #squid game headcanons #squid game netflix #in ho x reader #the recruiter

398 notes · View notes

revelboo · 5 months ago

Note

Bro, you can't have me crying over tender-hearted spider-men like this😢

He just wants a friend

Disappear Pt 4

Tarantulas x Reader

• Clawed servos flexing, he works on tweaking the avatar and glances at where you’re stretched out on the scavenged mattress in your nest of blankets. Remembering the feel of your hand in his. Well, his avatar’s. You’re still skittish of his actual form. Watches you draw your legs up against your body, huddling deeper into your blankets. Cold? Mandibles shifting he sets the projector aside and lifts up onto his extra limbs, moving closer and easing down to crouch over you as you shiver in your sleep to tug your blankets more closely around you, a servo brushing you cheek and your skin is chilled.

• Startling as something thumps down near your head, you don’t move as his creepy spider limbs cage you while he pokes at whatever the thing is. And it begins to softly hum and- it’s a heater. He’d realized you were cold and made you a heater to keep you warm. Watching him stalk away from you to return to his work, you roll over to watch him. “Hey, Tarantulas?” Head turning and mandibles shifting, you make yourself look him in the optics. He still creeps you out, but you’re getting used to him. Suspect he’s really lonely. “Thank you.” You’ve never seen anyone visit him, no one ever contacts him. It occurs to you that you’re all he really has. And you’re scared of him and he knows it.

• Servos tapping on his work table, he vents. “If you freeze, who’s going to teach me to not be, what were your words? Serial killer looking?” He asks watching you smile and lay back down. And he’s half tempted to move closer. To try and coax a conversation from you, but he lets you be and returns to his work. You’re behaving only because you fear him, you don’t like him. You’re not friends.

• Stretching, you listen to the silence and try to gauge what time it is. And sitting up, you freeze. Because you’re free. Normally he webs you down before he goes to lay down to keep you from escaping. He’d forgotten. Pushing off the blankets, you stand up and go up on tiptoes to try and see where he’s sprawled on his front on his berth, a couple of spider legs and an arm hanging over the edge. Recharging. Heart racing, you move across the room. Hesitating at the open door of the crypt, your breath catches. All you have to do is go. Walk until you’re far enough away he won’t hear you when you bolt.

• Venting as he comes online, mandibles flexing, his head lifts and his spark constricts when he automatically looks for you on your little mattress. And realizes he’d forgotten to secure you before recharge. Primus, how much of a head start do you have? Is Ghost already on its way? Lunging upright with a snarl, he hears a little gasp and he freezes. Because you’re right there bent over the little cooler of food he’s been scavenging for you. “I swear you’re trying to give me a heart attack,” you mutter, turning your attention back to finding something to eat. You’d had the opportunity to run and you’d stayed with him? Hadn’t betrayed or abandoned him. Has anyone ever chosen him before?

• Stiffening as he stalks your way, his spidery legs come down on either side of you and your breath catches. Watch his head tip to make your skin crawl and you wonder why he has to be so damn unsettling all the time. A clawed hand lands near your hip as he leans down into your space to make every instinct scream to run. And he’s just staring, his mandibles slowly shifting. “After you eat your food, show me how to move correctly again,” he says, lifting up on his extra legs and walking away to leave you bewildered. Creepy, damn spider dude.

#transformers x reader #earthspark tarantulas #tarantulas x reader

194 notes · View notes

boolger · 3 months ago

Text

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before 🌻 ch.3

Female reader x Nikolai x Price✨ wc: 10.8k - call of duty - explicit, MDNI. Read the tags. Dead dove don’t eat.

<-last chapter✨ AO3 link ✨Masterlist ✨ next chapter ->

tags: non-consensual elements/rape, bikers AU, biker gang 141, omegaverse, dub-con, non-con touching, harassment, stalking, reader has a vagina, M/M/F threesome, threats, reader has a nickname, loss of parent, original characters, pack dynamics, alpha!John Price, Alpha!Nikolai, omega!reader, forced bonding, loss of virginity, breeding kink, piss kink, scent marking, daddy kink, stun guns, smut, rough sex, knotting, (maybe pregnancy), voyeurism, punishments, noncon spanking, p in v sex, anal sex, overstimulation, claiming barks, uh short appearance of a chopped off body part (action not described but the part will appear shortly)

AN: once again i must thank the ever so sweet @venuskaltrip for helping and dealing with me and all my ideas. and teaching me better than any of my english teachers ever have lol<33

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Your head hurt a bit the following morning.

It was raining outside your window, dark clouds rumbling now and again, making you stay in your bed a tad longer than usual. You had the day off at least, so you could nurse yourself back to health. Besides food, you had no urge to get out of bed, almost tempted to hide beneath your blankets all day… perhaps even build a temporary nest, to properly feel safe for a little while.

It was only because of the packages, that you got out of your bed - making a big breakfast, staying awake despite the urge to sleep the day away. You sipped your tea, impatiently checking your phone again and again, waiting for your things to arrive.

You had paid way too much for the fastest delivery. The sooner you could feel slightly more comfortable in your home, the better.

No, you might not have been fully sober when you had ordered everything, but you had felt as if you were. As if the fear of Price’s words had truly flushed your system and made you think clearly, as you had added more things to your online basket.

Then you had messed around on some more dodgy websites, managing to find a dude that sold stronger stun guns. He hadn’t asked questions as long as you paid and you hadn’t asked questions about how he got them - but he had offered you a nice deal, when you asked if he had pepper spray as well.

All the other stuff you had ordered was legal; another lock, which was one of those fancy ones that you needed a chip to open, a baseball bat to have next to your bed, then a normal lock for the back door. Perhaps the baseball bat was a little excessive but you had dealt with creepy men for two years already - if you needed to step up, then that was what you had to do.

You distracted yourself by looking into apartment prices in the nearest big cities, taking in the prices while looking at your savings. It wouldn’t be impossible - If you could actually make yourself sell the house, you could move into one of those apartments and be able to pay rent while looking for a job.

Abandoning Mary felt wrong in every bone of your body - you knew she would survive, but it was as if you were considering leaving your last parental figure. What would she even do if you left? Probably have to hire someone new, but still — not to mention how to even explain it. Did you even want to tell her that you wanted to move, because you were once again, being harassed by a leader of a biker pack?

Of everyone in the bloody village, it just had to be you.

The sound of the bell at your front door almost made you throw the laptop to the floor and you barely managed to put it on the coffee table, before hurrying to the door.

A moment later, you had your box with locks and another one with a baseball bat. You had never played with one, only been forced to cricket a couple of times and that was a different kind of bat, but you knew the basics. Grab it, raise it and hit the other person. Couldn’t be that hard.

You spent an embarrassingly long time attempting to put in the locks, before caving in and calling Harold and Jenny. They asked questions. Of course they would, it was stupid of you to think that they wouldn’t. Jenny was extremely good at reading people, the teenage beta instantly realising that something was up, even better than her boss.

“It’s uh - just a big house. With only me in it,” the lie felt uneasy on your tongue, but you couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t want to worry the elderly omega nor the young apprentice.

“Are they bothering you?” Jenny asked while Harold was picking up some tools in the car, looking up at you with squinted eyes - watching you in a way that made your palms feel sweaty - and a slightly worried look in her eyes.

You huffed, reminding yourself that you were a strong, proud alpha and you didn’t feel bothered b y a couple of men in leather jackets trying to seem intimidating. So you straightened up, watched Harold and shook your head, another lie slipping from your lips.

“Of course not,” you answered, unable to look at the other, unable to admit to the defeat you felt, “just wanna be sure nobody touches the jewelry mom left.”

Another lie. It was dusty on your tongue, from suddenly having dragged your poor, deceased mother into your lie. There was nobody to fear in the town but the bikers. Yet Jenny let it go and shrugged, before taking the tool box from Harold as he got up the stairs again. Instantly beginning to tell Harold about how she had seen these locks online, while you retreated, watching them without intervening.

You had a lock bolt and a chain lock on the back door already. Now this in the front.

Locks weren't going to save you. Nor were stronger stun guns or pepper sprays.

Sleep well, little Sunflower.

The locks and illegal weapons might not save you, but they would probably help you sleep a little better.

… At least until you figured out what to do.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

“Would you be able to find somebody to help you with the cafe if I left?”

Mary stiffened, not moving for a second; then the older beta spun around, her braids flying at the movement, looking straight at you with a raised eyebrow and suspicion in her eyes.

“What have you done now?”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. As if you had done something to ask, like a little naughty kid who often got into trouble. No, for once, you hadn’t done anything. Sure, you had threatened the men with a stun gun, but they were big men. Probably not that scared of your little weapon.

“Haven’t done anything,” you defended, “jeez, Mary, you sounded like my mother just now.”

Mary softened up a little, a small chuff-like sound leaving her. You looked back down at the dirty cups, continuing to wash them. Rings of dried coffee slowly dissolved into nothing. The water felt hot against your skin, reminding you that you were very much alive; stuck in Millhaven, surrounded by beasts on motorbikes and with a secret that burned in your stomach.

“Are you thinking of moving again?”

You nodded, your back still turned to her, unable to look her in the eyes again. Afraid she would see right through you - figure out that you were hiding things from her. It was uncomfortable in a way, to tell half a lie. As if you had two wounds but only showed the one which hurt the least.

“Are you afraid Graves will come back?”

A part of you wanted to break into laughter from her question; because wasn’t it naive of Mary to believe that Phillips Graves was still alive? She had heard the shots too, the screams, the horrors that had taken over Millhaven that night - how could she not realise that they were all dead? Even if Phillip Graves was to rise from whatever shallow grave he had properly disappeared into, he wouldn’t scare you the same way John Price did. Graves was in fact the last thing you feared right now, if you had to be honest with her - but you weren’t… not fully, at least.

“No,” that was a part of the truth, because you were more afraid of what exactly had happened to him, but it melted into lies once more, “I’ve considered getting a degree or some sort of education.”

You hadn’t… not really. Sure, you could. It would probably be a smart enough choice, if you were to leave Millhaven, so that you could get a well paying job or something, but… but as you dared to look over your shoulder, watching Mary, you almost felt like apologising for even suggesting it.

It was as if you were being split in two; the cafe was going well, Mary wasn’t afraid of the group, she would be safe if you left her… but what if she wasn’t? The idea of abandoning her, hell, of abandoning Beatrice and her pack, Enid, Dennis, Carlos, Finn, Alma — it all gave you a bad feeling.

For a moment, it was as if Mary looked much older than usual; as if her hands had gotten weaker and face gotten more wrinkled in the matter of seconds, her black hair looking a little more on the grey. She would grow old too… would she be alone here? Only her sister to come visit? Would The Gentle Cuppa close? You put the cups down, turning around fully, looking at her.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, like a kid aware that she had upset her mother, suddenly feeling small, with the urge to grab onto her skirt and cry into them, “I - I know that was very sudden.”

“It’s okay, Sunflower,” she answered, moving forward to cup your face gently, “I would miss you - but I will also support you.”

There was flour on her hands. Her scent was herbal, like different kinds of dried teas all blended together, with a smell of something purely Mary beneath. She let out a soft rumble, close to a purr, like a mother would do to her pup and you closed your eyes, listening to it and her breaths, trying your best not to break into tears. You wanted the truth to escape your throat, to drip from your mouth and explain to her how you had struggled; how they had been at your house, how it was escalating much quicker than it had with Graves. That Phillip Graves, with all his nastiness and evil, had seemed easier to handle than this new group - you couldn’t read them, never knew what to expect. You were losing more and more control and it scared you.

You let your forehead rest against your boss’. There wasn’t much separation between your work and personal life between you and Mary anyways. They had blurred for years. She was a parent — your parent. You had slept on her tiny couch for three days after your dad passed away.

“I want you to be happy, my little Sunflower,” her reply was filled with love, “wherever that may take you.”

The idea of leaving her, who you had come to consider your new mother, psychically hurt.

Leaving or staying; you felt, as if the two options were beginning to pull you apart, the reasons to either stay or leave becoming more and more intricate, less and less simple… People who you cared for were tangled in between those reasons, while The 141 crawled closer and closer in the dark, as if they were waiting for the perfect moment to attack - always nearby, unable to be scared off.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

When you weren’t working the next couple of days, you spent hours making lists and mental notes, trying to figure out the pros and cons of your different options. Scribbling down different notes on what to remember, what to consider, who to call. You had to call the bank if you wanted to sell the house and buy an apartment in a bigger city - you had to figure out which town you would move to, which real estate agents to contact.

You needed more fake scent-perfumes and stronger pills. Another way to protect yourself - in order to avoid accidents and in case anything was to happen, the mere possibility scared you.

The following days, it also suddenly seemed like everything was back to normal - sure, different members of the 141 would swing by the cafe and buy things, but none of them bothered you. When you walked home, you would be barked at by Mrs. Henley’s dog and see the chain smoking teenager in the window. You would turn your corner and nobody would be in front of your home; no big motorbike standing in the driveway, no John Price leaving cigar ash on your stairs.

The new locks worked without problems, the chip beeping and unlocking, beeping as it locked behind you — somehow they did make you feel more comfortable. Not to mention the baseball bat next to your bed and the pepper spray and new, stronger stun gun that arrived the next morning.

You hoped, no, you begged, to whichever god who would listen to you, that the men had gotten your hint and that the entire pack would leave you alone now.

As the week had crawled by, the weekend ending with things still staying the same, it did seem like somebody had heard those prayers of yours.

When Monday came around, you began to seem a little more optimistic; it almost seemed like things had died down to the point that the bikers’ interest in you might have died…

Well… Almost.

Perhaps you had been a bit too optimistic about it.

It began that Monday evening, even if you didn’t truly realise it before Tuesday. Every time you walked home, somebody followed you at a distance.

It apparently didn’t matter whether it was from the cafe in the late afternoon or at night after a drink in the pub; they always appeared before you got too far, following until you reached your smaller road with your blue house at the end.

Everyone following you appeared to be one of the women in the gang - it seemed to be a task only the three of them had been given and they followed you dutifully, like unwanted guard dogs. Only one of them attempted to be slightly discreet with their stalking task; the two others not even seeming bothered by the fact that you knew and looked straight at them.

Whether they had specifically been told to do this because none of the men could be bothered — or because they believed you might be less uncomfortable with women following you home, you didn’t really know. In all honesty, it didn’t really matter. It could have been any of the members from the shitty biker gang, whatever gender and secondary gender they might have, and it would have made you upset.

It felt insane to you that they didn’t realise that it was the whole “stalking you as you walk home”-aspect of it that made you upset. Though you doubted that the thickheaded alpha that was John Price would understand that.

The alpha woman that had followed you the second night, had not seemed intimated in any kind of way, as you angrily demanded for her to fuck off and stop following you. She had long dark hair, pulled back into a long braid and sharp features with intense eyes - an attractive alpha, hadn’t she been following you. The small woman had merely raised an eyebrow at you, said nothing and merely waited for you to turn around again, only to continue walking behind you.

Wednesday was the third night in a row and when you growled at the second woman, a tall, muscular beta woman with short hair and familiar-looking jacket and when you demanded that she let you walk home alone, she had merely laughed out loud. Then she had said something in what you assumed to be Spanish, but as you didn’t speak the language, you didn’t know what - so you had growled loudly at her again, walking home even faster than before, ignoring her laughter as you stomped angrily the entire way.

With Thursday a new woman appeared; this evening it was a blonde, bonded omega who, just like the others, didn’t seem one bit intimidated by you. Instead she looked slightly amused, if not a little bored, as you dared to walk towards her, telling her to piss off. You weren’t sure why you tried, as it hadn’t with the others but the woman, her leather jacket almost fully covered in small metal spikes, had merely taken a drag of her cigarette and tipped her head to the side, before actually replying. ”I’m merely goin’ for a walk, Sunny. Don’t ya’ have to get home? It’s cold outside.”

You snarled at her calm words, the way she spoke to you and you considered making a scene, scream at her and draw attention from the people in the little town, for them to look out the window.

Instead you went with the familiar choice and turned around, walking home while cussing out the entire biker gang.

At this point it was getting ridiculous. You couldn’t even walk home alone anymore, couldn’t listen to Mrs. Henley’s dog barking at you nor watch the chain-smoking teenager without being bothered by the bikers. Those simple pieces of freedom had been taken from you as well. The things you used to enjoy doing were narrowing down, day by day.

Sure, you had hated Graves and the Shadow’s presence in Millhaven, but by now you already hated John Price and the 141 even more. Being able to walk home alone shouldn’t be impossible without being bothered. You just wanted to enjoy the sounds of Millhaven as the little town went to supper or to bed - you wanted the freedom to be able to walk home, without fear scratching its way into your bones.

Next day, it was the blonde omega once more; it was Friday, Enid had celebrated her birthday, so you had drunk a bit more than usual. Two pints, four shots and a fancy drink that Enid hadn’t liked and with the alcohol warming your body, you tried to ignore your stalker while walking home. Humming, unable to walk in a straight line, but in a better mood than usual.

You were certain the woman was there though; you could hear her familiar heavy boots, her huffing and puffing of the cigarette - and the wind blew her scent in your direction. Bonded, female omega. It couldn’t be any other. You flipped her off over your shoulder and her soft laughter confirmed that she was in fact there, watching you walk.

This entire week, with your changing, annoying guard dogs behind you, you had tensed up whenever you had turned from the main road to the smaller one where you lived; feared that there would be motorbikes in your driveway, that they would stand in front of your house, waiting.

Every time you had been worried while turning the corner. Would they be there again to bother you, their eyes watching you, sniffing the air and taunting you? Or would you once again be lucky and able to get inside without any of them in the way?

But as they hadn’t been there all week, your drunk mind had assumed tonight would be the same. That you would be able to waltz inside, lock everything up, eat some leftovers and fall asleep with the baseball bat in your hand. That the only harassment of the day was the chain-smoking woman a couple of steps behind you.

A deep sigh escaped you when you turned the corner and looked towards your blue house at the end of the road, continuing to walk, swaying slightly from side to side due to the alcohol. If they were gonna be here every time you got slightly drunk, you really needed to cut down.

For once there were only two of them.

They stood right in front of your blue home, like predators waiting for a prey to return to its nest. Their bloody bikes taking up space in your driveway. You sincerely hoped that a gust of the wind would make their vehicles tip over; maybe break one of the small rear way mirrors or even better, scratch the paint.

Of course John Price was one of the pair, sitting on the small staircase to the front door as usual; smoking his cigar, blocking your way inside.

By now you were tired of people you didn’t like or know, being in front of your house - the alcohol was still making you feel warm, curling along your ribs and making your head feel heavy. It seemed to swallow up most of your fear, so you let your growing frustration take over, confidence seeping into it.

You didn’t need to be close to know who the other was - the Russian, Nikolai or whatever you were supposed to call him - and while he was smoking a cigar as well, he was standing up at least. Similarly he was also staring at you, as you walked towards the house. They seemed like well fitting mates in that way, you supposed.

Yet, it seemed to be the hunger in their similar way of looking at you, which made you uncomfortable; like they wanted to sink their teeth into your skin and rip your meat from your bones — feast on your organs, blood dripping from their chins and swallow up the fear it created. But you just stared back at them, not backing down or looking away, even as they tried to look intimidating. You stomped towards them, only stopping a few metres from them. Finally, it was like your little bubble of anger popped.

“Stop makin’ your bloody minions follow me every day, you twats!” You snarled angrily, words slightly slurred, trying to make yourself look a little bigger as you growled.

The two alphas smiled — almost grinned — as if entertained by your demand and it made you want to scream; it was such a simple but effective way of acting superior towards you, taunting you and your inner omega.

It was the Russian one who was first to speak.

”Milaya,” he almost cooed, taking a few steps towards you, the lit cigar between two of his thick, tattooed fingers with the many rings, the last bits of smoke escaping his mouth, “we’re only making you get home safe.”

Home safe — home safe?

You let out a loud sound of annoyance, disbelief at his words and you were unable to help yourself from growling once more, one of your hands sliding into the pocket of your jacket.

”The only dangerous thing in this town is your fuckin’ group of wankers!,” you hissed, “So get them to stop!”

Your anger seemed to do nothing but amuse the big alphas and god, you wanted so badly to plant your first in the Russian’s face - then in Price’s. Nikolai laughed, before taking a drag of the cigar, blowing the smoke in your direction before saying something in Russian, which made Price laugh too.

Their actions made you feel small and harmless, made you feel stupid for even attempting to go against them - trying to seem aggressive and dangerous which they barely acknowledged.

Control was slipping from your sweaty fingers, even as you desperately attempted to cling to it, sink your dull claws into it.

Nikolai walked a little closer; you stood your ground, the alcohol making you slightly lightheaded. Of course it would be tonight, when you weren’t even fully sober, that the two of them would come at you. Fucking bastards.

You just wanted to be able to go to the pub without them being here when you returned home.

”Listen, you knotheads,” you snapped, baring your teeth for a second, to show you weren’t backing down, glad they couldn’t see your hidden ones, “You can’t rent the garage, I’ll never fucking let ya - so you might as well just drop it. Find somewhere else!”

The low chuckle that escaped Price made your eyes flicker over to him as he still sat on the stairs, tipping his head to the side a little.

“Oh, how that’s peculiar,” John Price mused, watching you with a glint in his eyes, tattooed fingers grabbing the cigar after taking another drag, “because you’ve sure been looking at a lot of nearby real estate agents online this last week - bunch of apartments in London and Manchester, too. Funny for you to look at, if you’re not leavin’ and will never let us have this house, innit?”

In truth, you almost pissed your pants from the shock - it was mere luck that you didn’t.

Sitting like that, the big alpha pretended to not seem like a threat; slightly hunched over, relaxed stance and almost looking like a father enjoying a smoke in peace - but in reality, he seemed like a demon who had crawled up from the sewers, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Any sense of control that you might have had a brief minute ago was gone, together with any confidence. His words filled your lungs with fright, forced horror into your bloodstream; unable to breathe, to speak, to snap back at him. Defending yourself against something so intense, almost felt meaningless - you swayed, telling yourself it was from the alcohol, but you knew it might also be from what he actually told you.

They had been watching you, not only physically, but somehow they had gotten your access to your online history as well. Unknowingly, it seemed like most of your privacy had been ripped from your hands — you were unprepared for this, for this kind of stalking, this kind of dark, strange behaviour, with a big pack that didn’t respect your boundaries. Graves had been nothing compared to this and it was like all of your hopes and dreams of being left alone by these men had been torn and ruined without your knowledge.

Your voice trembled, all courage suddenly gone from your body.

“Please leave me alone.” It was the first time that you let yourself be this vulnerable in front of them and even if you immediately regretted it, you felt unable to do anything else. Hardly able to keep on your legs, to keep your cool and not just scream and bolt.

To your horror but perhaps not surprise, John Price smiled over your begging words, a rumble appearing from deep inside his chest. The driveway began to smell from the pheromones escaping the two men, their pleased not to mention lustful, scents overwhelming.

It was like the ground beneath you had been ripped away and you felt helpless, desperate to grasp at any sense of control, attempting to escape the situation which seemed to spiral in such a short time.

You had almost forgotten the presence of Nikolai, too shocked by Price admitting to the pack having stalked your online movements - he walked closer but instead of walking close towards you, he began to circle you; like a beastly creature, considering how to kill its victim in the best way and it made you grip your stun gun a little harder than before, almost pulling it out.

It felt like the weapon, feeble as it was, would be your only means of safety right now - though you doubted it would save you for long.

”Let go of that, Milaya,” Nikolai’s voice was dark, calm, his stench of alpha growing stronger, as he continued to circle you, “you don’t know what to do with it anyways.”

Degrading you once more, reminded you that you were backed into a corner - and for some reason, some bloody reason, you found yourself following the alpha’s command, following the deep timbre, the power — your grip loosening a little around the stun gun. It was as if your body followed the order even if your mind didn’t agree, because maybe, just maybe, he was right - you had never tried it, barely knew how to use it, did you? You felt it fall to the bottom of your pocket again, your hand slowly pulling back. You were unable to look over your shoulder at him, unable to look at Price, the shame overwhelming you as Nikolai let out a pleased hum, whispering a few Russian words.

”You’ve always had a spot for soft, weak women, eh, Captain?” Nikolai crooned, his voice suddenly appearing behind you, much closer to you than before, while Price laughed again. Humiliation. Price was grinning like a dangerous beast and the description of you rushed through your mind again and again. Soft - weak - you did as an alpha commanded, just because of the tone of his voice. The stream of self hating thoughts were broken as Nikolai was even closer than before, having moved silently, his big arm slipping around your stomach, pulling you back into his body, as close as he could, his face fully pushed into your neck. So close to your scent gland, sniffing at you like a pervert. The other hand sliding to hold onto your hip, cigar between two fingers.

”Smellin’ so synthetic, milaya, like —“

Before even considering what you were doing, you moved; all but ripping your stun gun from your pocket, flipping the little safety switch with a quick motion before pressing it against the exposed part of his tattooed neck, close to his jaw.

With a surprised shout the Russian alpha let go of you, staggering back a couple of steps, clearly in pain, though he didn’t collapse, merely having dropped the cigar — you were quick to turn fully around and stare at him, growling as he began to snarl at you. Keeping your small weapon raised towards him.

John fucking Price did nothing to help his mate, instead he was howling with laughter from his spot on the stairs. It felt as if the sound of him laughing this loudly was echoing through the little street, going straight into your mind, blurring together with your fear and adrenaline.

While Price was clearly entertained, the Russian in front of you was clearly enraged instead - even though Nikolai was badly lit by the streetlights, you could see enough of him to know he was far, far from happy. His bared teeth shone, tongue out, exposing his silver tongue piercing, every breath accompanied by a deep growling sound. His shoulders were slightly raised, his large hands balled into fists, his body tense and clearly ready to attack again, if allowed. There was a vague, barely there, stench of burned flesh in the air.

You felt pride over having been successful, showing the men that you weren’t weak, weren’t afraid to defend yourself. You swayed a little, perhaps from the intensity of the situation, not feeling much more alcohol in your body. You had gained some sort of power with the stun gun, some protection, even if it was an electric and short lived kind of protection, but it was better than nothing. Your hand was gripping the device so tightly that you almost feared it would break.

“You know, Sunny,” Price casually said, apparently done with laughing and you dared to look over at him as he rose from the stairs, taking a few steps towards you in a relaxed manner, “a couple of locks aren’t gonna keep us out, heh.”

He took another drag of his cigar, not looking away from you — Nikolai’s rumble making you fear the Russian attacking once more, keeping the stun gun raised like a knife towards him. You were almost considering getting the pepper spray out of your other pocket.

You felt unsure about which of them to look at - if one would attack you if another distracted you, your mind swimming even if you had burned through most of the alcohol by now.

Logically you knew that Price was right; the locks at your doors, the pepper spray in your pocket, the baseball bat next to your bed and the stun gun in your hand would not keep the pack away in the long run. But the idea of giving up, of not even attempting, felt like going against everything you had been raised to do.

Their pack, bigger than any you had seen before, would be no match against only you, not to mention the fact that the two men in your driveway were actual alphas. Just like you had attempted to be ever since you were a teenager, in order to escape men just like them.

Price let out a “tsk tsk” at you, as if you were a disobedient child, as if you were beneath him in the hierarchy of the pack you weren’t a part of, an alpha ready to remind a misbehaving pack member of their place. He walked a little closer, taking yet another drag of his cigar, clearly not fearing you.

Would any of your neighbours be watching you, you wondered - would any of them do anything? Or would they leave you to your own demise, retreat from watching you in the window, unable to watch your destiny?

”Soft, dangerous alpha,” the much older alpha demeaningly crooned at you, smiling once more as you snarled at him, Price’s words hitting harder than you wanted to ever admit, “unlucky for you, we really like your pretty lil’ house…”

”Too fucking bad!” You snapped, “it—“

”But we also really like you,” he cut in, making you stare at him - he stepped closer and it was as if you forgot everything about the stun gun, enthralled by his presence; as he looked down at you, the almost amused expression on his face suddenly turned darker, colder - like a switch had been flipped, making him look even more frightening than before, “Nik ‘nd I find you quite cute.”

Cute? Alphas weren’t described as cute, they weren’t supposed to be that. It was a stereotypical dig at you, implying you were bad at your secondary gender, unable to live up to what was expected of you by society.

”I- I’m not—“

”Oh, I’m sure you’re not, pet,” he replied easily, taking a drag of the cigar, blowing the smoke in your face just a moment later, almost making you cough “But we will convince you - maybe ya’ wanna be courted like a lil’ proper alpha, eh?”

”No,” you replied instantly, ignoring the stinking smell of smoke that entered your nostrils, “I don’t want to be courted at all!”

You stepped back, slightly to the side, only to be reminded of Nikolai as he rumbled at you once more, his eyes still dark, tongue slowly wetting his lips. As if getting ready to pounce.

”Hmm,” John hummed, not following you as you retreated, only to casually ask, “perhaps courted as an omega then?”

The question, no, the mere word omega, took you so off guard that you stumbled backwards, Nikolai catching you with a purr, delighted with your fear - the stench of lust overwhelming you. Forgetting everything about the stun gun in your hand, you bolted.

They let you, but it didn’t matter if they had followed or not, not with the amount of terror in your body. You slammed the door close after you, hearing the locks before you sprinted further into your house. Your home.

It took ages before you felt able to breathe.

You could barely sleep that night; you weren’t even in your parents’ bed, but beneath it, hiding in the dusty darkness with a blanket and a big kitchen knife in your hand.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The lies seemed to spill even easier from your lips than usual, the actual truth stuck in your throat, burning inside it. You were becoming a bigger and bigger liar with every untrue statement that seeped out from between your teeth, despite when you tried holding them back. They had started like the usual ones, thin and white lies, but they grew bigger and bolder - you were digging your grave bigger and bigger. Because you’re fine… yeah, you’re fine, everything is good, you’re just a little busy.

“I’ve just been considering studying something else.” “No, I’m not more worried than usual, why are you asking, Carlos?” “It’s all good Mary, don’t worry about it.” “O-m-g, Bea, stop asking, you muppet, it's really nothing.” “Enid, I think I would have noticed if someone was following me home, that’s a ridiculous idea.” “Nah, I don’t need a lift home, but thank you, luv.”

Lies, lies and even more lies.

They had left you alone for a couple of days - the male members, that was. The three women didn’t, following you home like guard dogs, pretending it was normal behaviour. You stopped yelling at them, even though it still pissed you off every time you saw them. It made you wonder if they were just as tired of it as you — surely they had better, if not more interesting, things to do.

You add even more locks. On the windows too, ignoring the biker that stood at the corner to the main road, watching you do so. You played with the thought of putting up security cameras or getting an alarm system.

Mary seemed to be onto you - you were sure. It felt like the paranoia of being figured out by either party was gnawing its way, deeper and deeper into your bones. She was worried, but you lied, again and again. Mary was far from stupid however - you knew she was gathering up anything you let slip, even if she played along with your lies about moving away to study. It was becoming less and less about the mere idea of studying - and more a desperate escape.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Lewis had raised his bushy eyebrows when you had ordered sparkling water with lemon instead of your usual pint - but he hadn’t commented on it, just nodding along, humming like he always did before talking about the weather as if it was the most interesting thing in Millhaven. As if people should visit just to see the darkening, candy floss looking clouds at this time of the year.

No, you just needed to cut down on alcohol. No particular reason, of course.

Beatrice was sitting next to you, trying to beat you in the card game. One of her pack mates had joined for once and Luna beat the two of you constantly, your pride in your card game ability taking one hit after another.

“Are you sure you’re not having problems with them?” Luna was in the bathroom, when Beatrice asked, the ginger woman looking worried. You had already told her - and the others - that you didn’t have any, but you knew they could put two and two together. Something was up - it was hard to deny that you were being followed home on the daily, since the bikers weren’t even trying to be discreet anymore.

”Who?” Playing dumb like a child wouldn’t help you much since Beatrice was a teacher and the look you got from her just confirmed it.

“You know who,” she replied, giving you a little kick beneath the table, “My ladies are worrying. Seen more of them follow you.”

”Do you kick your students too?”

”Stop changing the subject, Sunny.”

Finally you shrugged.

”They want to rent my house - or well, specifically the garage,” your voice wasn’t that loud and you were looking at the badly cut piece of lime in your sparkling water. Lime. You had ordered lemon, but Lewis had just shrugged and said they needed the lemons for the fish and chips, “Don’t fancy letting them, so they’re trying to intimidate me, I guess.”

“Sunflower,” she whispered almost in horror and damn, she barely called you by your full nickname, “why didn’t you say anything??”

Once again you shrugged and once again your friend stared at you, like you refused to tell her the secret of life.

”I don't find them scary,” You falsely admitted, as if you weren’t speaking with a hushed voice so that none of the members in the pub would hear you, “It’s stupid, I’m not gonna let myself be pressured even if they follow me like desperate puppies.”

Beatrice didn’t say anything. The soundtrack of the pub around you swallowed up any of your thoughts for a moment as you wondered how the fuck you came to this point. When you can’t even tell Beatrice the entire truth.

The door to the bathroom opened and Luna made her way towards the two of you again.

”Please - if you need help, just let us know, yeah?” Bea finally asked before Luna joined you. You have to keep yourself from blurting out that there wasn’t anything to do about it anyways. What are you, even with Bea’s pack behind you, supposed to do with a full on motorbike pack that most likely killed the former pack. You just nodded and asked Luna if she was ready to get beat in the next round of cards.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

You knew it was impossible for you to hide your little day trip - you, leaving your house on your day off? With how little privacy you seemed to have left, it would have been more baffling to you if they hadn’t discovered you by the bus.

What you hadn’t expected was for one of them to stop next to you, pulling off the helmet, grinning at you like he had won the lottery by seeing you. You recognised the Scot from one of the unwanted visits in your driveway, but the grim reaper wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

”Where ‘re ye going, hen?” He asked, not even bothering to hide how he watched you with a hungry, nasty look in his eyes. Stupid haircut, tattoos that were probably Gaelic inspired or something - the amount of piercings in his face made you wonder if he could even walk through a metal detector without having to remove every single one.

”None of your business.”

”Naw, lass, dinnae be like that,” he actually pouted, like a kicked puppy, before offering you a helmet from his lap, “want a lift?”

You stared at the helmet. Black, with their logo in the back. You had never ridden on a motorbike and in all honesty, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.

”No thanks.”

”Ach, hen, we both ken that I’m just gonna tail the bus the entire way,” he said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say, wagging his pierced eyebrows, “C’mon, it’ll be fun - you dinnae have to wait for yer bus then.”

You stared at him for a moment, before checking your watch. It seemed like the bus was late and you wondered if the universe was trying to punish you.

“No.”

“I’ll buy ye lunch, bonnie,” the beta continued, apparently not giving up, “anything ye want - I’m Soap by tah way - I’ll let ye use mah card for shopping too an—“

”Fine,” you finally snapped, stealing the stupid helmet out of his hand, “but if you crash that bloody thing I’ll break your neck!”

The pure look of glee on this Soap’s face reminded you of a teenage boy managing to ask a girl out for tea. Hadn’t he most likely been a dangerous piece of shit, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. At least he wasn’t Price or Nikolai - then you would rather have walked.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The few instructions he had given you didn’t save you from the terror rushing through your body as he drove. Your breakfast felt as if it was sitting up in your throat, attempting to escape, life flashing by as you were unable to even keep your eyes open. You didn’t even need to look to know that he was driving waaaay past the speed limit.

Fucking twat.

It was embarrassing how you clung to him, how your fingers dug into his leather jacket, convinced you would fall off at the next turn if you didn’t hold on.

You didn’t fall off, but you did curse him to the moon and back. As you finally reached the bigger town and stopped, you didn’t comment on the closed off small garage they seemed to have here. No tools to work on their bikes, but it clearly wasn’t the first time they were here.

As you walked towards downtown, you tried your best to ignore him but he just wouldn’t shut up. He wasn’t Nikolai or Price, but he still stood out - or perhaps it was you who stood out against him. You were dressed in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt with a hoodie over, a sunflower embroidered on your chest. It was one of your favorite hoodies and usually you could enjoy it on your own, but he seemed interested in it as well, blabbering on about your nickname.

When you reached a familiar spot, close to an alleyway that you recognised - you made a quick choice.

”Thank you for the lift,” you said as abruptly stopped walking, watching the beta stop a few steps later, walking back to you like a guard dog who didn’t want to lose you, “you can leave now.”

The big man looked at you, even tipping his head to the side. There was a big scar over his temple, tattoos curling around it, as if the wound had tried to swallow up the illustrations. Then, after a moment of silence, he grinned again.

”Ye’re welcome, pet,” he answered, moving to sling his arm around your shoulder, “And dinnae worry, Sunny bunny, I’m nae busy today.”

Sunny bunny. Graves’ face flashed before your eyes, blood dripping from the cut on his cheek, grinning like a maniac as he cooed out the awful nickname. Sunny bunny.

Sunny bunny.

You instantly wanted to throw up all over him or plant a fist in his face. You didn’t, instead you followed your backup plan in case he refused to let you go - hand shooting into your pocket, grabbing the black plastic, flicking the switch on it.

You had tried it once before and been successful, sure, but it was not something you felt confident in doing. With a swift motion you pushed the handheld device against his skin, prongs pressing against it; the stun gun crackled against his neck as you did so, barely audible over his yelp - Soap seemed so caught off guard, that his grip on your shoulder loosened and then you were off.

The sound that left him, a yelp, no perhaps closer to a pathetic scream like he was an actual puppy, had been music to your ears - if you hadn’t been so busy running off, you might have enjoyed it a lot more.

You didn’t see any reason to stay behind to see if anyone would help you, so instead you disappeared into the maze of the dirty alleyways in between the many buildings.

Not that you were much of a runner, but you knew your way around these streets, had gotten run around plenty of times between buildings and backyards, in order to find someone who would sell you illegal pills. Besides, you knew where the larger crowds were in this town, which was perfect to blend into.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Several unknown numbers had attempted to call you not long after, but you ignored every single one of them, turning your phone off as texts began to appear as well.

You merely wandered around, buying unnecessary things for an entire hour, your pulse so high that it almost hurt. You didn’t really need sunglasses, but now you had some cheap ones on your face, hoodie tied around your waist as you sat in a cafe, applying nail polish as you saw him wander past almost two hours later, not noticing you — animatedly talking into his phone.

Perfect, so he had been serious about this - they didn’t even want you to do something as simple as let you go shopping on your own. Sure, you had plans of getting illegal drugs, but they were a literal criminal gang, so it didn’t seem like an excuse to cut off more of your privacy.

Somehow the tea tasted even worse when you couldn’t see him anymore. Briefly, very briefly, you considered just leaving everything behind - get on another bus, perhaps a train, abandon everything at home. But the mere idea disappeared together with the tea as you drank the last of it, knowing it was nothing but a childish daydream. You couldn’t abandon everything like that, not without any explanation to Bea, Mary, Enid, Carlos — everyone.

You forced your claws out, the dull things appearing beneath your normal, now painted blue, nails. Perhaps you should sharpen them again.

You were thankful that your father had taken the choice when you represented, no matter how ambivalent you sometimes felt about hiding your secondary gender now; as if he had known that you being a young, pretty omega would bring you nothing but trouble in a town with a biker gang. He had been right, Graves had lusted after you even though you were an ‘alpha’ - the idea of how he would have acted if you were an omega? … you didn’t like the thought.

People-watching while your nails were drying could only entertain for so long. You needed to buy things - that was why you had gone to town after all. After making sure that the Scottish beta wasn’t anywhere nearby, you went along with your plans of the day.

A specific shampoo that you really liked — you should treat yourself with all the shit going on in your life right now — scent patches and pheromones blockers from the pharmacy, a new mascara and nail oil. You felt tense the entire time but somehow you managed to avoid Soap while shopping, flinching at everyone nearby with a hint of a Scottish accent.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

The plastic bag in your lap felt heavy; not from the actual weight, but from the problems the content carried which you had to confront once the bus would stop. Somehow you had managed to avoid the beta ever since tasing him and you doubted he would just let that go - you had seen him looking for you after all. If you were lucky, he would merely scold you or something like that.

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Normally it would have taken a one-hour trip with the bus to get home, but you had taken a different one to avoid meeting Soap, which drove to another small town, from which you had taken yet another one - it had almost been two hours when you finally got off. Your body felt stiff and you couldn’t help a yawn escaping you as you got out, in the different end of the town than usual, but it didn’t really matter. You were mostly relieved by the lack of bikers by the bus stop.

As you stood there, illuminated by the streetlight, you considered not even heading home. You could go to Mary, you knew she would let you in without hesitation, even if she didn’t know the entire situation - you had slept on her couch before, covered by one of her knitted blankets and woken up to freshly baked bread. Otherwise you could go to Beatrice and her pack; they would let you in, no questions asked - at least at first, the interrogation would start later - and you would sleep in their little guest room, with the lavender smelling duvet.

You had to go home. You knew that, but that didn’t mean you wanted to. You couldn’t stay away forever, they would be there tomorrow if you didn’t come home today. You hesitated for a moment before pulling your phone from your pocket. It had been turned off all day and you wondered if they could have tracked you if it hadn’t - was that even possible? Or were you just being paranoid again?

As the screen lit up and you unlocked it, notifications from unanswered calls and texts instantly overwhelmed you. Bloody hell. They had tried to call you 22 times - or at least, four different phone numbers you didn’t know had, but you doubted it could all be scammers. There 32 text messages - you ignored every single one from an unknown number, only opening one from Mary who asked if you could work tomorrow.

You shot her a confirmation while you began to walk home, for once not followed by a biker - no, you were actually walking alone for once. You avoided most of the streetlights, staying as much in the dark as possible.

Since you came from the opposite direction, you couldn’t walk past your usual spots and you wondered if the teenager was smoking again today. If Mrs. Henley’s dog had gone to bed, if people were still at the pub or the shops.

But you had to turn around the corner eventually, even if it was from the opposite side. Despite hoping, almost praying for the driveway to be empty, for nobody to stand in front of your blue house, well, that wasn’t the case.

They instantly spotted you. Of course they did.

For once you weren’t drunk, merely sober and frightful. Turning around or just walking by to go stay at Mary’s or Beatrice’s was still tempting, however, you knew they would simply follow you. Besides, your feet hurt and all you wanted was some food and sleep. Sealing your fate, you walked towards them, attempting to keep yourself composed. As if you weren’t fearing having to deal with them after what had happened today.

Soap was not one of the three men, which surprised you. You had expected for him to be there, arms crossed and demanding an apology since you got a lift and then ditched him… after tasing him.

Despite it not being the case, you felt like your footsteps echoed through the street. You wondered if making a scene would help you, if screaming and drawing attention to you and to them being in your driveway, would keep the bikers from doing anything wild.

Probably not.

You recognised Nikolai, the bear of a man was leant against one of the garage doors, arms crossed, only slightly visible because of the street light - John Price was at your stairs again, smoking one of the usual cigars. It made you wonder if that was everything he did - order his pack around, smoke cigars and bother people.

The last guy, more lit up. watched you with an almost curious look. Like he wasn’t believing that you were the one they were waiting for.

He had short hair, a beard with a mustache that stood out the most - the street light made his prosthetic leg glint a little, but it was his scent and the change of the look in his eyes that caught most of your attention. A gust of wind forced their scents into your face, the different smells so intense that it almost made you nauseous for a moment. The nausea seemed to be a pattern whenever they were around you, your mind darkly supplied.

Lust. Anger. The scent that Nikolai and Price seemed to share - and then a scent that had taken you two seconds to recognise. It was the scent from one of the female members who had followed you home - the alpha woman with the long braid, if you weren’t wrong. It seemed like the entire pack had mates within it.

The beta stranger stared at you with an angry look that was different from the dark ones from the two alphas. While there seemed to be seeping lust into the two older men’s stares, there was seemingly nothing but rage in his stare - like a wolf, having focused fully on its prey, waiting for the sign to attack from its members.

You stopped a few steps further away than usual, one hand holding onto your bag like it was a precious treasure - in many ways it was. You wanted to hit yourself for not thinking about putting your illegal pills in your jacket, instead of letting them stay in the bag. Easy to spot if one rummaged around a little.

Your other hand slid into the jacket pocket - tensing a little at the lack of a stun gun. It was in the other pocket - instead there was the cool metal of the pepper spray bottle pressing against your skin. It was better than nothing.

You hadn’t said anything, the seconds had passed and you had merely waited, as you knew they would say something sooner rather than later - something nasty or something to make you upset.

… and you weren’t wrong.

”It’s a pretty car in your garage.”

Nikolai’s voice was like a dark timbre from behind the stranger, his hand knocking against the garage door twice - and you saw red. You knew exactly what car - your dad’s car, YOUR car.

You knew the alpha said it to upset you, knew they wanted a reaction out of you and despite this, you still gave it to them; you growled deeply, deeper than you had before - as if it came from your chest, from your childhood self that was still protective over the unfixed car hidden beneath plastic and blankets. Your claws forced themselves out without your consent, as if you were getting ready to attack them, one against three.

“Easy, kitten.” Price suggested from the stairs, but you didn’t stop your growling immediately, especially not with that nickname - it died down slowly, like you were proving a point to not follow his orders like his small minions. But the man just looked at you, eyes dark but with a growing smile on his face.

“What things did you buy today then, Sunflower?” You felt all three men’s stares at you, as Price asked and you tightened the grip around the plastic bag - and around the pepper spray in your pocket, “- must have been somethin’ special, since you didn’t want a lift home from Soap.”

You huffed from amusement, the memory of Soap letting out a not quite masculine scream was still fresh in your mind - the youngest of the men, the beta closest to you, growled lowly at you. Apparently he didn’t find the situation amusing like you did.

“I’m quite capable of shopping on my own,” you finally replied, looking back at Price, squinting slightly at the leather clad alpha, unable to keep your voice from raising, “just like I’m capable of going places on my own. So stop makin’ all your little biker idiots stalk me - and don’t go snooping in my fucking garage!”

You were bordering on screaming, the deep boned anger and exhaustion of their constant harassment almost spilling over - the pure frustration over even having to tell people to give you some personal space felt surreal to you.

The wind got more intense for a second, making the trees and bushes in the gardens around you noisily sway - the wind curled between the houses along the road, almost sounding like it was breathing hard too; swallowing up the silence that followed your little outbreak.

It was Price who broke the silence first by, once again, laughing - only this time, the two others joined him.

Their condescending reaction made your toes curl; you felt small.

“What are you gonna do, tiny Sunflower?” Nikolai asked, mockery clear in his voice, as he tipped his head up a little, grinning at you, mostly swallowed by the dark, “Little taser of yours cannot keep us away forever, no?”

You were horrified by the mere fact that you knew he was right. Your already limited options of what to do were becoming less and less. You doubted calling the police right now would help, just like you doubted that your neighbours would all run out with kitchen knives and garden rakes if you screamed. No, you truly should have sold them the house the first time they even seemed interested in renting it, and gotten your ass out of Millhaven.

You didn’t feel like a strong alpha right now - and no matter how humiliating it was, you almost stammered out the words ‘just take the bloody house and let me go’. But then the front door to your blue house opened.

It didn’t take more than two seconds to recognise the woman standing in your front door. You didn’t know her name, but you didn’t even need to, her leather jacket and familiar scent instantly made you know who she was. The only one of the 141 women to ever speak directly to you.

One thing was her following you home, blatantly walking a couple of steps behind you - another thing was her breaking into your house. The many locks, one more fancy than the other, had clearly not kept them out. She was slightly illuminated by the light from your hallway, like a villain revealing herself.

“Get out of my fuck—“ The words got stuck in your throat. She hadn’t even bothered to look at you, merely looked down at Price who was sitting on the stairs; holding up a bottle that you knew too well.

A bottle of false alpha scent.

Price killed his cigar against your staircase, no doubt leaving a mark on the three, a pleased grin on his face, as the woman gave him the bottle. He merely raised it to his nose and took a quick sniff before he looked straight over at you; his grin turned from amusement to wickedness, like a feral alpha getting the scent of an unmated omega — which, sadly, wasn’t far from the truth.

You took a step back, the beta easily following, watching you like a hawk. The bag in your hand was shaking.

”You are no alpha,” it was more of a statement than a question from Nikolai, who pushed himself away from the garage door, taking a few steps towards you as well, “Beta or omega then - but I think you are small, confused omega, milaya.”

Run. Run. Run.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Like a disappointed parent, John Price shook his head as he rose, leaving the bottle of fake scent on the stairs, tipping his head to the side, “Such a mess - but don’t worry Sunflower, we will help you out.”

Run. Run. Run.

You panicked, words tumbling out of your mouth while your inner omega was screaming at you.

“You can rent the house - hell, buy it!” You rushed out, “you won’t even ha- i'll sell it for cheap!”

You weren’t stupid; it wasn’t an offer they were giving you, not with how they have been bothering you for weeks, not with how they stared at you, how the horny alpha pheromones began to fill the air around you. The bag slid from your hand, hitting the asphalt with a thunk but none of you reacted.

Run. Run. Run.

You carefully popped the lid of the pepper spray inside your pocket.

Nikolai said something in Russian, his laughter almost swallowing the words up before he was done.

“You ca-can just take the house,” you managed to stammer. Your stomach hurt - legs shook, as you tried to keep yourself up, the three men all staring at you.

It was as if there was something beneath your ribcage, a fear that vigorously grew so much you were sure you would combust; all of the scents, the hunger, the lust, the anger, it was all too much - the clouds dark above you, a soft rumble heard from the sky above. As if the weather was trying to warn you too.

You ran your finger along the tip of the spray, making sure you knew which way the spray would come from, so you wouldn't hit yourself.

Run. Run. Run.

”Cute of you to think that the house is the only thing we want now,” Price mused, before raising a hand towards your front door, the woman having disappeared, “Why don’t we go inside, pet? Nikolai and I have some questions.”

Every chance of talking your way out of this seemed abandoned.

”Alex,” Nikolai’s voice wasn’t loud but the loyal beta in front of you took a step towards you, raising his hand to grab onto you.

Your grip on the metal almost slipped, as you ripped the weapon from your pocket; while you had used the stun gun twice by now, you hadn’t tried the pepper spray before, but you solely relied on your instincts and from the scenes you had seen in movies.

Alex screamed as you sprayed him directly in the face, barely any distance between the two of you - but you didn’t stay around to gloat, a second barely passed and then you were off.

Run. Run. Run.

They might have been here for some weeks and gotten to know the basic outlay of Millhaven; but you had lived here your entire life, learned all the routes through people's gardens when you were a kid and stole apples, or when you had sneaked home as a teenager after staying out too late. You knew Millhaven like the back of your hand, even in the darkness - there was a thunderous rumble from the clouds above you, as you darted in between Mrs. Barnaby’s and the Carter pack’s houses and disappeared into the dark alleyway.

Run.

126 notes · View notes

yellowf1nch · 3 months ago

Text

Minors: Do Not Interact

Note: a bit long for a quick idea, but mentions of slightly dubious intentions, though nothing explicit described. Gender neutral terms/second person and no physical descriptors but size (you are three inches tall)

Hmmm.....

What if [intelligence!reader] was subject to some kind of shrinking technology? And when suddenly Captain Price is looking for his favorite *behind the scenes* coworker, and Laswell mentions they're "incapacitated," he's suddenly trying to get the proper clearance to get to them... And maybe he does, as a captain, and is brought to an observation room where [intelligence!reader] is wrapped in a handkerchief, three inches tall? He'd stand there speechless, stunned, first thoughts going to what kind of new hell has been unleashed on the world, and is then asking the doctor about the science of it... Is it reversible? How was this done?

Of course he keeps it under wraps, only telling his most trusted brother-in-arms Lieutenant Riley (off the record)... And of course Ghost keeps it a secret because he knows how to keep secrets until he lets a little something slip about the whole ordeal to Sergeants Garrick and Mactavish, who then go smugly to Price because they know something he shouldn't have let out... So then the three of them are also pursuing proper clearance because when they get it and pay [intelligence!reader] a visit, it's the collective turning to Laswell with "maybe we could watch them, ay?" "They could use the company, practically torture to keep 'em locked up all alone after what they've gone through," "we've got enough time between ops to help 'em be more comfortable and keep a record of status for the doc," and honestly it's not the most outlandish argument to make... Maybe it wouldn't hurt, after all, you were still *you* just much smaller...

Much smaller and to your coworkers-turned-acquaintances-turned-guys-you-hang-out-with-sometimes-turned-caretakers, much less capable of doing much of anything. There's the simple things, like helping you move around by placing you in a hand, on the shoulder, or in a front breast pocket. Not to hard to deal with, and the boys certainly enjoy toting you around (even if some wouldn't admit it)... Then there's the ingenuity they seem to enjoy in trying to work out how to make things for you, small sized. Small chair and table? Starts with a small plastic container and an overturned ashtray. Food and drink? They start with already small foods like rice and shredded cheese, maybe some canned beans that you can eat each piece one at a time.

But then there's the point where you honestly become like a *pet* to them. Exacerbated when Johnny seems to remember his sisters having a doll set that they grew out of, and really it's the perfect size! And Kyle saw some videos online of people making tiny sized pancakes and pies for their hamsters, how cute would you look then? Simon, well, he gets a little tired of you trying to work on paperwork and such; all this energy you need to get out, just use this rodent wheel and you'll be ready for a nap in the nest he made for you... Oh, Price? Well, he sees how excited the boys get, and knows how much they think about you out in the field-- really, this was an unexpected change and of course you're upset but maybe it's for the best? But it's been a while since you had a wash, what with being afraid of showers and sinks, so what if he's got a teacup that he "definitely doesn't use anymore, dearie," with little portions of shampoo and conditioner, a little chip off a soap bar for you to wash with and a washcloth for you to use as a towel-- but he needs to keep an eye on you, so you don't get hurt or in case something goes wrong?

And if you turn back to your normal self, but they seem... Disappointed? Or maybe they continue patting your head and trying to do everything for you like you can't do it yourself... Or what if this is unfortunately a permanent fixture?

#john price x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #141 x reader #john price #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader

117 notes · View notes

lumierexfics · 5 months ago

Text

Chat Log Name : Fallen from the nest

Chat log description : Bruce Wayne gets the news that he never wants to hear from and from the person he hates to hear it from.

Online users : Batman/Bruce Wayne, Robin! Reader

‼️ CONTENT WARNINGS : Funeral practices, implied torture and viewing of death tape, Major character death, Survivor’s guilt, OOC! Bruce Wayne/Batman, Second/Third POV, Nicknames used for Reader (Chum).‼️

<< A03 link next >>

It was the only time you and him had an argument.

“You are not going patrolling tonight,” Bruce stated.

“Why?” You crossed your arms. “I am doing everything fine—“

“Is this fine?” He grabbed your hands, showing that they were bruised and bandaged up. “You’ve gotten more violent during patrol. You need to learn to not use these as often…”

“But you use them too,” you retorted.

“I know my limits,” he replied. “But you don’t know your limits. Understand that I’m doing this because I care about you, chum. I don’t want you to go down a path that you might regret.”

He hugged you as it was one of things that he could let himself feel like he’s doing a good job as a caretaker to you.

“I know it’s going to be hard but don’t stay up tonight.” He smiled. “You have a very important day tomorrow.”

He patted your head before leaving down the hallway—you stood there, watching him leave. You knew your limits, right? Besides it’s not like he would know if you decided to try going solo.

Your eyebrows knitted together, sitting in your desk chair. You got into your pajamas to sleep but something was running through your veins and the clicking of a pen echoed throughout your room as you caught a glimpse of your uniform peeking from the small gap of the closet.

You walked over and took it off the hanger; dressing yourself in the Robin uniform.

He paced back and forth—where did you go?He couldn’t find any of the tracker signals that he put in the uniform, his hands trembling while he fidgets with a batarang on your whereabouts.

He walked around in the manor opening the fridge but closing it back; you were missing on your birthday. It was supposed to be a happy day—he got you the things that you had been begging for.

To his nerves, nobody would say anything about where you went but only one thing was for certain—you left wearing your Robin uniform. It felt like the ground underneath him was slowly chipping away to control his emotions that he thought were locked away.

An odd occasion for Batman to be awake during the day but he couldn’t help it—he needed information and he had to force it out. But nothing was spilled as it felt like a secret that only they knew but didn’t want to tell him.

Bruce still held hope that you were just being upset at him for a couple days but you always came home. He continued to pace and pace more—it was piling up, you were gone for a month now. He sat on your bed, grabbing a folded cold blanket of yours; quelling his heart for a moment to breathe in the lingering remnants that he was able to salvage.

It was two years—two years since your disappearance, nothing swayed him from you being alive as a slight crack was forged when he heard about a caged bird in the abandoned wing of Arkham Asylum.

His boots crushed the broken glass, he saw a metal rusted utility table; rusted scissors, a stained scalpel, plier and a cold steel rod that held remains of something burnt. The room seemed to be ruins of an operating room—rusted and stained objects littered the cracked tile floor.

He looked around, seeing that the other doors were blocked by rubbles and seeing a turned over wheelchair that was stained with dried blood—he knelt down to get a sample, it registered to your blood type. He stood up—the notification of dings registered throughout the room, speckles of your blood were scattered over the whole room.

“Robin?” He called out the emptiness.

His voice echoed each step throughout the room. It only had a flickering lightbulb but it was obvious that nobody was there— the water droplets echoed in the room as he noticed a spare room.

He pushed open the door—silently pleading to anyone who would be listening to his begging to hear that it would be you; it wasn’t you rather a large purple and green present that had the doodle of a bat and read as For Bats’ eyes only. The room only had a makeshift cot with bits of barbed wire, crude crayon drawings of him, faded tally marks and he looked in the corner to see a chair with leather straps and a bucket which seemed to be filled with a rag.

He stood in the middle of the Batcave—his cowl was on his shoulders. He peeled the colorful wrapping paper; green with that familiar purple ribbon. It was a macabre present, seeing the camcorder with pieces of an armor from a suit that seemed to be stained—He pulled out the camcorder from the purple plastic straw.

He attached the camcorder to the bat computer, making sure the wires were in the correct spots. His eyes widened at the video, gloved hands didn’t want to press play; he saw you—you were tied bound by your wrists, bloodied. Despite his hands shaking, he pressed play as he heard your anguished whines that he knew by heart since he always made sure that you lived a life of comfort rather than misery. You were his ward, right?

The hot tears dribbled down his face, he stumbled towards the box while his trembling hands found the pieces of your suit—just tiny pieces, he found it; your chest plate that he always remembered that you were meticulously cleaning.

His reddened eyes stared back at the screen, he heard the clips of your scream—the clips of the slow hope dying from your voice.

“Who do you hate?” The familiar snarly voice asked.

“Batman,” you replied, roughly.

His heart aches underneath the layers of armor that are bleeding over you.

“What did…Chum,” he whispered to himself. “My child… my sweet child…”

The damaged chest plate slipped from his fingers—burning in his chest exploded throughout his body, his heart—his heart is dying filled with weights that made him fall to his knees. It echoed the gunshot that made itself home in your chest plate, he scrambled to tightly hug the chest plate; this was just a sick dream which he would wake from and you’d be in his arms with the familiar hint of the spark that made you.

He tightly shut his burning eyes—wanting to feel the warmth that you have, he opened them to see your chest plate stained with dirt and your dried blood. He stared up at the screen of the bat computer, seeing the final clip of you laying there. Your dead eyes staring up at the twinkling lightbulb that he had shined on you, he saw your lips move but he couldn’t hear the broken words—someone was screaming but it wasn’t you.

Bruce clutched your blanket—it still smelled of his Robin, he couldn’t part with it but he had to. He folded it in the casket—an empty casket with your burial clothes. He wanted a body to accompany the casket. Days before, He interrogated Joker but he only replied with laughter and a snarky remark while he stared and stood beside a basin filled with water and a rag to wipe a nonexistent body to bury in the wooden casket.

His reddened eyes watched them put the empty casket into the hearse—watching the hearse drive to the place where you would now rest despite never having a body in the casket. He turned around to hear the clammer of noisy cameras from behind the closed gates of the private plot.

These shoes crumbled upon the concrete pathway that the hearse took, it was getting harder to walk. He followed the hearse to the place where he could mourn for a moment—pulling on wooden handles to carefully lay the casket to rest. He stood beside the shovel, scooping the dirt and putting it in the six feet hole that wanted to consume any memory of the happiness that you offered him. He stared at the now covered hole and turned around expecting to see you tugging on his nerves about wanting to patrol alone again; he shouldn’t have let you go alone.

The world had been drained of its color—he felt alone again. He feel to his knees and his hand rested on the dirt, a hard gasp escaped his lips while his tears that he had held in were falling down his face.

Seven days felt similar to jabs in his bleeding heart, yet the meals that were placed in the kitchen from guests couldn’t soothe his pain. He couldn’t stomach the meals as it felt unfair—his watery eyes stared at the plate, sniffling and his suit was no longer smoothed and ironed rather it was wrinkled. He couldn’t take it off, it still had crumbs of the dirt from the burial. He needed his child back, just this once to say a proper goodbye to wipe away their tears before returning to the dirt that swallowed the coffin.

He sunk into the bed—there was no escape in the folds of the blankets that held no reminder of a child who would steal the blankets for their own greed. His voice was broken while limbs had been replaced with metal; it was somewhat comforting to just lay in the covers and hide from the world that had taken the people he loved from his arms. A belief that he could nurture his little bird and protect them while crime fighting and the pain stabbed his heart that had been ripped apart—he caused their death.

The protector of an entire city yet he failed to be a protector to the ward that he thought could fill the void except it left a void that was never ending and now felt similar to a skin rotting disease taking away his life day by day.

It was the first time in a month since he entered the Bat-cave as his legs trembled towards the miniature memorial dedicated to you, a Robin that was taken too young. He clutched his chest, his hand remained on the glass case that had the chest plate and pieces of your suit. This wasn’t here before, his heart was healing only to be ripped open again.

It had your name engraved in the bottom— A good soldier. Good soldier yet you were never a soldier in his eyes rather you were his little bird despite having rough edges; you were his child.

It was the first night, he wore the batsuit again as he got into the batmobile—pulling on the seatbelt to hear the familiar clip.

“Are you buckled, Robin?” He turned to the passenger seat; nobody responded back. “Oh…”

#platonic dc x reader #dc comics fanfiction #dc comics x reader #platonic bruce wayne x reader #platonic arkhamverse x reader #platonic batman x reader #platonic batman #platonic bruce wayne #batfam x reader #platonic batfam #platonic batfam x reader

59 notes · View notes

leonw4nter · 1 year ago

Text

Silver Screen

RE2R!Leon x F!Reader modern AU (The 300 followers special!)

You walk into the room, an iPad opened to the latest installment of the fanfiction series you’ve been following for quite some time carried in the nook of your arm and salted caramel boba tea in the other. Setting the sugary drink on the table beside your spot on the couch, you temporarily put your iPad down to get into a comfortable position in the small pillow and blanket nest you’ve made for yourself. With a pleased sigh and an excited grin, you take a long sip of the beverage before finally picking the iPad up and have the coziest time of your life.

You were having a solid few hours of the coziest time of your life until you heard some soft sniffling coming from somewhere in the living room along with the faint pads of feet against the wooden floorboards. You look up, your eyes finally focused on something else other than pixels that formed words on a bright screen. There, you see him: your roommate Leon whose face is in his hands, ears red, and what seems to be muffled crying– no, sobbing as he walks around in circles.

Concerned for your friend and roommate, you get up from your place and walk up to him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You place a hand on his broad back, patting and gently stroking it back and forth. Leon finally lifts his head up, wiping off his tears with the sleeve of his dark green sweatshirt.

“This author was not playing around, ended up crying.” is all he said which prompted you to try and hold back a giggle. So he’s been reading fics too, you think to yourself.

“Can I read it?” you ask, to which he nods and fishes his phone out from the pocket of his plaid pajama pants.

“Lemme find it real quick,” he responds. He’s still sniffling, the waterline of his eyes occasionally brimming with a new batch of salty tears before he blinks them away. He finally finds the fic he’s been reading, handing you his phone while he walks over to the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water to stop hiccuping.

“You sure you’re fine?” you call out before you read.

“Yeah! Fic was just really… it was just something!”

You start reading the fic, your eyes trailing on the words on the screen. The words seemed familiar so you guessed that Leon had stumbled on a fic you’ve read before. Wrong! It was your fic, a fic you finished updating around last night. No wonder it was too familiar. You stared at the phone in your hand with wide eyes like a deer in headlights, a child caught with a jar of sweets in her hands when she shouldn’t have been eating sugary things. Your gaze drifted to Leon in the kitchen, who was still somehow trying to control his breathing while chugging down water like his life depended on it. He didn’t seem to notice the sudden drain of color in your face so you continue to scroll down, checking if he left any likes or reblogs or comments on your work. Another bombshell dropped: he’s the top reader of your work and the one that’s been keyboard smashing in the comments, along with the… soulful, emotional reblogs. His account is the one that’s religiously kept up with whatever you post, whether it be new fics or just random vents. BiohazardBard, the sweet account who comments nice stuff like “Don’t worry about us, take some time for yourself! U got this!!” and reblogs with tags like “UEIXGOFQWV CRIED SO HARD U DONT EVEN KNOW IEWBRXXR”on angst fanfiction is your roommate and also your crush.

You stand there in silence, mouth ajar as you continue to stare blankly into his phone, unable to process the fact that he’s aware of your online persona but he doesn’t know that it’s you. You exit the app and turn his phone off, walking over to him in the kitchen and give him pats to his shoulder to really make sure that he’s okay. If he’s calmed down then you’re not– internally, that is.

“That fic uh… it truly was something,” you sympathetically say. “Guessed that the part where uh- she leaves him was the one that got the water works going.”

“Oh um nope, it’s the part where things were slowly spiraling down. Got anxious for them then just full-on bawled when shit hit the fan,” he explains with a sheepish smile. “This fic is just bars, I love it so much actually– Might print a copy of this to take to work when I can’t be on my phone.”

To have your fics reblogged and your account be compared to the unburned version of the Library of Alexandria is one thing but to hear your number one dedicated reader say that to your face? After a breakdown? Nothing will ever top that and he doesn’t even know he just ugly-cried in front of the author he keeps up with.

“Imagine someone coming up to the front desk to be like: “hi someone stole my bike” or something and they call you over and their resident cop is just red as hell and all slobbery,” you joke.

“Shut up! I’ll try not to cry, I’m going to build immunity,” he half-jokes before taking another gulp of water.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You lay awake at night, staring into the dark nothingness of your room. Your feelings are all convoluted– joy, fear, embarrassment, amusement, excitement– and it’s hard to pinpoint what is ruling over you. Finding out that the man whom you’ve been hinting your feelings for is obsessed with your writing? In complete adoration with the products of your mind and skill? Hopefully he doesn’t suss out on your more romantic and sappy fics, inspired by real-life events you experienced with him (with more romantic and glittery bits). It doesn’t take even a minute to decide that you’ll be keeping this secret from him in order to not make anything weird between you two. Leon already seemed embarrassed after having been caught sobbing like that by a mere set of pixels on screen so you decided that this would be best for both of you. Unable to sleep due to the combined combination of boba tea and adrenaline, you sit up and reach for your phone because reading a fic or two before bed doesn’t hurt, right?

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

It’s been a few days after the little “incident” and Leon’s been more open with showing you some fics he enjoys, occasionally giving his own reviews and recommendations for you. He’s still the same guy that keyboards smashes on your comments and on his reblogs, which makes you giggle since you know who’s been sending you that. He finally came home from a long day of work only to do some more work outside of office hours, catching up on reports that some absent cops left behind and was handed over to him. Making himself a cup of coffee, he stretches his arms and hands before typing away on his dingy laptop for the next 3 hours. A few hours later, you hear some giggling coming from him so you bring your head up and spot his head once again buried in his hand, ears red but from giggling this time. He swings his legs, accidentally nudging the leg of a chair so he yelps a bit, which tugs a little chuckle from you. His ears pick up on the jolly noise coming from you, his face glowing when he sees you smile (or are you just seeing things?). He asks for you to come over to him and points at something on the screen of his laptop.

“Thought you wanted uninterrupted time for work,” you ask.

“I’m on a break, I think I deserve it,” he confidently says. “Anyways, take a look at this. Starting from here until here.”

You expected that you’d see another fic of yours but it was from another account’s instead, which disappointed you a slight bit but not that you minded too much. You finished reading the lines, the corners of your lips tugged skyward with a subtle splash of baby pink tinting your cheeks.

“Damn, that’s sweet,” you comment. “Gosh, I want what they have.”

“Me too. Like, hey God I’m still here ya know! I’ve seen what you’ve done for others!” Leon adds on.

Um, hey Leon! I’m literally right here! Do you need glasses? I’m right beside you!

Since you two were having a nice moment sharing fics and fic lines, you decided to show Leon some lines from fics you love.

“Take a look at this one,” you say as you hand him your iPad. “His description of her had me clawing at walls and biting my fist.”

Leon takes the gadget from your hands with care and places them beside his laptop, reading the lines. He reads in silence and it appears that he’s going over the line again and again.

“Who wrote this?” he asks.

“Uh, scottfree.”

“I don’t think I’m getting out of this scot-free,” Leon jokes. “Pun intended.”

“And why is that…?”

“Because I wrote that.”

You look at him in confusion, two neurons in your brain making a very, very, very slow connection in this moment.

“You’re scottfree?! And also BiohazardBard?!,” you exclaim. So he’s also scottfree, the writer whose lines you’ve screenshotted takes up about a third of all images on your phone. Amazing.

“How do you know I’m BiohazardBard?!?!,” he exclaims even louder as he gets up from his seat.

“Because um– the fic you cried over some days ago is mine! And I saw your account name and profile and I found out that you’re one of my loyal readers!”

He looks like he’s ready to wither away into nothing, become dust and probably get sucked in a vacuum cleaner.

“God that’s embarrassing,” he quietly mumbles. “Tell me: is that fic the first fic you’ve read from me? My other account, I mean– the one where I post fics.”

“Scottfree? Um, no… I’ve read like– quite a lot, actually.”

He stares blankly at you, unsure on how to absorb the information dumped on him. He’s only got a half-asleep half of a brain cell now since the rest of them were allocated on getting those papers done with the other half of the remaining brain cell, which he thinks is now gone.

“While we’re at this, um. You must know that the descriptions I write for the love interests are usually what I wished I could say to you or how I’d describe you. When he’s telling her how magical it is to be around her presence? I’ve daydreamed one too many times about really saying that you,” he quietly confides in you. “If I want to write another story, I hope I could write it alongside you.”

They really weren’t playing with slow-burn romance where both of them are too shy to confess their feelings. It’s happening to me right now! I’m in the confession part of the story!

“I guess it’s a writer thing for writers to include parts of someone they like in their works because I did the same thing for my works, actually. If I wanna come up with a real sweet line, I just think about you and I wish that I’d say these to you. Maybe I’ll wish that whatever I write the love interest to say, I’ll hear you say them to me too and uh… manifesting is real I guess, I dunno,” you awkwardly laugh. “Guess the feeling’s mutual, huh.”

“Yeah. Wow, this is… this is amazing. Real amazing,” Leon softly says.

“Mhm.”

“So…”

“So… what now…?”

“I guess this makes as mutuals in terms of accounts and feelings," the blond grins.

NOTE - Once again, thank you to the lovely 310 people who decided to follow me and keep up with whatever I post :)) I first came up with this while I was washing my cats' bowls and I intended for it to be a drabble but I just decided to make it a fic in the end. Still working on other reqs rn so expect some more posts in the coming days <33 If your usernames are somehow the same as the usernames that I made up for this fic then I didn't mean that and it's just a coincidence 😭🙏 Also y'all gotta hear me out on Francis Mosses from That's Not My Neighbor, he's cute :3 Judging from my mlist, I'm not sure if I love RE2R Leon hmm I'm not too sure 🤔 Anyways, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!!!! I <33333 UUUUUU !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers are made by @benkeibear , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

195 notes · View notes

writer-jamie · 10 months ago

Text

| Aphrodite's Spell | Chapter Two |

Summary: Aegon was the definition of fuckboy. He didn't care about people's feelings, fucked with no strings attached and used whoever he wanted. He never got attached. Never made friends. That was until he met you online. You didn't know him, nor his family. You were an innocent his family and their legacy tainted. Someone new. Something new.

Warnings: Talks of alcohol and drugs, some slight smut, angst.

Author's note: Thank you for all the love on the first chapter of this series! I'm feeling extremely motivated to write so I will try and get as many chapters written while i'm in this motivated mood. Can't promise this will last though, but will try my best to keep to regular updates.

Taglist: @neithriddle @sab-falco @prp-butterf1y @deltamoon666 @sewmxx

Link for taglist.

Divider: @fairytopea

You squinted at the bright screen as you sipped on your wine.

EggTarg liked your post.

Who the fuck is called Egg?

You knew all your other likes, mainly your friends or the guys online who followed you to wank over your photos, but this Egg guy is new. You clicked on his profile and there wasn't much to see. His profile picture was the side of her face but you couldn't see much of his features. The thing that stood out was his striking hair.

Blonde. That explains a lot.

Your friends would describe you as a creature of habit. Always went for the blonde boys, smokers, "rat looking" as Lisa would say. You knew what you liked and there was no shame in that. So when you looked at Egg's profile picture and saw the blonde hair, you could have sworn you felt your heartbeat in your clit.

You finished the rest of your wine in one big gulp and placed your glass on your oak bedside table. Leaning back into your headboard, you pulled your laptop closer to your chest and began typing.

Direct Message - User EggTarg

Me: You have peaked my interest Egg 🥚

EggTarg: As you have mine...pretty name, pretty face, what’s not to like.

Me: Romanic as well as one of my favourite foods, I think you are a winner.

EggTarg: Winner?

Me: You’ll see...

You couldn’t help laughing from behind your screen, feeling a rush of heat over your body. He sent you a photo. Oh. No guy ever sends you photos, just wants sex or a hookup.

EggTarg: Image attached.

EggTarg: You like what you see?

Me: Well I’m not blind so yeah 🤤

EggTarg: ***-***-**** call me

That was easy. A phone number and a shirtless pic in less than ten minutes. He must be either desperate or horny. You debated picking up the phone and calling him. What if he was a serial killer or a weirdo wanting to eat your body.

Eh anything would be better than going to work in the morning.

***-***-**** added to contacts as Egg.

Calling Egg…

Buzz buzz…buzz buzz…buzz…”Hello?” A man’s voice answered the phone. He sounds Egg like. “Egg? It’s Y/N?” You could almost hear his posture shift as he realised who was on the other end of the phone. “Y/N. You called. Thought you weren’t gonna.” He sounded well educated but there was something about him that seemed off. He definitely sounded hungover. “So how can I help you EggMan?” You smirked down the phone, hearing him chuckle on the other end at the new nickname.

“You fancy hanging out? I don’t do public really well but we can go out for some food or drinks?” He heard you take a deep breath in, realising quickly how strange it sounded that he ‘doesn’t do public’. “I mean I do do public just not great. My family is kinda well known and I never get any peace and quiet when I’m out and-“ The panic in his voice obvious. Great you fucked this up Aegon.

“Egg. Egg it’s ok, I don’t ‘do’ public either. My family has a lot of drama surrounding it and I usually like to go out of town for dates or stay home. Or rent a hotel.” He suddenly felt at ease with your response. “I have a hotel room booked for this evening. Rook’s Nest Hotel. Ever heard of it?” You asked, pulling up your reservation and adding an addition person to the booking. “Meet me in the lobby at 7pm?” You suggested, pausing before clicking the save button on the reservation email.

“See you there. Wear something red.” He said with a smile and hung up the phone. Cheeky cunt. You sent him quick text with a lips emoji before laying back in your bed. “What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?” You asked yourself, running your fingers through your hair.

You adjusted your dress as you sat on the soft leather seat, nursing your red wine as you awaited Egg to show up. You looked down at your phone. 7:08pm. He's only eight minutes late, traffic is probably bad. No traffic isn't bad. He's just late. What if he doesn't show up? What an embarrassment. You debated getting up to leave, looking around seeing many couples drinking in the lobby. You knew almost everyone here by name, the staff and the regulars.

Pepper was one of your favourite bell boys. He always is the first at the door to welcome you. He has worked at the hotel since he was sixteen and he was now thirty two. You used to see him every summer when your parents would take you to the hotel for your first of many family getaways. Your father always tips well, but for Pepper he was the most generous. He saw him like a son figure, after all he only had you and God knows he wishes he had a son. Instead he was stuck with you. Even now, Pepper is the first to take your bags to your room. He never expected a tip like a lot of the other workers. He knows you give tips at the end of the stay. But normally it would be enough of a tip to feed his family for at least four months (until you showed your face again).

Denise was your favourite cleaner. She knew when you were staying and would leave strawberry chocolates on your pillow. She's also been working there since you were young. She must be pushing sixty now and definitely didn't need to work but she worked her whole life and would probably be really bored at home. She was the sweetest lady you had ever met, she felt like a grandma to you. Denise never felt a need to change her posture or attitude when she saw you or your father. She was 100% Denise and you admired her for that. Most people would stand up straighter when your father entered the room, but Denise would continue dusting or hoovering, telling your father to lift his feet or move his ass if he was in the way.

You were snapped out your daydream by Mr Mortez, the hotel manager, who placed his hand on your shoulder gently. "Miss Y/L/N. Can I get Pepper to escort you to your room? I hate to see you sat alone." You smiled sweetly at the gesture. "No thank you. I will be ok." He nodded and turned around, walking back to the reception desk, joining many staff looking at you with worried expressions.

7:28pm.

You pulled out your phone and opened up your messages with Egg.

Me: You are a cunt

The message sent quickly before shoving the phone into your bag, grabbing your wine glass and cardigan before standing up. You walked past many couples who were enjoying each others company. Not looking where you were going you bumped into a figure who was hastily walking through the lobby doors. "Oh God I am so sorry..." You mumbled, grabbing your bag and cardigan off the floor. You rised to your feet and looking the stranger with a soft smile.

"Sorry I'm late." He said with a smile, taking your hand into his and placing a soft kiss to your hand. "Egg?" You looked the man in front of you up and down, making sure this was the same man you arranged to meet mere hours ago. "Aegon. But Egg works too." You relaxed your shoulders and put your hand on his chest, seeing his shirt was now stained red with your wine. "Oh Aegon I'm so sorry! Let me take you to the laundry room and we can wash your shirt." Grabbing his hand and walking him towards the laundry room.

Pepper looked at you with a soft smile, almost checking you were ok. You gave him a reassuring smile in return.

You placed your key card to the doors lock and it opened with a click. Aegon followed you inside, impressed with this hotels facilities. You put your bag and cardigan down on the floor and opened the washer, grabbing the items from the shelves and preparing the stain remover and liquid. "Take off your shirt." You demanded plainly, hopeful this could be sorted soon so you could enjoy your evening.

"At least buy me a drink first." Aegon replied, a smirk spreading across his lips. You shook your head and walked towards him, placing your hands on his chest and began unbuttoning his shirt buttons. His sparce chest hair came into view as you unbuttoned his cream coloured shirt. "Don't push it." You replied. Aegon rested his hands on your hips as you continued to remove his shirt. The shirt came off quickly and just like that the moment was over. You threw the clothing into the machine and set it off.

"Let's hope that comes out. I don't fancy buying you a new shirt." You said with a smirk, walking back over to him and sitting down on the other washing machine.

"Red." Aegon said with a dark expression behind his eyes.

"Yeah. Do you like it?"

"How could I not?" Aegon replied, his hands wandering towards your hips again. You rested your hands on his soft chest. He had small blemishes on his chest as well as a couple birth marks and moles. He looked perfect. Something must be off.

"So what's wrong with you?"

Aegon's face dropped. "What?"

"Well you are literally so perfect, there must be something wrong." Aeon chuckled under his breath, an almost confident chuckle. "Family trauma, dead parent or sibling, abuse in childhood?" He couldn't help laughing at the suggestions.

"All the above." Aegon raised his eyebrows at you. "Does that scare you?"

"Nah, I'm a big girl. I can handle my bad boys."

The bumping of the washing machine was the only noise heard for miles. Almost like the busy hotel outside wasn't there. It was just you and Aegon at that moment. Nobody else mattered. You watched as his chest began to rise and fall quickly as you raised your hands up his chest, past his nipples and to the sides of his neck. You found the back of his hair that rested on the nape of his neck. The blonde locks that lay there were soft. He definitely used conditioner. It felt as if the oxygen in the room had been sucked out as he looked into your eyes with his. Placing your hands on his face, he leaned into your touch. He was touch starved. He loved the feeling you of your touch. He had had sex with plenty of women, sometimes the same booty call over and over again but nobody looked at him the way you did. Nobody looked into his eyes like you did, or genuinely made him laugh the way you did.

Aegon placed his thumb on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly exposing your lower teeth. You leaned into his touch, wanting him to make the move, but not knowing if he would at this rate.

Also as if he could read your mind, he grabbed the sides of your face and pulled you in close. Lips gently grazing yours softly. He was gentle. You didn't expect that. The softness of the kiss.

Then it got intense. Fast. It was as if you couldn't get enough of each other. Your tongue danced in his mouth, fighting his tongue for dominance. Aegon pulled you closer, almost like he was trying to climb inside your body. He needed you. Gasps and moans were heard in the room. "Aeg..Fuck!" You groaned, running your hands through his hair and pulling him closer. "Don't fucking stop…Jesus." Grabbing his wandering hand and placing it closer to your inner thigh. Aegon didn’t stop. His fingers pushing your black underwear to the side and he slides a finger between your folds. You felt your stomach flip as he played with your wet entrance. “Oh darling so wet for me already? That’s so hot.” That nickname. “Call me that again..” You looked up at Aegon with hooded eyes.

He pushed a finger into your tight hole, a groan leaving your lips. “Darling..”

#sorry cliffhanger ending #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #aegon targaryen x reader #ongoing

103 notes · View notes

baby-you-you · 1 month ago

Note

hi hello! Could you do stuff for a baby mouse?/np

-@little-ollie-mouse

THINGS FOR A BABY MOUSE REGRESSOR !!

🧀 Activities

Nesting in blankets Drawing cheese, berries, or tiny mice Watching soft animations Cuddling with a stuffie in a mouse hole (Under a table, in blankets, etc) Tiny crafts (Felt cheese, paper mice) Foraging games (Finding interesting things in nature) Pretend scavenging around your room Mouse burrow out of blankets and boxes and pillows!

🧀 Clothes

Soft gray, brown, or white pajamas or onesies Mitten or paw gloves Cozy paw slippers or socks Hoodie or hat with mouse ears Tail clip on or tail felt clip for your bag Overalls or dresses with patches Scarf or patchwork cloak Whiskers, headband ears, or face paint.

🧀 Toys

Mouse or rodent stuffie Chew-safe teethers Miniature play sets or play food hidey-hole for stuffies Rattling or squeaky toys Foraging boxes (Filled with shredded paper and toys to hunt for!) Wooden blocks, linkin logs, or k'nex maze puzzles or obstacle courses

🧀 Games

Coloring pages matching games (Food edition) Scavenger hunt (Locate different snacks and plushies) "mouse cafe" roleplay only talking in squeaks collect-the-treats online or physical

🧀 Food & drinks

cubed cheese or cheese sticks fruit slices berries nuts or nut-butter crackers (If safe) Mini sandwiches cheese puffs or popcorn warm milk or tea in a small cup “Mouse mix” trail mix (cereal, raisins, cheese crackers) charcuterie plate

🧀 Nicknames

Mousey squeaks Little whiskers nibbles tiny tail cheeseball skitter burrowbug

28 notes · View notes

lefaystrent · 9 months ago

Text

Virgil/Remus college roommates AU

It's Remus's third year of college. He's majoring in a medical field because it's gross and cool, and he knows human anatomy like the back of his hand.

Remus's major is not his first choice or second or third. But it is the choice that he could live with along with hopefully making his parents proud.

Somehow, his parents still think he's an embarrassment to the family. They often compare him to his twin brother, Roman, who gained major success as a child actor.

It's not Roman's fault, and Roman tries, but there's an unresolved part of Remus that's jealous and wishes he had any attention at all.

Remus has been through a few roommates. They usually request a transfer the first month in. Either Remus is too crass or too loud or too nosey or too gross. Too much in general.

Remus doesn't know how else to be but himself. He's proud of who he is. Doesn't make it any less lonely or easy to make friends.

Remus has one singular friend. Janus who's not even a student at this college, but he does some work for some students for under-the-table pay. Otherwise known as plagiarizing papers for the tired or lazy masses.

Remus meets Janus because someone recommended him as a tutor. Janus never corrects him and continues tutoring him.

Beginning his third year of college in the dorms, Remus does not have high hopes for his new roomie. Mostly he is excited to see how long the new guy will last. Remus gets set up in the room first and waits for whenever his roomie will appear.

The new roomie is Virgil. He's an undecided major, wears an oversized hoodie, has anxiety out the wazoo, and is the cutest emo he has ever seen.

Remus has a type. His type is angry kitten. He does not realize he has a type until this moment. He kinda wants to really keep this one.

Virgil doesn't mind taking the leftover bed, so Remus doesn't have to move his stuff. Virgil's dad is also there to help his son move in. His dad is a therapist (psst, it's Emile), and is like the total opposite to his son in terms of attire and personality.

Virgil is also really close with his dad. It's clear as day in the way he waddles after him like a darkling duck while giving Remus apprehensive glances.

Remus tries to be on his best behavior, he really does. He offers to help them carry stuff, and Emile is delighted, and Remus cracks some jokes that they actually laugh at a couple of times.

Before Emil leaves, he asks Remus to take care of his son. Remus salutes him seriously and says it will be his honor.

As soon as the door closes, Virgil's timidness skyrockets. He admits that this is his first year living on campus and without his dad. Even though Emile promised he's only a phone call away and he doesn't live that far, it's still a lot for a kid to be thrust out of the nest.

Remus cheers him up by asking if he wants to see his bone collection. Yes, you heard him right. He collects bones of dead things. They're stored under his bed which he affectionately refers to as the boneyard.

Virgil rolls with it. He lets Remus chatter, and he doesn't interrupt him. Remus thinks he doesn't know what to say to break the ice, so Remus smashes all the ice for him.

Remus learns that despite this being Virgil's first year on campus, he already has enough credits under his belt to graduate and then some. Apparently, he's been racking them up at breakneck speed with online classes ever since he graduated high school early.

It was Emile's idea for him to attend university life, to push him out of his shell and make friends. Virgil has been homeschooled most of his life because he can't handle crowds and other kids are the worst. He wants to try this for his dad though, to at least be able to say he put effort into it.

Remus respects that. He doesn't understand anxiety. He's so used to throwing himself out there. Who doesn't like attention? But attention makes Virgil nervous so Remus makes a solid attempt to not pay attention to him.

Which of course makes it all the harder. He overcompensates and comes on too strong. He babbles one night their first week into classes about a documentary he watched on Ted Bundy which leads into John Winn Gacey, and then on to the Zodiac Killer.

Virgil stops him at some point, eyes like saucers. "Do you realize you've been talking for over an hour about serial killers?"

Remus thinks this is the part where Virgil applies to switch roommates on the grounds that Remus is secretly a murderer. But instead, Virgil admits he's impressed by how much he knows and asks if he's ever watched Buzzfeed Unsolved.

And then they bond over watching shows together, and Virgil calls his dad and gushes about it, and Remus feels his stomach do a little flip at how happy Virgil seems to want to share this.

It becomes a thing where Virgil calls his dad and gives him updates not only about his life but Remus. Emile always asks about him and tells Virgil to tell him hi.

Remus is dumbfounded. He can't imagine calling his folks every month, let alone every day.

The two of them find a routine after the first week. By which, that means they have no routine. Virgil is a chronic insomniac and Remus can sleep through anything. Whenever Remus catches Virgil finally asleep, he either steps out of the room or sits completely still on pain of death. It helps that Virgil often wears his headphones and blasts music.

There's a time when Remus returns early to their dorm room and hears the slight, muffled sound of Virgil's music coming from Virgil's closet. Curious, Remus opens the closet to find that Virgil has made a blanket nest for himself inside and is fast asleep. Remus closes the door back gently and never tells Virgil that he knows about his super secret napping spot.

For Virgil's part, he doesn't know what to make of Remus for the first few weeks. Remus is flamboyant and proud in his masculinity even when wearing booty shorts. He sings like a hyena and he has those weird 3am pillow talk thoughts but like all the time.

He's also so random that even when Virgil feels anxious, it somehow gets him laughing more often than not. Remus beams during these moments and doubles down, usually becoming even more ridiculous.

Remus notices early on that Virgil skips meals. He doesn't think that it's an eating disorder or anything, because he eats whatever snacks Remus throws at him. Remus is smart though, more clever than people give him credit for, and his eyes often gravitate towards his favorite little emo.

Remus begins escorting Virgil to the food court. Virgil starts eating regular meals again now that he doesn't have to brave the swarms of people alone. The first time the food court is too congested indoors even with a buddy, Virgil crowds close to Remus and holds onto his arm and trusts him to steer them through.

Remus starts offering his hand whenever things get too claustrophobic. Virgil is surprised the first time, because guys don't just hold hands like that. But Remus is far from normal, and Virgil never claimed to be, so he takes the hand when it's offered. He can't look anyone in the eyes while they hold hands, but Virgil refuses to let go.

Holding hands with Virgil quickly becomes Remus's favorite activity. So much that he offers even when they're not around other people. Virgil doesn't always take it, but it makes him go soft in a way that Remus relishes.

Virgil went into university life initially thinking that he would hate it. After some weeks with Remus, he finds enjoyment. He's happy, and his classes are fun, and he never thought he'd befriend someone like Remus. At least, he thinks they're friends. Remus wouldn't hold his hand if they weren't at least friends, right?

Eventually, Remus admits to some of his struggles with his school work. Janus helps, but he's not knowledgeable in every subject(aka, Janus is flying by the seat of his pants and Remus doesn't realize it). Virgil agrees to help for the price of sour Skittles.

Remus learns quickly how Virgil has so many credits. Virgil's got that thing where he reads super fast and has a photographic memory.

"You have super powers," Remus accusses.

Virgil flushes and mutters something about it not being fair that he has built in cheat codes. He seems to be under the impression that this detracts from his successes and that he's not very intelligent.

Remus endeavors to prove him wrong any chance he gets. He compliments him often and praises him for helping him so much. He wants to show that Virgil's effort is its own merit. And Remus proves it to him because his grades do start improving in the courses he struggles with.

There's one night that they stay up late working on one of Remus's research papers. It's worth over a quarter of his grade, so it has to be good. He's got it printed out and ready to take to class, only he gets terribly distracted when getting ready that morning and runs out the door without it.

Virgil wakes up and spots the super important paper on Remus's desk five minutes before Remus's class starts.

Remus is very surprised to see Virgil show up to his class, panting for air and paper in hand.

"You sprinted across campus to bring this to me?" Remus asks, incredulous.

Virgil shrugs, wiping sweat from his brow, "You worked really hard on it."

That's the moment that Remus thinks he falls a little bit in love.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #virgil sanders #romantic #virgil/remus #college au #and they were roommates au #emile picani #writing #fanfiction #dukexiety

41 notes · View notes

ashthewaterghoul · 10 months ago

Text

Body & Mind - A Phantom Ghoul One Shot

So Swiss, ever the caring partner, took Phantom’s plate of food and gently knocked on their door. No response came so Swiss tried the handle and found it unlocked. He had just intended on dropping the food by Phantom’s bedside for whenever they woke up but the sight of the little Bug broke Swiss’ heart. They were curled up so small and hidden under many blankets with their back to the door. They had an extremely large plain black hoodie on that Swiss knew had been dubbed their ‘dysphoria hoodie’. Swiss walked around the nest and saw Phantom was awake, staring at nothing while tears rolled down their face. Or, Phantom is feeling dysphoric, and Swiss helps.

Words: 1.9k

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Phantom/Rain, Phantom/Swiss

Tags: Gender dysphoria, hurt/comfort, fluff, they/them Phantom, he/they Rain, transmasc Phantom and Rain, HRT, chest binding, Aether pops up for a second too, and transmasc Dew mention, author is projecting, implied polyghouls.

Warnings: Period talk/period-induced dysphoria, a lil mention of slightly unsafe binding practices and a tiny bit of medical language as Phantom talks about their HRT and their issues with it.

Terms used for Phantom and Rain’s anatomy - Chest and tissue.

~~~

It was about halfway through the day when Swiss realised he hadn’t seen Phantom yet. The little Bat had been exhausted after getting back from their first tour and Swiss had taken up a few of their duties so they could rest. They both usually at least still saw each other at breakfast, if not lunch. But when Swiss saw the still-full plate by Phantom’s seat at the table, he knew something was up.

A quick question to Aurora told Swiss that they hadn’t left their room at all yet and she assumed they were just sleeping in. Not even Phantom’s neighbours, Rain and Cirrus, had heard anything from within the room. So Swiss, ever the caring partner, took Phantom’s plate of food and gently knocked on their door. No response came so Swiss tried the handle and found it unlocked. He had just intended on dropping the food by Phantom’s bedside for whenever they woke up but the sight of the little Bug broke Swiss’ heart.

They were curled up so small and hidden under many blankets with their back to the door. They had an extremely large plain black hoodie on that Swiss knew had been dubbed their ‘dysphoria hoodie’. Swiss walked around the nest and saw Phantom was awake, staring at nothing while tears rolled down their face.

“Buggy?” Swiss whispered, and Phantom’s violet eyes met his golds.

“Hi.” Phantom said quietly.

“Bad dysphoria day?” Swiss assumed by the hoodie but just wanted confirmation, which he got when Phantom nodded, “I’m sorry, baby.”

Phantom shrugged, “‘s not your fault.”

“I know, but I hate seeing you like this.” Swiss let out a deep breath, “Can I touch you? Do you want a cuddle?”

“Please.” Phantom said, and Swiss wasted no time in climbing into the nest and bringing Phantom’s head to rest against his chest while he laid on his back.

Read below the cut or on ao3

“Has anything brought this on or is it just one of those days? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Swiss said.

They groaned, “My period’s coming soon, my chest is sore so I can’t bind, and loads of people online are calling me ‘he’ and some even saying ‘she’. I know the public don’t know, but it still bothers me.” Phantom said.

“A bit of a downside to the masks and anonymity, I guess, but Frater can find a way to get everyone to know your pronouns, I’m sure.” Swiss said, taking a breath before going onto the next point, knowing Phantom needed logic for their addled brain that wouldn’t be able to find solutions for itself, “Your T hasn’t stopped your period yet?”

Phantom shook their head.

“Have you told Aether? He’s managing your prescription, right?”

“Hoped it would just go away.” Phantom sniffled.

“Okay, well, how about you tell him? When Dew started his T he had to get an extra shot to stop his period. I’m sure Aeth would do the same for you.” Swiss said.

“Maybe.” Phantom said.

“You can ask when you feel more yourself maybe, yeah?” Swiss said and Phantom nodded, “You said your chest is sore?”

“Always happens with my period.” Phantom said.

“How much have you been binding recently?” Swiss asked.

“Like, 8 or 9 hours every day?”

“When was the last time you took a day off?”

Phantom went still and blinked rapidly as they tried to remember.

“Buggy, it won’t help if you’re too sore to bind. You need binder breaks.”

“I know! I just hate how I look without it. I know I don’t have a lot going on up here,” They gestured vaguely to their chest, “but knowing it’s there makes me feel like a freak.”

“I think it’s well established that I’m the freak in this pack.” Swiss said, and smiled at the little laugh it drew from Phantom, “Have you ever tried transtape?”

“No, what’s that?” Phantom asked.

“It’s the stuff Rain uses. Kinda like KT tape but it’s for your chest. You can wear it longer than you can a binder and safely too.”

“Will it make me flat?” Phantom asked.

“Less than your binder, probably, but it will still leave you pretty flat, yeah.” Swiss said, going off what he knew from Rain’s own chest.

“Do you think Rain would mind?” Phantom asked.

“He gave you his old binder, I’m sure they wouldn’t.”

Phantom nodded and snuggled their head further into Swiss’ chest, “Can we just cuddle for a bit longer? When do you have to go back?”

Swiss angled for his phone and checked the schedule, “Really I should be going back in about half an hour, but I can delay until tomorrow.”

“What? No.” Phantom moved to their elbows to look at Swiss, “You’ll get in trouble, you can’t!”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass. You’re more important.” Swiss said, kissing the top of Phantom’s head and guiding them back down to cuddle.

“It’ll make me feel bad.” Phantom muttered.

“Well don’t. I’m a grown Ghoul, I can make my own decisions. And I decide to stay with my sexy little bat.”

“I don’t feel sexy right now.” Phantom said.

“You’re always sexy to me.”

“Sure.” Phantom said.

“What? You are. You’re the most sexy little thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What about Rory?”

“She’s pretty.”

“Dew?”

“He’s hot.”

“Rain?”

“Handsome.”

“You really think I’m sexy with my face full of snot?” Phantom laughed slightly.

“Like I said before, I’m the freak of this pack.” Swiss wore his trademark grin as he spoke.

“Don’t I know it?” Phantom said, their eye-roll practically audible.

Swiss laughed and kissed Phantom head once more before snuggling into an easy silence, each rumbling out their own purrs as they got comfy. Phantom also started making biscuits against Swiss, kneading along the plump of his tummy. It was a behaviour that never had any sexual motivation behind it for Phantom, and it certainly took some getting used to for the Ghouls when the little Bat first started doing it, but they had all come to love it because it meant Phantom felt safe and secure.

Swiss was sure he’d fallen asleep at some point as they stayed huddled in the dark room, the food long forgotten. But at some point, the silence broke.

“Thank you.” Phantom said.

“For what, Bat?” Swiss asked.

“For helping me see a bit of logic. I hate my dysphoria.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’ll always want to help you.” Swiss kissed Phantom’s forehead.

They stayed cuddled for even longer until Rain knocked saying it was time for dinner, and with consent from Phantom, Swiss called Rain in and explained the binder situation. Rain preferred transtape because he could swim with it and it didn’t press against his gills like a binder did. They had rolls of it in their room, all different colours and sizes and soon had Phantom picking out a roll of purple.

Phantom wanted Swiss to stay with them and they kept their eyes shut as they took their hoodie off, and Rain measured out strips of the tape. Swiss was whispering little reassurances the whole time of how amazing they looked, how well they were doing, how flat their chest looked as Rain fixed the strips over their tissue. Phantom felt tears pricking their eyes from the praise.

“And done.” Rain said as they laid the last piece and threw away the backing, “Do you want to look at it or just put your hoodie back on?”

Phantom thought about it for a minute, and slowly cracked each eye open. Rain was stood in front of them, blocking the mirror, and also was shirtless revealing his own blue tape. Rain’s chest was similar to Phantom’s, if a bit bigger so Phantom looked at Rain as an estimate for how they looked.

“C- can I look?” Phantom asked.

“You don’t need my permission.” Rain smiled, “I’ll move out the way on a count of three, okay? You tell me when.”

Phantom looked to Swiss who was beaming in pride for the little Quint, “So handsome.” He muttered and Phantom blushed.

They nodded to Rain and they counted, “1… 2… 3…”

Phantom’s face remained neutral as they took their chest in. They could still see a bit of the shape of their tissue but they think they could manage it. Rain always looked flat under his t-shirts and so Phantom assumed they would be the same.

“So, you can leave it on for up to three days.” Rain started explaining, “You can leave it on in the shower and everything too. When you take it off though you need to apply something to the area so the adhesive comes off and doesn’t start breaking your skin. If your skin starts getting agitated or damaged at any point, go to Aether. He’s helped me out a lot with it.”

Phantom nodded, “W- will you help? When I have to take it off?”

“Of course, Bug.” Rain came over and stood behind Phantom, chin on their shoulder and looking at them in the mirror. Between that and Swiss still standing nearby staring, Phantom felt themself blushing again and buried their face in their hands.

“So handsome indeed.” Rain said, putting a small kiss to Phantom’s neck before pulling back, “You want your hoodie back on?”

Phantom nodded and Rain helped it over their arms and head. They looked at their side profile in the mirror and smiled wide when they looked completely flat, finding they couldn’t stop running a hand over the fabric to smooth it and couldn’t tear their eyes away from their reflection.

“Come on, Narcissus.” Swiss smiled, “I’m hungry and you’re about to become my dinner if we don’t get moving.”

“Hey! What about me?” Rain mock-protested.

“You’d be dessert.” Swiss assured as he held his hand out for Phantom and Rain.

“That’s acceptable.” Rain said, placing a small kiss on Swiss’ lips before the Multi guided the three of them out to the dining room where everyone else had already started tucking in.

After they’d finished eating Swiss and Rain got up to leave but Phantom stayed behind. Aether was on pot-washing duty tonight and Phantom saw a good opportunity.

“Hey, Aeth, can I ask you a question about my hormones?”

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” He asked putting down the plate he was washing and giving Phantom his full attention.

“Sh- should my period have stopped by now?” Phantom asked in a hushed voice.

“Hmm, how long have you been on T now? 5 months?”

“Yeah, 6 in a week and a half.”

“When’s your next period due?”

“In a few days.”

“It should have stopped by now, probably. I can’t do anything about this month, but after it’s done come to my office. I can get you started on these sort of booster shots that should stop it, if you want?” Aether said, work voice on despite it being out-of-office hours.

Phantom smiled and nodded, “Thank you, Aeth.”

“Of course, it’s my job and you’re pack. Not gonna leave you out to dry. Any other issues with your T or…?”

“Nope. All good.” Phantom smiled, giving Aether a hug before running back to Swiss’ room.

In the embraces of the Multi and Water Ghouls, Phantom couldn’t stop purring and kneading along their bodies. The two older Ghouls made Phantom feel loved and very handsome indeed. And with some headway to solving a couple more things with their dysphoria, they smiled at maybe having a life free from that dreadful weight.

One shot master post can be found here!

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost ghouls #nameless ghouls #phantom ghoul #rain ghoul #swiss ghoul #ao3 #one shot #ghost band fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost ghouls fanfic #gender dysphoria #transmasc phantom ghoul #transmasc rain ghoul #implied polyghouls #hurt/comfort #fluff

45 notes · View notes

vengeancedemon · 1 month ago

Text

TIMING: immediately after part 1. LOCATION: emilio's apartment PARTIES: @highoctanegem & @vengeancedemon. SUMMARY: with the truth undeniable, jade and emilio talk about what happened and what comes next. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

Jade wished she could’ve been pissed at him longer. Cause like, let’s be real… It hadn’t been nice, watching him chat with literally anyone but her online. It hadn’t been nice refereeing all those petty arguments between him and Regan, or watching him start a rotten meat business (?), or trying to get a better read on his situation via those convos while her texts went unanswered. It was super rude of him to pull out the death card now, actually. And okay, mad wasn’t really her style. She was more likely to get back at him in sneaky ways, find a different outlet for all those negative feelings she hated having stuck in her chest. But she probably could’ve made a good case as to why it was totally fair for her to be a little bit miffed about the whole thing. Obviously, the circumstances changed as soon as she entered the apartment and her spidey sense went off. Some pieces were now connected, some puzzles were solved. If she felt any sort of way other than hurt, she could put a pin in it. For now. (The death card kinda was the most powerful card in the deck).

She wasn’t prepared to learn that Emilio had died, obviously. And even less prepared to realize he didn’t stay dead (what were the chances, really?), but something about his admission, something about the emotion he kept restraining in his voice resonated with Jade. It pulled her back right to the couch they were sitting on. As opposed to where her mind had been wandering throughout this, of course. Which was… jumping on the walls, cartwheeling across the floor, trying other athletic feats on the table or something. Being dead then coming back to (un)life was factual, unequivocally true, given the fact that she had eyes and the special hunter sauce. Concrete. But it was his fear that felt the realest thing in the room to Jade. It was his fear that sucked out all of the adrenaline that had been cursing through her body since she set foot in his apartment. His fear was just as real, and that was what made everything even weirder.

Maybe it was cause she rarely felt scared. For someone who believed herself to be so attuned to her emotions. (Anger wasn’t one, those were just bad vibes that people should just ignore), fear was… novel. For years she’d bypassed it, or maybe she’d simply been unable to identify it. Almost like if one of her siblings had unplugged the wire that was supposed to make that feeling kick in. Like if they’d forgotten to check yes on the trait when they were customizing her personality. Not Ruby, that was totally not her doing, she would’ve said a healthy dose of fear kept hunters sharp, alive for longer. But maybe Jasper. (Mhm, being a daredevil had his seal of approval written all over it). No joke, she could probably count the things she had been scared of in her life with one hand. Her father’s voice. A wasp nest in their tool shed. Going back to Roseville after college. Van getting hurt. Losing Regan. Fear required some kinda perceived danger, didn’t it? Maybe her baseline had been so high growing up, so inhuane, that everything else was… (actual, real) child’s play. Maybe this kinda thing went into the ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ category, cause… well, she had been worrying about a lot more things recently. And she figured from worrying to fear there was like, a hopscotch of distance.

Jade looked at him in slight wonder. Emilio was scared, and it took everything in her not to ask, of what? Had he realized, as he bled out (cause given their nightly activities, it was the most likely cause of death, who were they kidding?) that he was actually not up for it? Did he realize he’d wanted an extension on the deadline at the last moment? Was the fact that he’d risen, his own doing in a way? And actually, she had to ask, whether he knew it or not. Whether he could untangle the mess that were his words and feelings to supply an answer or not. If he was scared, then she wouldn’t be. That was one of those simple choices so rarely presented to her, so she made it. “What part is the scariest?” Cause obviously, there was always an easy target to stab, a closer mark to throw a punch at. He wasn’t the big, outward feelings kinda guy, but he was action. He was able to spot the issue even if he couldn’t verbalize how it made him feel. (And they’d already established fear was a big one there, anyway).

Not many things were simple these days, she had to agree with Emilio there. Quietly, not cause she didn’t wanna give him the reason, just cause he was talking and she wanted to be respectful, obviously. (But also, maybe). Jade tried her best not to conflate his negative to let her help, with how she felt about his decision to keep her in the dark about his death. He didn’t imply it was about her qualifications, and she wanted to believe he was being truthful. (But okay, it still did sting a bit) (Based on past experiences or whatever). She looked down at the dagger in her hand, swallowing a knot in her throat. At least she was able to keep some tears at bay for now. Tears she pushed further down when he clarified she would get hurt too, should she honor her intentions of sending him to the farm upstate. She froze in confusion for a beat. She was almost positive he wasn’t talking about her feelings being hurt. (Cause well, that ship had kinda sailed with him as captain). Nuh uh, scratch that, she was positive. He was being literal, wasn’t he? He was expecting her to pick up what he was putting down.

(She buffered a little).

The what in the puzzle was revealed unexpectedly, as sometimes things were, and it was mostly done by discarding. Mares and zombies…they could hurt, (she sure had a bullet wound scar thanks to that gay cowboy), they had abilities they could use to inflict damage, but she was more or less equipped to deal with them. Their disposal wouldn’t inherently harm her, if she took the right measurements. But Emilio made it sound inevitable. And she could almost see the dim walls in the living room being replaced by pale blue ones from the room she shared with Amber. She remembered as they went over her sister’s flashcards (cause she was a nerd like that) (in hindsight, Jade was always gonna have to carry the mantle of being the cool Bloodworth), learning key facts for each undead species. She was never the one who retained all of it, but of course, the knowledge remained.

About three things she was absolutely positive: First, he was confirmed not a vampire. Second, he made his final demise sound like an event. And third of course, the common thread of revenge and unfinished business during his lifetime. Yeah, no. That piece of the puzzle was impossible to fit anywhere else. “Oh,” she said dumbly, even though, it was the smartest she’d felt since she figured out which of her plants she was overwatering. (All of them) (And okay, she shouldn’t feel smart simply cause she was actually displaying deductive skills any decent slayer would. But the dubs were so rare these days, let her have this) (And also, her plants were doing a lot better now, by the way, after some trial and error). She winced, realizing just a minute ago she’d been thinking about how it was kind of a silver lining that Emilio got to keep immortality as his skincare? Okay, maybe not. He was… he’d eventually…

Jade held her breath as he contemplated her offering, the revelation of his nature pressing new tears against her throat. They could figure out something, they just needed more time. An unwanted sensation of déjà vu swooping in her belly. She’d been in this position before. This… helpless. She didn’t like thinking about it too much. To the point that they (her earliest memories) had become one of those [redacted] chapters. One of those… episodes banned in 50 countries. She’d pleaded silently and not so silently before, for Onyx to let her off the hook, for him not to hand her a knife, for him to skip this one lesson and this other hunt, for him not to capture vampires for her to stake on “special days”. And he’d listened, he’d delayed her training, he’d assigned her easier tasks (like holding a crossbow far away from the action). His love had made him ‘soft’, his words, not hers. (His biggest mistake, he’d called it recently too, after all those years reassuring her it wasn’t the case).

But maybe he was right. Maybe if he hadn’t loved her, if he hadn’t hesitated to subject her to the same training all slayers went through, then she wouldn’t be here, questioning how many more times she was gonna keep failing. Questioning if she should make exceptions for undead best friends. Why did he even listen to a kid? He should’ve known better, and then no one would be in this mess. He couldn’t be the hands that cradled her and also the ones handing her the knife, it didn’t make sense. He’d set her up for failure and now had the gall to hate the consequences of his actions. (It was whatever, she was not going on a tangent about him) (anymore).

She’d pleaded for Emilio to stay a little longer, to give it time to figure things out, to give them time to catch up, despite her duty hanging above them, despite her willingness to hurt them both. And so, he loved her enough to let her off the hook, too. Loved her to the point of taking that blade away from her, to the point of enabling her failure, too. Which, based on the scorecard, it seemed like the only way people around her could love her. It used to bother her, how no one seemed to root for her glow up. But now it bothered her that she wasn’t nearly as bothered by it. (Like, maybe people not wanting her to be a murderer wasn’t so offensive, whatever) (She should still care a little, though, right?). What Jade wanted to focus on, was Emilio agreeing to stay a little longer. Agreeing to sit with her on this couch, letting her pour one out for him. Metaphorically. Except, not really. She’d just pour it out of her mouth, too. She set the dagger on the couch first, but then decided to place it on his thigh. And when she let go of it, she looked ahead, at the wall (that was definitely lacking in the nude photography department), before leaning her head on his shoulder. She sighed, blinking a few remnant tears. “I bought it for you. The sheath’s inside the bag,” along with the banana magnet, that sorta didn’t sound nearly as funny now. But well, this was the first time she’d come back from a so-called family vacay only to find her friend had turned into a… fury. She had some experience for the next time that happened.

She wanted to walk on eggshells, respect his time, but also, was she even the Jade he knew if she didn’t push a little bit? If he didn’t earn at least one eye roll from him? Emilio might have been scared to touch those subjects, but she wasn’t. Couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be. (And somehow, she had allowed Onyx and Ruby to question the kinda person she was with very minimal pushback) (Why?) (She knew why. Hated the why). “Have you fed?” Did he already know… what, um… specific brand of… meal he needed? (Did she want to know? If he was gonna be committing… Actually, she did wanna know. He wasn’t Metzli, he was Emilio. She’d always want to know).

Emilio, who was dead, and he’d come back as a fury. In case the audience at home hadn’t caught up, by the way. Sorry, Jade was there with the rest of them now. Her heart was still doing laps around the room, threatening to jump out of the window every now and then, her body still seemed to be leaking grief despite her best efforts, but her mind had already created a nice little compartment, added a few cute stickers to the folder with the information, and closed it for later assessment. The show could get back on the road, even at 30 percent capacity. (Her half speed was many people’s full speed, anyway).

She poked the hole in her black jeans, trying to get her thoughts in order. There was an avalanche of questions she still hadn’t asked. Was he keeping himself away from everybody who loved him, or just the ones who could sense him? Where was Teddy? Did they know? Was Emilio planning on pursuing revenge on the person who killed him? How and when did it happen? And she knew he might want to push the spotlight away from him, ignore all the uncomfortable conversations, just the way he’d ignored her messages. She’d definitely wanted to discuss her California adventures with him, but that was before she showed up to him chilling on the couch, reeking of death. That kinda stuff had a way of rearranging priorities, shockingly.

Cause there was no way to get back to any normal friends catching up moment, nope, but Jade could offer him her consistency, she could resume her position as the comedic relief. Wrestle him away from the storm in his head, peel a couple layers of severity out of the situation. Had to, cause Emilio was scared. But she wasn’t. (Not yet). “I kinda hate that and I can’t be mad at you for ghosting me, cause… well, that joke is ripe for the picking, isn’t it?” He really did almost ghost her for realsies. “Plus, you beat me at the who had the worst April competition.” And actually, it was the second April in a row where they both seemed to be going through it. Maybe next year, they should invest in some bubble wrap in advance. She was gonna add a note on her phone. “You just…had to go and one up me,” she clicked her tongue, tempted to steal the bottle back from him, but nope… she was gonna have to rinse her mouth later if she did. She wished Emilio liked sugary drinks better. (More importantly, she wished her friend hadn’t died while she was on the other side of the country. She wished she hadn’t left for two weeks, cause then maybe she would’ve been hanging out with him when it happened. She wished he hadn’t returned as a revenge-thirsty creature. She wished he could’ve seen his daughter again. She wished she could offer him relief in a way that didn’t eliminate him from her life) (Alas, only one of those problems had any room for fixing, so… time to start introducing him to cocktails).

“I missed you,” she said softly, aware of how extraneous to anything they were talking about her words were, but… for the three weeks she’d been unable to talk to him, the three weeks she hadn’t known what was going on, that had been the most frequent thought in her head. She’d missed her friend, and that didn’t change just cause there were more pressing issues to tackle. At least, she was actually able to say it. (A relief that should’ve felt viscerally wrong, but didn’t). Then she bristled, tasting the salt of the tears rolling to the corner of her mouth. “If you didn’t wanna pay me my 70 bucks you could’ve just said so, you know?” Cause that had definitely worked so well for him before. Honestly, the more she thought about how he was sure he was getting rid of her so easily, the funnier it got.

—

What part is the scariest? It was a fair question and, really, was that any surprise? Jade confused him, sometimes. Jade spoke in ways he didn’t understand, made him wonder if he came from a different planet than she had instead of just a different country, made him question just about every aspect of his life because how could they be made of the same history and be so different? How could they both claim the title of slayer and wield it in ways that were nothing alike? Jade was an enigma, was a riddle, was a case he’d never quite been able to solve. She wore her mask in a way that felt different from Eve, different from Teddy, different from Emilio himself, and he didn’t know where the edges of it were. He didn’t know how much of the strangeness was a disguise and how much of it was Jade. He knew her the way you knew a book written in a foreign language. You could turn the pages, you could even translate the words written on them, but they’d never sound quite as they should.

But even when Jade was confusing, even when she made no sense at all and made him want to yank his hair out and roll his eyes and ask questions whose answers wouldn’t make any more sense to him than the questions themselves, she had never treated him in a way that was unfair. She had never asked him to do anything that he’d felt she had no right to ask for, never expected things that weren’t right for her to expect. He didn’t always like the things she asked him — namely, they’d disagreed on their duty and what it entailed more than once — but he’d never been able to deny that she had a right to ask, anyway. This was no different. It was fair to wonder which part of his experience had been the most terrifying.

The problem, of course, was that Emilio was still wondering the same himself.

He didn’t like to think about his death. He wondered, sometimes, if it would get easier as time went on. A hundred years from now, would it be a dimple instead of a canyon? Would he be able to laugh about the ridiculousness of it all, roll his eyes at how foolish he’d been? It seemed impossible. Right now, thinking of it at all ached.

He could tell her how he’d felt when that knife went into his chest. He could tell her about the fear, about how unexpected it had been. He could tell her about the way he’d thought, up until the moment the blade twisted, that he was going to find some way out of it. He could recount the cool metal of the dumpster as his limbs were folded inside of it, could recall how the light was the first thing to fade and the sound was the last.

Or maybe he could tell her about his thoughts instead, about the foolish way he’d thought there might be something waiting for him when it was all over. He could tell her about the moment he registered death as inevitable, when he’d imagined himself forgiven for every wrong he’d ever done, because wasn’t that how it always went? Living people were complicated, messy things. They made mistakes, they faltered and they fell and they let down everyone they cared about and everyone who cared about them. But the dead were simple. The dead were like clay; you could shape them into whatever you’d needed them to be. In life, Emilio and Juliana fought so much and so often that he remembered her voice best in angry tones and screaming insults. But in death, he imagined her softer. In life, his sister had betrayed him, had told his mother things he’d never wanted her to know and signed his death warrant in the process. But in death, he always thought of her as she’d been at sixteen, when Victor’s death united them in their grief. In life, his mother was someone he’d wanted to get away from. In death, she was right.

There was a reason, he thought, why only the dead were sainted; none of them could object to the title.

He could tell Jade about all of this, but it wouldn’t answer her question. Because hadn’t waking up been just as terrifying? Hadn’t he fought against the bodybag Eve had zipped him into? Hadn’t his chest heaved with breaths he didn’t need to take, hadn’t the world closed in around him when the realization struck? Hadn’t he felt Eve’s blade against his throat and thought, for a moment, that he ought to encourage her to saw through his neck even knowing how afraid he’d been with a knife in his chest, even knowing that forgiveness was a thing he’d imagined and could never truly earn?

Or maybe, he thought, Jade would want to hear about the darkness. What would she think if he told her that, for the first time, his eyes didn’t automatically adjust to the dark and grant him the ability to see through it as easily as they did daylight? How would she react if he recounted how he’d felt in that bodybag, unable to see anything at all? Children were afraid of the dark. Would Jade think less of him if he admitted that he might be, too? If he listed out every part of the experience that haunted him, what would she say?

Dying was harrowing, but so was coming back after. Feeling his heartbeat fade had been just as scary as feeling its absence now. He’d been afraid in the dumpster, with his blood soaking the metal; he’d been afraid in the bodybag, with the darkness all around him. He couldn’t tell Jade which part was the scariest. He couldn’t even answer the question to himself.

Fair questions, he thought, were often the hardest ones to form an honest response to.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. It felt like the kind of confession he should have been making to a priest, but he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome in a church anymore.

(The religion his mother had clung to was about a man who died and got up after, a man who was killed and shook it off because he still had more left to do. Was it hypocritical, then, that she’d also dedicated her life to killing others who did the same? What was the difference between a messiah and a monster? When did one become the other? Emilio knew which he was, knew his mother would have agreed, but he still wished there was a clear line in the sand to distinguish the two.)

He wasn’t looking at her, but he didn’t really need to be. He could feel it, the moment she understood the thing he wasn’t saying. Jade wasn’t Eve, who knew more about fae than she did the undead. A fury was rare enough for most wardens to be in the dark about what they were, but a slayer would know of them intimately. Perhaps only through stories — most slayers Emilio knew never met one at all, and for obvious reasons, few people knew a living slayer who’d successfully dispatched a fury — but it was something they all learned about anyway. There were whole hosts of undead things to worry about, but the best slayers had at least some working knowledge of all of them.

So Jade knew, now, what he was. She was the second person to have that distinction — the fact that Owen found it out before she had made his skin crawl just a little, even if it was no one’s fault but his own — and the second to know exactly what it meant. Owen wouldn’t kill him because Owen was selfish (or so he claimed), because he wasn’t willing to give his own life for such a cause or because he wanted to watch Emilio suffer through his afterlife firsthand. And Jade wouldn’t kill him because Emilio was selfish, because he wouldn’t let the last act in his life be taking hers. And so there were two slayers who knew what he was, and two slayers who would do nothing about it. Emilio would continue to exist in this miserable, in-between state, and they would continue to let him.

Part of him wondered, then, if that meant he wasn’t alone in his monstrosity. It was a terrible thing to wonder, but couldn’t that be said of all his thoughts these days? He was a monster, with awful thoughts and unfair questions, but he didn’t know how to stop any of them from swirling around in his head. He would hurt people. It was an inevitable thing, something that could not be avoided. He would hurt people, and Jade and Owen knew it, too. They’d spent years learning about it, having it carved into them the same way it had been carved into him once. He would hurt people, and Jade and Owen knew it, and neither of them was going to do a goddamn thing about it. Did that mean the blame was shared, then? Did that mean Emilio got to slice up that guilt, to cut it into parts and hand pieces to each of them? To Eve, too? To anyone who knew a monster when they saw one, but let it go on with its monstrous life all the same?

Jade said oh, and all he could do was nod. She knew what she was, and she held the knife in her hand but did not use it. She sat beside him on the couch, and her heart was still beating. And he loved her, and she loved him, and he tried, again, to answer her question: which part was the scariest? Bleeding out in the dumpster, or sitting on a sofa with his best friend after and telling her about it? He weighed the two on invisible scales, put the bloody teeth and the crumpled limbs on one side and the soft cushions and still chest on the other, and he still didn’t know which weighed more. He was dying, and then he was dead. He didn’t know which of those things was worse. Maybe the scales were perpetually even. Maybe both things weighed the same. Maybe the only difference between the fear of the dying man in the dumpster and that of the corpse on the couch was the fact that the latter’s heart was incapable of pounding to show it off.

She shifted beside him, the hand holding the dagger moving, and if she were anyone else, maybe he would have flinched. But this was Jade, and the dagger was not bound for his throat. She placed it on the cushion before thinking better of it and placing it on his thigh instead, and he marveled at the decision for a moment. She was sitting on the couch beside a monster, and she was handing him a blade. He was sitting on the couch beside someone designed to end his life, and he rubbed the handle absently and made no move to grip it. She’d said once that they were both shitty slayers, and she’d been right. And now, they were still bad at the things they were designed to do, even if they were no longer designed for the same purpose. There was a knife between them, but no violence climbing up the blade. There was a knife between them, and it might as well have been a bouquet of flowers. It was love; it wasn’t violence. Emilio wasn’t even sure when the two had stopped sounding synonymous.

“It’s nice,” he told her, because it was. It was clear she’d taken time picking it out, clear she’d been thinking of him while she did it. “I like it. I would have liked it.” He should do that, shouldn’t he? Talk about himself in the past tense. That was what you did with the dead. That was how you differentiated them from the living. Emilio would have liked the knife Jade had gotten him, but Emilio bled out in a dumpster before she made it home to present him with the gift. Emilio would have laughed at it, would have made a joke, would have tested the weight of it in his hands and nodded in quiet appreciation. Emilio would have done a lot of different things, but the corpse on the sofa could only stare at the blade and absently run its finger across the handle.

Jade asked him to stay a little longer and he would, even if only for her, but that didn’t change the facts. She wanted him here, but he was still dead. A corpse was still a corpse, even when you loved it. It would still decay, even when you kept it propped up on the sofa and sat beside it. Jade loved him, and he loved her back, but it wouldn’t start his heart back up. They both knew that.

He’d always liked that Jade was to the point, even if he flinched at the bluntness of her question now. It was still fair, and he was still honest, because that was how they were to each other. It didn’t matter if the question she asked him was one he didn’t like — he would answer it. He would tell her the truth, even when they both wished the truth was something different than it was. “Once,” he replied, thinking of the way his blade slid into Siobhan’s gut. His eyes flickered briefly over to the wall she’d stumbled against, to the dark stain he hadn’t bothered to scrub off the floor. “But… only a little.” I didn’t kill anyone, he could say, but what would it matter? They both knew that would change soon. They both knew his track record was going to get bloody sooner rather than later. “I’m still… figuring things out.” Still trying to determine the best way to feed, the right way. He didn’t know if stabbing Siobhan hadn’t satiated his appetite because she’d survived the experience or if she just wasn’t the perfect target for his rage, and he wasn’t sure how to figure it out without getting more blood on the floor.

He let out a hollow laugh at her statement. This probably did bring a whole new definition to ghosting, even if he only barely understood the existing one. “I guess… at least I’m committed.” The joke fell flat, mostly because it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. Everything felt empty in a way it shouldn’t have, because he should have felt relieved. He was sitting next to his best friend on the sofa, and she hadn’t put a knife to his throat. He was sitting next to his best friend on the sofa, and she’d asked him to stay even knowing what it meant. He was sitting next to his best friend on the sofa, and he loved her and she loved him and he felt empty, anyway. The world was still heavy, and his knees were still buckling under the weight of it. Loving and being loved didn’t make anything any less crushing. Somehow, with the most awful parts of him, he thought it almost made it worse instead. “You know me,” he said quietly, still staring blankly at the knife on his thigh, “I like to win.” They both knew that this wasn’t any kind of victory. They both knew that everyone on this couch had lost something they were never going to get back.

The lump in his throat made it hard to swallow, but he took another long swig from the bottle and he swallowed it, anyway. He pretended the way his eyes burned was because of the taste of the whiskey and not the weight of her words, pretended the way they watered was the alcohol burning in his chest. “I missed you, too,” he admitted. He wanted to be angry with her, even if he had no right to be. He wanted to scream at her for not knowing, somehow, that he was in an alley in need of backup, wanted to berate her for leaving town and letting him die in a dumpster with a hole in his chest. But his limbs were heavy and the world was on fire and he thought maybe, for one night, he could be empty instead of angry. Maybe, this one time, it was the better option to be. “I’m sorry. For… all of it.” For dying on her, for coming back when he shouldn’t have, for avoiding her for as long as he had, for the fact that tomorrow, he’d probably go back to being angry. He was sorry that she loved him, and he was sorry that he loved her back. He was sorry that neither of them was very good at loving. He was sorry for everything. He’d never learned how to be much else.

—

‘I don’t know’ had the same ring to it as ‘all of it’, which only sank her heart deeper. And honestly, Jade should’ve seen it coming from a mile away. The guy had died, he’d lost everything for a second time, and then well, how many times could she keep repeating the tiny little detail of him coming back as the thing they were nurtured to hate? Or pity, in her case. (But… some could argue that it was just a nicer way of framing it, wasn’t it? And would they be wrong?) (That remained TBD, the thought sure kept nagging her.) So fine, maybe it was naive of her to hope that it wasn’t all bad. Naive to hope there was any kind of silver lining in death and unlife. Like, even Rose had that door when the Titanic sank!

Someone back home would’ve said she was too grown for that kinda mentality. (But, she said she wasn’t tangeting about him anymore, so).

Emilio had never been a man who displayed his fear the way he did his anger. Actually, anger was just the placeholder for the entire wheel of emotions with him. It didn’t fool her, obviously, cause Jade got it, hunters and fear had a weird relationship. (Kinda like hunters and happiness) (Or hunters and non-repressed feelings). So the fact that he was willing to show it now, own up to it under these circumstances, in front of her, broke her a little bit. She couldn’t picture it, couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t feel it. Being terrified of so many things. She didn’t want to either, experiencing crippling fear wasn’t in her bucket list. But she wished there was a way to split the bill, so to speak. That he could Venmo her two or three of his fears, and she could waste them all away. Sadly, there was nothing transactional about this, he could not work out how to do it. He kept footing all of the suck.

Jade watched him gauge the knife, while the notion that he was scared of so many things remained at the forefront of her mind. Had he really feared that she’d put the knife to his throat? That she’d found out about him and she’d stormed into his apartment not to see him, but to finish him? Did he fear other slayers now, in that case? Did he fear his own kind? (Did they still count as his kind?) (But also, would he be wrong? To now walk around with more paranoia drizzled on top of his paranoia that someone might tail him to end him just cause… He was…) (Nope. She kept running into tricky questions she swore not to touch yet. Better swerve on that).

After a silence, he thanked her for the gift, but the smile about to bloom on her face didn’t prosper. He was speaking in the past tense, like he wasn’t literally sitting right next to her. She frowned at it, felt her lips tremble, but didn’t say anything about it. Was that what he wanted? To be referred to as a dead man? Was he testing things out? She like, kinda understood it. Not in such a dramatic way as being dead and coming back to life, but as in… life had taken her on a little journey too, since she decided to go solo. And whether she liked it or not, she could feel it. He probably felt it too, tenfold: The disconnect. Between who he was before he died and who he’d become after.

Could a person really change that much? The simple act of flipping a switch, and fully glowing up was actually not simple at all. All those life coaches on Instagram had lied to her. Cause so far, every time she’d tried to go against herself, what she’d been taught, what she’d believed so fervently, she ended up finding out she was being rudely weighed down by several monkeys that didn’t even belong to her circus. She most definitely didn’t remember picking them up on her own. The closest thing she could imagine to Emilio’s predicament was humans going through near-death experiences. Some did come out to completely do a 180 on their life, didn’t they? Maybe they had gotten a little highlight reel of all their greatest hits and realized it was kind of a flop, and it was super embarrassing. So they had no other choice but to actually redo it all with a little more zest.

She’d normally chime in, get her motivational speaker on, but this was as close to an original experience as one could get. Though maybe…not? There had to be records of previous hunters who’d come back for an encore. She’d never met one. But maybe her siblings had. Maybe Eve had. Maybe she could ask. Keeping it all hush hush, obviously. (Asking for a friend and all) (It wouldn’t even be a lie). What were they talking about? Oh, “you can still like it,” she said gently. Wasn’t that a choice in itself? She’d been learning a lot about choices recently. Like wall paint and tiles, and bedsheets. “Or you can hate it, that’s okay too,” Cause Jade didn’t care if Emilio decided he no longer liked knives, or if he decided he loved knives even more now (that sure would be a feat), or if he decided to pursue his newfound passion of sailing boats, or skydiving, or whatever. (She drew the line at MLMs, though.) She just wanted him to share that with her. And expect appropriate clowning, should his choices be silly. That’s what friends were for, after all.

In a sense, he had an unmatched opportunity to flip things around. Enter a different era. Jade vibrated with the possibilities for about three seconds before she was brought back to the very painful reality that he was now a creature who needed a new sustenance, who needed to inflict some sort of revenge upon somebody else to keep walking this earth. (Hard to enter a new era with the odds so stacked against, right?) Sustenance he already got a taste of, apparently. Cool, cool, cool. Super chill. It was her own question, there was nothing vague about it (nor did she want to be, considering everything at stake) (sorry, poor wording). And she’d braced for the answer, but still… he had gone and done what was now in his nature. She tried not to have any dramatic reaction to it (and sure that was hard with an expressive face), but she was pretty proud of her clenched jaw and slow breathing. “Uh huh,” good, she could’ve added, would’ve added (except) (except… those monkeys). Good that he’d already taken precautions. That, in a sense, was also a dutiful thing to do. The slayer thing to do. Preventing a more violent outburst. Her brain was still a little scrambled, putting all those thoughts on the table at the same time, though. She nodded, “okay, that’s… You gotta keep figuring things out”.

And he’d hopefully tell her how that went next time. And Jade would… cope with the knowledge that she’s allowing it to happen (it was such a small act, in comparison to the storm he was weathering). Cause… Love made you stupid sometimes. Or all times, really. Sometimes it meant letting the love of your life drag home all the stinky dead things she saw, sometimes it was pleading to the sister who raised you to stop being so freaking narrow-minded, sometimes it meant letting your best friend commit violent acts in order to stay ‘alive’. What an inconsequential little feeling. She loved it. She hated it. She got high on it. Right now, she was a little mad at it. But most of all, she did not want some made up higher calling or anyone who believed in it to dictate and restrict who she could give it to. Not anymore. (But again, just declaring you were turning over a new leaf only made it easier for people to point out when you actually weren’t doing that at all) (But boy did she want to).

His laugh, defeated and miserable as it was, did make her chuckle in turn, though. She wasn’t about to go full Grey’s Anatomy gang laughing at George’s funeral (not that he’d understand the reference) (and you know, with eternity on the horizon… what were 22 seasons of a medical drama?), but it did feel nice. The pressure in her chest loosened a bit. “Committed to the bit, yup,” she tacked on, for old times' sake. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever fully managed to get him to understand what the bit meant but… it didn’t matter. She just wanted things not to be so heavy for him right now. “Sure,” she dragged her vowels in a skeptical tone. He claimed he liked winning the worst April competition, that might be the funniest joke uttered yet. Jade would’ve liked to swap places, maybe. Or, preferably, she would’ve liked both of them to enter the best April competition. If that was a thing that existed. Then again, they probably wouldn’t have met the qualifications or something. She figured that kinda contest had strict zero body count requirements.

Jade kept her temple against his shoulder, letting another quiet moment pass, (and maybe it wasn’t an unnecessary, dreadful thing) (silence belonged in music sheets too, after all), until she heard his apology. It stirred her back into a sitting position. It was still odd to hear those words. Cause back home, people just did things. A whole lot of wrong things, apparently, she was starting to realize. And when they wronged you and decided they couldn’t stand your pouting anymore, they’d bring you a plate of fruit, or they’d invite you to the movies or… There was never like, acknowledgment of hurt feelings. The train kept moving, and you just had to hop right back in without paying attention to the wreck it’d left behind. (And she did get pretty proficient at both doing the wrecking and jumping into wagons so… the system couldn’t be that bad, right?). If anything, apologies had only become a more normal thing in her life recently. Regan had coaxed words out of her that had felt foreign her entire life. Had created a kinder, gentler space for her to mess up, for her to admit when she felt hurt, too. And as it turned out, she didn’t hate it one bit. Even if, being unapologetic still had its perks from time to time.

Something about the upbringing of a hunter had Jade wondering if the Cortezes had followed similar strategies. “Yeah, well…” She sighed, and she could feel her tear ducts activate again (a sentence she wasn’t sure she would’ve ever thought about if she hadn’t met Regan). It was nice that Emilio was sorry. Some of what he had done had been pretty dumb, obviously. But there were choices influenced by fear. Fear that Jade couldn’t begin to understand. She was totally out of her depth here. And even if the hurt didn’t vanish with one apology, even if she couldn’t get back all those weeks in the dark, even if she couldn’t unfeel the loneliness and the confusion, she also didn’t plan on holding it over him (not in a mean way, at least). Jade was willing to let the death card stand a little longer.

“I’m sorry too… sorrier, even.” Sorry for your loss, people liked to say. It was super strange to offer condolences to the person who’d died. But Jade was sorry. Sorry that he’d died scared and alone, that he now existed as a monstrous being, that he had seen himself as monster even before all of this anyway, that she’d asked for him to spend more time as said abomination, that she took too long to come out here and figure out what was wrong, that it wasn’t as simple as mourning a friend for her either, that she dared to think mourning a friend’s death would ever be the simpler scenario, that still despite everything, she thought they could work out a solution. Yeah, Jade was immensely sorry. And she wasn’t sure hope was what Emilio needed from her right now. She wasn’t even sure she needed the Whiskey, or a blade, or a banana magnet. Maybe he just needed someone to sit by his side, and prove to him, despite his inclination to cover his ears and eyes to what was in front of him, that his life had had more impact as a human being than it ever did as the weapon he was brutalized into becoming.

“I’m gonna assume you’ve done a whole lot of silent contemplation lately, so…” Momentary truce with the concept of silence aside, Jade still believed it was a little bit like torture, and she figured, nay… she knew Emilio could do without it right now. She knew he would get back to it eventually, and his thoughts would be louder than any word he could speak, so for now, Jade would rather keep him right on this couch, with her. “I guess I need to ask for the story,” she tested the waters, for both of them. She felt more drained, but also less on edge. She could take it, she could hear about the man who’d decided to hurt them both, about the blade that sank into him, about the organs it pierced, the life it drained, about the ground he bled on, about what came after. And maybe it was selfish to ask, but Emilio of all people knew what it meant not to have answers.

—

There was nothing more terrifying than the concept of being understood. It wasn’t something Emilio had realized until later in life because, in the beginning, he had wanted someone to understand him. His siblings never quite had, and none of them had ever really tried to, either. Neither had his mother. Even his uncle, who had perhaps come closest to at least housing the desire of comprehending the youngest Cortez, had fallen short in actual practice. Emilio had been so hungry for that understanding, had chased it so adamantly into adulthood without expecting he’d ever catch it.

He’d chased it until he was 26 years old and Edgar’s friend from camp needed a place to stay. He’d chased it until his brother volunteered Emilio’s couch, “because it’s not like you use it, anyway.” He chased it until Juliana took one look at him, smiled with sharp teeth, and introduced herself in a way that carved her initials into his heart for the rest of his goddamn life. People said, sometimes, that you ought to be careful what you wished for, lest you might someday get it. Emilio had learned that when a woman with dark, curly hair and sharp brown eyes understood him better than anyone else ever had.

It was terrifying, the way she knew him. It was harrowing. She could trace his silhouette in the shadows, could explain him more thoroughly than he’d ever been able to explain himself. Juliana knew the nooks and crannies that Emilio hadn’t recognized himself, knew him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. There was no hiding from her, no pretending to be anything he wasn’t. Juliana knew him. Sometimes, it felt like she’d known him from the very start, from the first day she’d told him her name.

And then she’d died, and it had felt like all the parts of him she’d touched had died right alongside her.

She’d died, and no one knew him anymore. She’d died, and Emilio hadn’t even known himself. He’d been as much a ghost as she was, haunting a world where he was unknown and unimportant. He’d come to Wicked’s Rest as a restless spirit, ready to turn to a poltergeist and destroy whatever was left in his path. But this town was one full of ghosts and sometimes, they found each other. This town was full of people who, like Juliana, cared enough to try to understand him.

He didn’t think anyone did a better job at it than Jade. It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course — Teddy and Wynne and Nora and Xóchitl and so many others put all they had into comprehending him, but Emilio was a puzzle who had so many pieces still missing. No one could understand him without understanding where he’d come from — or, more accurately, what he’d come from. Other people looked at his background, at his family, and they couldn’t make sense of it. They couldn’t comprehend why he’d been raised the way he had. Even those who grew up in the world of monsters didn’t always see why some needed to fight them.

Jade was different, though. Like him, Jade was a slayer. Like him, she’d lived her entire life knowing exactly what went bump in the night. Other people talked about second chances, or third, or fourth. But Jade knew exactly how dangerous that kind of thing could be. A monster on its fifth chance usually meant a pile of bodies who’d had every chance taken away. Other people thought that mentality cruel, he knew. Jade thought it reasonable.

She wasn’t the only one in this town who understood it, of course. Owen knew Emilio better than either of them would care to admit, comprehended him more thoroughly than some of his closest friends to both of their detriment. Eve, too, had a level of understanding that neither of them could deny, had strengthened it in the back of her van with a knife against his throat. Hunterst understood other hunters, even when the style with which they hunted differed. Jade was here, was on his couch, and he wasn’t kicking her out for the same reason he’d let Eve leave whiskey outside his door, for the same reason Owen hadn’t killed him in that barn: because there was understanding here, and he was afraid of it. Because there was understanding here, and he needed it, too.

You can still like it, she said, and he kept staring at the knife. He remembered Eve’s blade against his throat, remembered Owen’s in his gut. Understanding was messy, sometimes. Especially among people like them. You can still like it. Could he? He would have before, but nothing was the same now. He wasn’t the same now. And he wondered, with a glance in her direction, if Jade understood him still. He wondered if his death had killed that understanding at last, if the knife to his chest had finally succeeded in carving out the pieces of him that could only be comprehended by other hunters. (Hunters. Just hunters. Not other hunters, not anymore. The word no longer applied to him; the title no longer fit. Emilio Cortez was not a hunter. Emilio Cortez was something to be hunted, now.)

“It’s nice,” he said, in lieu of answering the question neither of them was asking aloud. Was he still him? The man she’d bought this knife for was dead. The man whose couch they sat on bled out alone, with only his murderers to hear his final words. There was a body in front of her, and it was moving. It was sentient. But it was not alive, and Emilio didn’t know if it was him. He didn’t know what parts of him made it out of that alley; he wasn’t sure any really had.

Was Jade? Did she really look at him and see the same man she’d known before, despite the twinge in her gut that reminded her, on a constant basis, that he wasn’t? Was her certainty that he was not the kind of monster she’d been raised to despise built only out of love, constructed from the ruins of the understanding they’d once shared?

If their roles were reversed, would he think the same of her?

None of these were questions he knew how to answer. He wasn’t sure either of them wanted the answers, wasn’t sure they would have been able to cope with them. Some things, he thought, you were better off not knowing.

For example, Jade would be better off not knowing when he began feeding in earnest. When he did more than nonfatally stab someone who had wronged him (and Regan, for that matter, which might make Jade approve of the choice just a little), when his hunger sunk its teeth into strangers, into humans, would Jade sit beside him on the couch as she was now? Or would she bring a knife that was meant as something other than a gift instead? She told him to keep figuring things out, but how much of that was the naive hope of holding onto a friend? How much of it would remain when the man gave way to the monster completely?

He’d never heard her as quiet as she was now. Even when Regan was gone and they’d believed she wouldn’t return, even when she was doubting everything she’d been raised to believe was the truth, Jade was loud. She chattered endlessly, her voice becoming white noise that made the things lurking beneath it a little more bearable. But there was no softening this blow; there was no making this bearable. This was the kind of thing you just had to sit with. And right now, in this moment, Emilio was a little too selfish to sit alone.

She was sorry, and what more was there to say? What more to be? She was sorry, and so was he. They were both sorry, and it didn’t change anything. They were both sorry, and everything was as it was, anyway.

She asked for the story, and he swallowed. He thought of the Wormhole, of the alley outside of it. He thought of the knife, of the way it twisted in his chest. He thought of the black spots dancing at the edges of his vision and the way they eventually took over entirely. He thought of the bodybag in Eve’s van, the fear that still had him by the throat, the hunger pangs that he couldn’t shake, the rage that was all consuming. “I don’t know if I’m ready to tell it,” he admitted quietly, his fingers twitching around the handle of the knife. “But… I can try to answer your questions.”

In the end, wasn’t that all she’d asked of him? Not to succeed, because there was no success small enough to fit in his hand here. Not to claim victory, because that had died when he had. Jade had only ever asked him to try.

And how could he say no to the only person left who really understood him?

#highoctanegem #jade: eulogy #wickedswriting #s1 writing

7 notes · View notes