#that while this is happening the gang are searching high and low for Nightmare

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Alone

I am back! ( @spotaus almost forgot you this time woops)

I am gonna be real. I spend quite a while thinking about what I wanted to write next in this little series. And I realised I hadn't had a Nightmare POV drabble in a while!

So we are back to Nightmare :3

First Drabble. Prev Drabble. Next Drabble.

This is a look into what Nightmare had been up to and how he personally took to the changes he went through.

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He hates this.

He hates this he hates this he hates this-

Nightmare shakes his skull. It feels... weird. All of this is weird. He doesn't... He normally isn't this emotional right? It is starting to become hard to remember how it was before.

He hates how he feels.

He is Nightmare!

Terror of the muliverse! The unwanted twin...

He strikes fear in the souls of monsters! Everyone hates him and wants him gone...

Leader of the Gang! Younger brother of Dream...

Bringer of negativity! Untrusted, unwanted and unloved...

He is Nightmare! He is never enough...

And Nightmare doesn't feel like this! This... this... afraid useless powerless ... this way.

Another cold wind and his whole body shivers in the cold. Nightmare is quick to tug himself behind some boxes and pulls the hoody closer around him.

He hates being out in the open. Being in the open risks him being seen and when people see him they will try and hurt him again they will realise he is no longer his powerful self and...

His mind freezes at the implications of what will happen when people realise how powerless he is now. They will realise that Nightmare is weak and they will take revenge.

Revenge on all that he did. Revenge on defending himself.

It would be deserved. It would be deserved.

Nightmare shakes his skull again. Those thoughts... They keep coming back. Things that he hadn't thought about in ages. Thinking in ways he hadn't thought about in ages. Nightmare had thought... he thought that was in the past. Just like being weak and powerless was in the past.

Aparently not. As his form had shrunk to be so small. Nightmare thinks he is just under three feet. Back to the length he had been all those years ago. the same body he had had all those years ago. Even the hold wounds and pains had returned.

Ironic that the wound that would have killed him became healed and hidden but everythign else was still there. as if it had been frozen while he had been older.

Nightmare tugs the hoody tighter around him. It is too big but that is alright. It is warm and soft and makes him feel a bit better he feels safe in it. Even if he knows it doesn't make sense. It jsut brings him comfort.

Hell if Dust finds out he stole from him...

The villagers never reacted well to Nightmare having anything. Even things that Dream had gifted him had been taken and destroyed. He doesn't deserve to have things he likes after all. And Nightmare has quite a few things he really likes at the moment.

The hoody, his book, the old backpack and his feel tools to survive on his own.

Nothing truly compared to what he had managed to make before, when the apples gave him power. But yet... this means more...

It is starting to get hard to remember how to think and plan. The longer he is in this form... his old form... the before apple form. The harder it becomes for him to rationalise and think how his older self used to think.

Which... isn't promising.

Still. He came with a mission. And that is food.

Nightmare glances around the corner and down the street. This is some Lustverse universe. Nightmare can't quite feel and sense the differences anymore but he knows the basics.

If he had known that so many of his powers and skills would disappear he would have grabbed his book with the muliverse verses summaries.

Nightmare had figured he hadn't needed it as he knows the multiverse and can sense things. Oh how he had been the fool on that.

At least the balance wasn't demanding his attention and foucs every five seconds now. that makes it a bit easier to plan with his now much more limited attention span and problem solving skills.

Back to the matter at hand. Lustverse. He specifically went here because most of the Lustverses have a deep wish for children and so a deep care. Even if they are... X-rated.

Nightmare takes a deep breath and looks into the distance and his destination. Grillby's.

Yes. He knows what Grillby's is in these universes, and yes he knows he runs into the risk of running into this universes Sans or Papyrus which will just spell trouble.

However he much prefers to go to these locations as it is less populated and generally friendlier.

He pulls the hood up and goes towards the building. No bouncers near the enterance but then again it isn't like they have children or underaged people in these areas.

Nightmare goes inside and makes sure to keep staring down as much as he can. He only glances around once to locate the bar where he can get food and goes straight there.

Oh how he dislikes being here. Too many people. Maybe he shouldn't have gone to this universe. He will stand out too much. But people won't attack him either as he is a child... he will be safe here...

He gets to the bar and with some light difficulty manages to climb up the chair enough. No one really notices as everyone focusses on the main stage and leer and shout some very pointed comments.

Nightmare doens't feel comfortable hearing those things either and realises he never felt comfortable about these things. Even when he was still an adult and others joked with him about these type of things. Had... had he always still been... like this at his core?

Problem to think about for later. Now he has to order.

The Grillby of this universe looks at him and waits.

Nightmare doesn't feel so certain about this anymore but still he asks "What... what is on the menu?"

Grillby pauses and shoots him a weird look but Nightmare just hides further into the hoody. Thanking his lucky stars that Dust's left over magic makes it so that the hood hides his face.

Grillby ends up pushing a menu over. Nightmare glances down and feels his skull explode with warmth. That is the WRONG menu!

Nightmare looks away from it and stares at the bar as he pushes it back "I meant... food... menu..." He didn't remember that wrong right?! These places also sell food right? Even if it is more snack food?!

Grillby doesn't say anything but Nightmare doesn't dare to look up. He feels tense and keeps glancing back at where the door is. Getting out is easy enough but he wouldn't know where to go after and-

The menu is pulled away and a new one is pushed into his hand. nightmare glances and lets out a sigh of relieve as he sees actual food! only to feel his hope sink as those prices are way too high!

Nightmare freezes as he stares down at the prices. Okay. okay this is fine. just. find the cheapest thing!

He focusses on the menu and searches for the most promising item to buy. He knows he is pulling a face at most of the prices. 150G?! 160G?! What even is this capitalism?!

Eventually he gets to the snack section and isn't too happy wiht it. Snacks aren't good for mortals and kids.. so not good for him. but he needs to eat. the finger food looks okayish... 60G is still a lot but Nightmare will just have to accept it.

His magic is too low to make another jumb and stealing anything is a sure way to get him to be noticed. He searches for his pocket and takes out his bag of gold. He opens it and starts counting the gold coins.

Nightmare mutters the numbers softly to himself. He had been starting to notice that it was getting harder and harder to do certain things. one of them is counting higher numbers. counting out loud helps a tiny bit.

he finishes counting at 54 and freezes. No. no no no no no!

Nightmare pulls the bag closer and starts to recount the gold. come on. please.

54 again.

Nightmare feels his socket start to itch but forces himself to keep it in. don't cry. you are not a crybaby. there is no use to cry over soemthing this stupid. if you cry people will see your weakness and use that.

Nightmare pushes the menu back and mutters "Sorry for wasting your time." He gets ready to hop off the barstool-

"Wait."

Nightmre freezes when he sees a hand reach for him and he flinches away. only to fall backwards off the stool with a yelp.

He falls right on his tailbone and groans as it hurts a lot and holds it as he blinks through a new type of tears.

A gasp from above him and Nightmare looks up. Just to see Grillby stare in shock at him. Nightmare is confused before he realises that the hood is no longer on.

Panic.

run.

Nightmare immediantly grabs his hood and pulls it fully on again. He grabs his bag with gold and turns before sprinting towards the exit.

"Wait! It is okay!"

Nightmare doesn't turn around and reaches the exit and rushes outside. The cold hits him like wall and his magic and body both protest at it. it is too cold and he has too little energy and magic.

Some people shoot him looks and Nightmare feels the panic return. He takes a step back before rushing towards the side and disappearing between two buildings.

He runs for a while as he rushes between buildings. until he slips on some ice and falls hard.

aw...

He pushes himself back up with shaking arms and glares at the ground. He is a mess. He lost everything. he tried so hard but what did it matter? in the end nothing mattered. He just lost everything again.

A sob finally escapes him and he just rolls up. He hates everything. he hates himself.

Nightmare isn't sure how long he just lays there feeling miserable.

after all this time nothing changed. He didn't change. after 500 years of spreading negativity and learning. he is still just him. no wonder they left. He wouldn't want to be stuck with him either.

Footsteps.

Nightmare freezes and hugs hismelf tighter. no. no others.

"... kid?"

Ngihtmare feels his breathing pick up and he forces his body too move even if everythign hurts, seems like his double fall agitated his old wounds. he glances around and wiggles himself behind some garbage cans and goes quiet and still. They can't hurt him if they can't find him.

more footsteps and a soft blue glow fills the alleyway. it doesn't take long before Nightmare can see him. It seems that grillby had followed him. Grillby seems to be following the tiny marks left in the snow and stops by the spot where Nightmare had fallen.

A frown on the fire elemental as he touches the ice and- oh. there is blood there. Nightmare slowly raises his hand and touches his skull before feeling pain rush through him. he removes his hand and finds blood on it.

great, he got himself hurt.

Grillby looks to the side and Nightmare follows his sight and freezes at the very clear marks on where he went.

Grillby raises his head and stares right at him. Nightmare remains frozen right where he is as he feels himself shake and his bone start to rattle.

Grillby moves a hand and Nightmare flinches. Grillby immediantly freezes and moves his hand away "It is okay... i won't hurt you."

Nightmare just stares at him. Still shaking and now not just the panic and fear but also the cold. The hoody is warm but not enough to keep him warm. Probably because he grow up in a universe where it was forever spring and early summer.

Nightmare literally wasn't made for the cold.

Grillby inches closer and Nightmare pushes himself further back. The wall is freezing against his back and side but it is better than being near the other monster.

Grillby frowns "Where... where did you come from?"

Ngihtmare stares back. He doesn't have an answer for the other. Not one he wants to give.

Grillby frowns but pulls his bag over "You... you wanted food right?" he pushes the bag closer to him.

Nightmare feels hismelf eye the bag. He needs the food. He wants it so badly. The last time someone gave him food it had been a villager and the food had been drugged all so they could grab him and-

NIghtmare shakes his skull and pushes back further. Stay away.

Grillby frowns at him before trying to give a smile. "It is some of the food you had been looking at." he nudges the bag again.

Nightmare frowns and pushes further back as he glares. people don't just smile at him unless they want something from him. or want to trick him. He isn't falling for it. he swallows before speaking "I don't... have that much gold..." there. he can't pay for it.

Grillby just pushes the bag closer "It is okay. free of charge."

Nightmare glares at the other "No."

Grillby frowns "It is okay-"

Nightmare feels himself get angry and that breaks through the fear "I know you did something to it! leave me alone!"

Girllby looks pained and... pity.

Nightmare hates pity. Dream had stared at him wiht pity after he broke out. as if Dream pitied him for defending himself.

Grillby pulls the bag back over to himself and takes out some of the food. oh that is a sandwich and Nightmare feels his magic knit together and the hunger returns fullforce.

Grillby takes a moment to pull a piece of it and oh that is pulled beef in there and it looks so good. Grillby pops it into his mouth and swallows it.

and... nothing happened.

Nightmare keeps staring at the other as he waits. Nightmare knows from experience those things work very fast but nothing happens to the other.

Grillby lays it back on the paper and pushes it over "It is okay... it is just food."

Ngihtmare gulps as he stares at the food. He hadn't eaten for days at this point and ever since he left his castle three weeks ago he hadn't been eating anywhere near to enough. He reaches for the bag as he thinks. He just needs a little bit of food. just enough magic and he can teleport himself to an another universe. maybe he can get enough energy before whatever drug starts to work?

He gets the bag over to him and feels his resolve weaken quickly. mulitple sandwiches are in there. Nightmare grabs the one that Grillby had taste tested and takes a bite.

It tastes so good and his magic purrs as it finally gets some energy back after these last three weeks. the food demands his attention and nothing else matters right now. He takes bite after bite as his stomach fills up.

by the time half of it is gone he feels overfull and Nightmare knows he ate way too much. He feels so much better even if he is still cold and wet from the snow.

Grillby frowns at him "Is that all you will eat? You sure you don't want to eat more?"

Panic and suspicion returns nad Nightmare frowns at Grillby again. He waits a moment before nodding and pushing the bag of food back. including the half finished sandwich.

Grillby frowns and shakes his head "It is okay. Keep it for when you get hungry again... were are your... parent? parents?"

Nightmare glares "does it matter?"

Grillby smiles again and Nightmare doesn't feel any less suspicious of the other. Girllby nods "Well, yeah. I wanted to return you to them." and he waits.

Nightmare stares at him and feels spiteful "She died. She was murdered a long time ago. I don't have any family." not anymore. Not after his mother died. Not after he ruined everything and pushed Dream away from him. Not after the gang left and made it clear they didn't actually care.

Grillby just stares at him "You are alone?"

Ngihtmare shrugs "better like that..." no one can hurt him when he is alone. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Maybe he was meant to be alone. Maybe that is for the better. No one wanted to be near him anyway. He should have seen that for the sign it was.

Grillby reaches a hand out "I am sure we can find some people to take care of you... I have a friend who is also a skeleton and-"

Nightmare shakes his skull and pusehs back "No."

Grillby raises both of his hands in surrender "That is okay... Then how about we go to my place again? There are rooms that you can use and-"

Nightmare glares at him "I am not going with you to a secondary location."

Grillby blinks before noddng "okay. that is okay. where do you want to go?"

Nightmare keeps glaring "I can get there myself."

Grillby looks deeply unhappy. Hah! Good! Nightmare has no doubt that the other was trying to lure him somewhere. But Nightmare isn't an idiot. He isn't just going to trust the other just because he was giving a bit of food.

Grillby sighs and nods "Okay... I need to go back. but if you need help just come by okay?" he smiles "I never caught your name. I am grillby."

Nightmare just looks at the other and raises a brow "That is because i didn't throw it." it just came out without a doubt. He had heard too many puns from the others when they all sitll lived together. He misses them.

Grillby blinks but chuckles "okay. take it easy okay? Get somewhere dry and warm and please just take the food and eat when you need it." he rises to his feet and leaves the alleyway. He pauses near the end for a moment "If you change your mind. You are welcome at Grillby's. We will figure out a safe spot for you okay?" and he leaves after a moment.

Nightmare waits for a bit more. long enough that he only hears the wind after a while and he is shaking in cold again. That is when he removes himself from his, very bad, hiding place and quickly goes towards the spot he had left most of his things. Taking the food with him.

He gets there and feels himelf relax a little bit.

But there is no time to let his guard down just yet. He needs to decide if he wants to risk sleeping here and being found now that people know he is here. Or move on to a new universe.

The new universe would mean a lot of time spend on finding a fitting place to stay again.

Ngihtmare sighs but quickly packs his things. better to be safe. he needs to go now he has the energy nad before this whole situation backfires on him. He is quickly packed and after making sure he got all his things and left zero marks of his stay he opens a portal.

It is so much harder than it used to be. He can also no longer make the long jumps to whatever universe he wants and can only go to the neighbouring universes.

a small and shaky portal of dark mist opens and Nightmare steps through.

Time for the next spot. maybe this one will work better.

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First Drabble. Prev Drabble. Next Drabble.

[kohakuarisaka]

Trial By Fire (chapter 2 of 2)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Hawks stopped by your apartment, asking for a patch up, and then asked for so much more.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Role reversal: Keigo is a villain and Touya is a hero. Liberties were taken with Hawks’ quirk and is non-canon compliant. This fic is not nice to Touya. Reader and Hawks smoke. Reader has a quirk. Reader is a female with descriptive female genitalia. This fic contains graphic sexual content, including penis in vagina sex, oral sex, spanking, dirty talk, biting, degradation, and knotting. Consensual ♥

Keigo’s appearance in this fic was inspired by this lovely art piece!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

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Todoroki Touya was a prince.

Being born to a top-ranking hero was almost the same as being born to royalty. Everyone recognized his name, his quirk might as well have been trade-marked, and he had lots and lots of daddy's money.

If that wasn't enough, Touya was incredibly handsome, too. He had a full head of stunning, bright red hair and beautiful, shiny blue eyes. His smile was charming and voice was hoarse and suave.

He was a skilled fighter, always topping the rankings at UA, the talk of all 'up and coming' news articles back in his teen years. His quirk was flashy and powerful, nearly unstoppable; but, he was also a dedicated hero that trained day in and day out to hone his combat skills.

The boy with the crimson wings couldn't have the fortune of being nobody. That would have been more preferable to his reality.

His father was a criminal, a thief and a murderer. His childhood home burned to the ground when an attempted arrest went horribly wrong, and resulted in half his body being permanently scarred by burns. But, no one would believe that a hero did that to a small boy, even if it was an accident. No, of course not.

No hero academy was going to accept someone with such a reputation, with a name like Takami, with a history of bloodshed, with the evidence smeared across his skin for all to see. He was in and out of foster homes for years before he could get his own place, funded by petty crimes and gang activity, the only way he could survive.

Touya was a prince-

-and Keigo was a gutter rat.

He wasn't the least bit surprised when you told him that Touya had asked you out, even less surprised when you told him that you said yes.

Of course you couldn't resist Touya. He was everything any girl could possibly want, and he could give you a hell of a lot more than Keigo ever could: fancy dates, lavish gifts, a nice family to go home to, a name with a shining reputation.

Touya could make you happy.

And so, Keigo stopped chasing you. He stopped hoping anything more would amount to your relationship. But, even if his life depended on it, Keigo could never stop wanting you, thinking about you, loving you. No one was like you, not by a long shot. No one understood him like you did.

But, you belonged to Prince Touya.

... ..

... ..

... ..

Hawks woke in a cold sweat, torn from a nightmare. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room, panting lightly in a daze. His bare chest glistened with the evidence of his agony and his wings flexed out, feathers taut and sharped at the ends, defensive.

He glared at the unfamiliar walls, legs tangled in warm blankets. It took him just a moment to remember where he was.

There was a photo pinned to the wall by your desk: him and you at a spring carnival during your first year of high school. Your hair was longer back then and he had a black eye from a fight with some upper classmen.

The pillows and blankets on your bed were so soft and freshly washed, the scent of the fabric softener still wafting. You had dug out extra pillows and sheets for Hawks when made it clear he was intending to come around a lot more often.

Your apartment, your bedroom, your bed: that's where he was. The only thing missing from the room was you.

Hawks pulled himself out of a bed with a groan and snagged his sweat pants off the floor, where they had been discarded when he arrived. He decided to skip the underwear and just pulled the loose fitting pants on with a tired groan.

He didn't need to search the apartment to know you weren't inside. His feathers weren't picking up any vibrations from footsteps or breathing. It was too still, too quiet.

Confident of where you were, he opened one of the windows in your bedroom, nearest your desk, and shimmied onto the outer ledge, hoisting his torso through first before bringing his legs in until he was hanging outside. He kicked off the side, beat the air once with his wings to gain some momentum and flew up to the roof.

You let out the most undignified yelp when he floated up over the side of the building, bare feet toeing the edge where he landed, giving you an innocent, drowsy look.

"Holy fuck, you scared me," you hissed at him.

It was almost 1 in the morning, and you had slipped on a loose shirt and baggy shorts to head up to the roof for a smoke. Unsurprisingly, you were alone at this hour, able to enjoy the ambiance of the night without one of your neighbors mouth breathing or trying to strike up a conversation. They weren't bad people; but, you didn't want their company.

Even from up this high, you could hear passing cars, the soft squeaking of breaks and the occasional squeal of tires spinning on asphalt. Distant lights were constantly changing: traffic control, cars coming and going, people in and out of their crowded apartments.

"You're not cold?" Hawks asked as he approached you.

"Not really," you answered softly.

Despite that, Hawks flattened against your back. His hands dragged up and down your arms as if to warm them before winding around your waist. You felt more than saw his head droop over your shoulder. As he pressed in close, you felt what was his very shirtless chest fall against your back and the unmistakable outline of his cock against your behind.

"I see you didn't bother dressing," you scolded him, lacking any real malice.

"You like it," he challenged, reaching for your cigarette.

Before he could grab it, you brought it to his lips for him, turning your head to try and face him, despite the awkward angle. You watched him puff the end faintly before huffing out smoke away from you.

"Ohh," he hummed. "You bought the fancy ones this time."

"They're not fancy," you retorted gently.

He flapped his mouth, about to insist you let him buy the next pack. However, he caught himself, remembering how well it went last time. It had resulted in a fight, and you kicked him out, nearly pushing him out the window, not that he couldn't handle that, of course, and it was a funny memory, now that it was over.

Besides, if he was being honest, it was really hot when you yelled at him. Maybe not so much this time since it put him in the doghouse for a week. But, the makeup sex was definitely worth it.

You didn't want his money; 'blood money', you had called it. You adored him, maybe even loved him, wanted him, longed for him; but, you had no desire to take any of his dirty money.

You weren't delusional enough to think that that made you a good person, or somehow morally superior, not to Hawks, or anyone else for that matter. It was a choice that you had made for yourself, to try and get your life on the right track.

Maybe, letting Hawks into your bed was counter productive. He was a wanted villain, after all. Business could follow, even if he worked hard to prevent that. If Touya found out-

You shuddered at the thought, mind racing with the possibilities of what could happen. You didn't want to see Touya ever again, let alone talk to him; but, there was no guarantee that your paths would never cross again. Would he be mad? Would he try to hurt Keigo?

Sharply, you turned your head and kissed at his cheek, lips smearing across the burnt half of his face, as if trying to reassure yourself that that wouldn't happen. Hawks hummed, and you felt the vibration travel along his chest and throat and onto your skin.

"Don't burn your fingertips," he scolded you softly in a hoarse whisper, snatching your cigarette from the burning end.

You had been so lost in thought, you failed to realize the cinders were nearing your fingers, the flame having almost reached the end. You watched Hawks roll it between his fingers, drawing the paper into his palm where he crushed it. The flame died and he opened his hand, letting the wind carry the burnt remains away.

"Kiss me," you breathed, so wrapped up in the moment that you didn't care that you were outside.

He obeyed with a growl, hands grabbing at your waist harshly to spin you around. One hand flattened at the space between your shoulder blades, holding you tightly to his chest while he arched down and captured your mouth.

You heard and felt his wings beat the air, powerful and unyielding: an intentional display of dominance, most likely, that should have made your eyes roll and not your heart flutter. But, you had always been soft for Keigo, and this advancement in your relationship had only made that worse, until you became putty in his hands.

He clearly really liked to play with putty. It was bad enough that he was constantly twisting and turning your body to see what kind of positions he could put you in: something that you, unfortunately, found far more arousing than you should have. He loved to poke and prod, see what kind of noises he could get out of you. He also loved to see how far he could push your limitations.

"Baby," Hawks growled against your mouth, eyes hungry as he took you in.

"Let's be crazy," he suggested, low and hoarse, with a slight edge that made him sound like a stupid teenager again.

He tugged you in close, shamelessly rubbing his erection against your closed abdomen, and making his intentions known.

"Hell no," you retorted, smoothly, sure, but lacking in any real confidence in your rejection.

"Come on," he urged, hands and arms sliding away so he could skirt away from you.

You watched Hawks step towards the edge of the roof with the kind of confidence you would expect from a man that could fly. He casually sat down, rotated to sit longways, one leg spread out for balance while the other rested right at the edge. He leaned back, spreading one wing out along the gravely rooftop, while the other drooped over the side, feathers long and fluttering in the breeze like a crimson, tattered flag.

Hawks crossed his arms behind his head and laid back in full, looking boneless as he stretched out. He peered up at you with a wicked grin, eyes bright as they reflected the distant street lights.

"You're fucking ridiculous," you snapped at him, realizing too late that you were smiling dumbly at the shamelessly display in front of you. Your words lacked any real weight. Rather, you sounded amused or impressed, not angry.

God damn it.

"You love it," Hawks retorted with a soft laugh.

"No," you commanded, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Come on," he urged, rolling your name off his tongue like it was a delicious, sinful delight. "It'll make for a great memory - great story. Tell all your friends you fucked some guy on the edge of the roof. No risk: you know I won't let you fall."

"I wouldn't say 'some guy', even if I had friends to tell," you said to him grumpily, settling a weak glare on the winged villain.

Hawks removed his crossed arms from behind his head, placed one hand on the roof for balance, and leaned up. His cocky expression was gone, replaced with something soft, almost nervous, like he feared he misheard you.

"You'd tell them it was me?" he asked.

"Obviously," you uttered back.

A genuine smile found its way onto Hawks' face. Maybe, he was more deceitful than you gave him credit for. Maybe he knew damn well that you couldn't resist that face, that smile that lit up your heart, those mismatched eyes. Only foolish girls let themselves believe nonsense.

Maybe, you could be foolish sometimes.

You approached Hawks and he leaned back, excitement clawing its way onto his face as he realized he was going to get what he wanted. You smacked his chest and he fell back with a rough laugh.

A slight tug pulled his pants down enough to spring his cock free, already fully hard and leaking against his abdomen. Some distant thought was that you should have been surprised; but, Hawks had proved to be quite the animal, with such a miniscule refractory period and ready to go without much persuading.

You carefully slid on top of him, one leg braced on the roof against his side, while the other dangled over the edge. The weightlessness had you reeling back with a frightened whimper. Hawks grabbed your leg and pressed it tight against his side, keeping you planted on his lap.

"I got you," he whispered soothingly. "I got you, baby. I won't let you fall."

The bastard could fly. He was used to feeling weightless, to feeling nothing beneath his feet. You were not, and the very real risk of slipping over the edge was ever present when you felt the breeze, felt the lack of something beneath your heel.

However, when you planted yourself on Hawks, who was partially dangling over the side, you felt grounded. He felt sturdy and strong beneath you, no fear in his posture, arms and legs firmly planted, wings spread out to balance himself. He wasn't waddling back and forth with uncertainty.

It barely took you a second to relax, to feel safe when his hands gripped your thighs, holding you securely against his weight. Of course he could catch you; but, you doubted he would let you fall in the first place.

Sooner or later, you were going to have to learn to tell him no; but, that didn't have to be today.

"Have you done this before?" you dared to ask.

"Not with a partner," Hawks answered quietly.

You barked out a laugh at his answer, and watched a cheeky grin appear on the villain's face.

"What? Can a guy not jack off on the roof?" he barked.

"You're fucking horrible," you chuckled, slapping at his bare chest.

"I didn't splooge over the edge," he added on.

"You're ruining the mood," you scolded him.

Still, despite those words, and the obviously fact that he had in fact not ruined anything, you reached between your legs and grabbed at the hem of your shorts. They were wide enough that you could just pull them to the side-

Hawks choked on his next breath. You glanced up at his face. His head was angled down so he could steal a look at your sex so effortlessly becoming bare.

"Fuck," he wheezed, as if he hadn't seen you naked dozens of times by now.

Bare of underwear, fabric loose enough to just shift aside, you angled your hips until his cock caught on your folds. Hawks moaned when your wet slit trailed across his length, literally dripping over him.

"-ooohh, you're wet," he hissed softly, sincerely surprised at the discovery.

"You fucked me just a few hours ago, you animal," you retorted smoothly. Your level tone contrasted sharply with the sudden whimper that escaped you when his tip hooked on your entrance.

"Heh. Made you scre-"

Ah, you loved when Hawks gave you perfect opportunities to cut him off. You shifted your hips and sank down, enveloping his length in moist heat, and Hawks' words dissolved into a weak moan. There was no ache, as you were still prepped from earlier, likely still leaking some of him, as well.

Hawks wasted no time laying a hand against your lower abdomen. His thumb dipped between your folds and flicked skillfully at your pearl. The harsh texture of his calloused fingerprint had you whimpering and twitching. His other hand gripped your waist and guided you slowly up and down his length.

"Look down," Hawks instructed, not demanding, not crude, but soft and guiding. His eyes displayed a sort of devotion and hunger that had you helpless to do much other than obey.

Your eyes directed to the ground below, over sweeping floors, dozens of windows and a couple fire escapes. This high up, the ground looked so far away, cars like pill bugs you'd see waddling along the concrete at the community garden. Something electric shot through you, catching your breath in your throat, and Hawks let out a hoarse curse, hips shuddering.

"Fuck, you got tight," he hissed.

His hand let go of your sex and lifted up to cup your face. He turned you to face him, nudging your cheek lovingly with his knuckles. Immediately, you realized, it was his burnt hand.

You turned your head to kiss at his skin, tinged red from thick scar tissue and wrinkly. Slyly, he dipped his thumb into your mouth, the same that had been dipped beneath your folds.

"Don't be scared. I got you, baby," he cooed while you sucked the digit clean.

You smiled and laughed softly, popping his thumb out of your mouth with a lewd, wet noise. "Normal people are scared of heights, pretty bird."

"You're special," he protested, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip.

That praise had your heart fluttering, and you mentally scolded yourself for acting like a school girl.

He pressed down and dipped his thumb back inside, coaxing your tongue out until it lulled over your bottom lip. Normally, you swatted his hand away when he did things like that. But, it was difficult to resist when he was looking at you like that. One gold and one milky eye took you in with a heated gaze while he gently panted through slightly parted lips.

"That's a good girl," he praised, dragging the pad of his thumb over your tongue.

You likely looked ridiculous like this, impaled on his lap with your tongue hanging out. You almost wanted to smack him and tell him to quit; but, Hawks' hand retreated before you could tell him off.

That same thumb returned to your pearl, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. He lifted his lips a little, encouraging, the corners of his lips threatening to break into a pleased grin. You gently moved along with him, finding harmony in a steady rhythm that had pleasure sparking at your guts.

Your eyes wandered, taking in his aroused expression, exploring the plains of his muscular chest, across the burnt skin on one half of his body, to the red feathered wings that jutted out from behind him. You didn't look over the edge again; but, the sounds of the city were ever present, reminding you of where you were.

"Someone could see," Hawks suggested darkly.

You shuddered, head lulling back, and let out a weak moan. You didn't consider yourself much of a voyeurist; but, that was oddly exciting. You were covered up well enough. They wouldn't see much of you, but the act couldn't be mistaken for anything but what it was.

Hawks shifted his hand away from your pearl and grabbed at your hip, long fingers curling around the thickest part for purchase. You didn't have a chance to consider the lack of stimulation before one of his feathers replaced his thumb, twirling and flicking insistently at your nub.

You moaned again, and let yourself go partially limp, somewhat held up by your hands braced against his chest, but more so by his stronger hands holding your center. You couldn't keep up with him, letting his hands guide you up and down to his length to his liking.

"-know how good it feels," he continued, some strain in his voice as pleasure spewed in his core.

He lost balance a little and the wing drooped over the edge flapped once. It wasn't particularly strong; but, it was enough to startle a jolt and soft yelp out of you.

Your hands slipped, and you were suddenly chest to chest. Hawks bent one leg to lift you higher on his lap, shifting the angle enough to bring him deeper and amplify the pleasure. His cheek slid against your neck and his lips met your jawline.

"You want them to know what a slut you are?" he snarled, less of a question and more of a suggestion.

The sensible side of you wanted to deny it. What good could possibly come of that? The feral side of you, that Hawks so expertly brought out, disagreed. You weren't ashamed of him. You were the happiest you had been in years. He made you laugh, he made you smile, and he made you come harder than you ever thought possible.

He kissed and bit a burning hot path across your jaw, drawing some loose skin between his molars beneath your ear, before wandering across your throat. He mouthed at your pulse, and the reality that he was a wanted murderer rang loudly in your ears.

You didn't recoil of fear or disgust. You moaned, loudly, arching your back and exposing one of yourself to him. He had to resist the urge to lift your shirt and bite at your breasts. If not for your modesty, than because your poor nipples had already been quite thoroughly assaulted not too many hours ago.

His dominant hand slid up your thigh, long, thick fingers effortlessly venturing up the leg of your shorts. He curled his hand around the back and dragged the pad of his finger along your union, gathering slick and remnants of his earlier venture.

Your cloudy thoughts didn't consider what he was doing, until that finger, now wet and slippery, was suddenly circling your other hole. That had you letting out a confused gasp. He didn't press in, just traced the tight ring of muscle curiously, and took your noise positively.

Hawks knew well enough, but the mischievous glimmer in his eyes gave it away.

"Aww. Did Touya never touch you here?" he teased.

He pressed in slightly, being answered by your muscles flinching tightly, if your lewd expression didn't tell him enough. You looked confused, maybe even a little annoyed, but the arousal was still present, thick behind the glare you tried to give him.

As inviting as the heat was, he didn't venture beyond the pad of his finger, which felt like a lot more than it actually was. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good, either. You didn't know what to make of it, but found yourself arching into the touch, and downright mewling when he slipped out and returned to circling the ring of puckered muscle, which surprisingly did feel good.

"O-obviously, that's not-" you hissed at him.

Still, through all his teasing and adventuring touches, his hips never ceased, forcing his cock into your sopping wet cunt again and again. The wet, fleshy sounds was loud enough to drown out the bustling city beneath you.

"No more than this," Hawks promised in a hoarse whisper, hot breath fanning out over your throat.

His fingertip eased back in, met with blistering tight heat, and you let out a strange noise, confused and perhaps a little discomforted. No, that was definitely not a place you were used to being touched. But, he wandered that territory carefully, ever akin to your desires. As new as it was, there was no denying the way that touch made your skin prickle.

"You like it," he observed slyly. "Dirty girl."

It probably would have sounded more teasing if he didn't already sound so debauched, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to touch you as much as you enjoyed being touched. He had you wrapped around his finger. That much was certain. But, you weren't oblivious to the power you held over him.

"Keigo," his name slipped past your lips, breathless and dripping with lust. It wasn't really forced; but, you were intent on getting a rise out of him. "Keigo," and again. "Oh, Keigo," and again.

His teasing finger stopped and his hand shifted to grab at your meaty behind with an almost bruising grip. His pace was suddenly punishing, bouncing you in his lap almost ferociously while his hips pivoted to chase the sensation. He had you wheezing out breathless moans while he grunted and snarled beneath you.

"Close," he suddenly grunted, the word little more than a rumble in his throat.

"Yes," you agreed, deliriously high on the pleasure he pummeled into you.

It was impossible to know how he managed to hold off long enough to get you there first, or if it was specifically the tightening of your walls that got him there. You were mewling and twitching long before he howled out, and the heat of his seed burst inside you.

He was making a mess. You could feel it dripping down your thighs, sputtering out from his thrusting and leaking over his abdomen. Hawks didn't care, obviously, turning his head to kiss greedily at your mouth while his hips kept moving.

When he pulled back, you found yourself disappointed at the realization that he hadn't knotted. However, there was no way you were going to say that out loud. His ego was swollen enough already.

Careless to the mess, he lifted you off his length and helped you to your feet before adjusting his wet pants to at least clothe himself. Your combined fluids had made a mess all over the crotch of his pants, no doubt worse now that he tucked himself away. Your shorts were no better, and you could feel his seed leaking down your inner thigh.

The high wasn't quite over and Hawks was sporting an attractive red tint along his shoulders and chest, blonde locks an absolute mess. Still, at this moment, your focus was solely on getting back inside and cleaning up.

"You're the worst," you scolded him, sounding incredibly fond despite your insult. You took his arm instead of his hand and guided him back into the building.

Hawks swallowed a laugh and, together, you stomped noisily down the stairs. No one passed you by. If anyone spotted you, it went unnoticed. You hardly needed to drag Hawks, who was right on your tail. As soon as the door was opened, he pushed you inside, one arm wound possessively over your waist.

"Keigo!" you whined, flinching when his head ducked into your neck and gnawed at your skin.

"You got me riled up," he growled, pressing into you so you could feel how hard he still was. The sticky mess of his wet pants felt gross; but, you couldn't be bothered to care.

You wanted to tell him off; after all, you had done nothing, and he had done that to himself. But, you felt a tinge of discomfort at your core, aching and eager to be filled again. Your clit throbbed between your thighs, eager for more contact.

Hawks manhandled you onto the nearby wall, taking you by the elbows to plant your hands on the smooth surface. You didn't hesitate to make your consent known, arching your back and propping up on your toes as he roughly dragged your shorts down.

The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving your oozing sex presented to him. Your felt and heard his wings flap, so widely that they smacked against the walls in the small space. Knowing full well what he was doing, the sudden intrusion wasn't quite as surprising; but, still, he managed to force a startled moan out of you.

"Fuck," he snarled, forehead falling against your upper back.

His dominant hand reached around, circling your pearl as he found a steady rhythm. His seed from earlier oozed out, and it was equally disgusting as it was amazing. His free hand gripped your hips, holding you still so he could use you to his liking.

It felt amazing, and each shift of his hips punched a broken moan out of you. It didn't take long for you to feel it, the swell at the base of his cock, catching on your entrance, slowly working you open to take his growing knot.

"You want that, don't you?" he uttered harshly, tilting his head up to breathe the words into the space right above your ear.

Even though it was unnecessary, he made his point clear by shoving it all in, as deep as he could, and grinding, rolling his hips to let you feel the swell at the base.

You removed one hand from the wall, curved your arm back and reached blindly, skillfully finding his hair. Your fingers grabbed a fistful, rough but not enough to hurt him. Hawks snarled when you tugged him in, nails gently biting into his skull.

"You better," you whispered, demanding and hoarse, and apparently delicious enough that he had to stop his thrusts and tilt his head in for a kiss.

Suddenly, the closeness was everywhere, back to chest, thigh to thigh. You tilted your head back to make it easier to reach, and let Hawks kiss his way into your mouth possessively, first with soft lips before his tongue edged the soft skin apart. He dragged along your teeth before trailing your palate like he was tasting something divine.

Eventually, he was satisfied, parting from your lips with a loud pop, licking his own lips as if he had just enjoyed a delicious meal. He carefully peeled back, cock slipping free from your heat, hands letting go when he was confident you wouldn't fall.

An open palm collided with your behind, and the sound echoed around the apartment, drowning out your surprised squick.

"Get on the fucking bed," he all but snarled, the words clawing out through gritted teeth.

Your legs, steadier than you expected, carried you to the bedroom. Hawks, however, tackled you onto the mattress before you could make it, forcing you onto your back with his weight.

He chuckled into your skin and you squealed with laughter. Despite the impact, he was surprisingly gentle, mindful of his strength. Crimson wings flapped, nearly smacking into the ceiling. You briefly feared that he would get hurt on the ceiling fan, but immediately determined that he would be more likely to break it than be injured by it.

He peeled your shirt off, leaving you nude beneath him.

"I've made you such a slut for knots, hm?" he observed, leaning up on his knees to hover over you, and give you quite the view.

His cock was an angry shade of red, thick and heavy where it hung between his legs, almost tinted purple on the tip with the need for release. He had just a moment ago, and it made you wonder if the lack of knotting left him unsatisfied.

The beginning swells of his knot was an enticing girth right at the base, stretching the velvety skin of his shaft, and also tinted a dark shade of red. He was glistening all over, the tip oozing pre as if he hadn't come just a moment ago.

"-and I've made you a slut for me," you teased back, carefully placing your legs on either side of his waist.

He skillfully slipped into you with a pleased snarl, body slotting over yours carefully. He might not have been a giant, but Hawks was still bigger than you, enough to shadow you and leave you feeling small. He rolled his hips slowly, giving you a taste of that swelling before he began a steady rhythm.

Noises punched out of you, whimpers and moans and broken sounds that were almost his name. He balanced on his forearms, one on either side of your head to cage you in, while his legs planted on the bed and his tense abs did most of the work.

"So fucking good. Gnhnn - I don't deserve you," he babbled, uttering the words harshly into the space above your ear, tickling at your hair. "Beautiful and f-fucking perfect."

Hawks was a talker with almost no exception; but, still, despite having heard it all many times, he still managed to get a rise out of you, sweet nothings that made your heart flutter and skin prickle.

"Say you're mine," he demanded, tilting his head down to gnaw gently at your throat.

You swallowed, managing to catch your breath long enough to utter weakly, "'m yours, Keigo."

He lifted his head and dragged his forehead along your temple, huffing out dramatic breaths with each thrust of his hips. A bit more experienced now, you knew when he was close, when the catch became almost too much, the fullness dizzying and almost frightening. Your eyes fluttered open long enough to see his lustful stare, admiring the beauty of pleasure etched across your face.

You dragged your nails down his back, crying in ecstasy when the sparks ignited and pleasure soared through your core. Hawks' dominant hand roughly grabbed a fistful of the sheets, a frustrated grunt bursting from his throat before he roared, likely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

His thrusting ceased, less he timed it incorrectly and missed this. You made a very distinct noise at the intrusion, the same sound every single time, and it echoed so loudly in his mind. He felt overwhelmed with pride, that he could make you make a sound like that, so utterly debauched and in beautiful ecstasy.

Hawks' own moans, that came out of him like a chuffing tiger, were drowned out by your delicious whimpering. If the fullness wasn't enough, his cock jerked and spurted thick, hot streams of his seed. You could feel each twitch, until he shifted forward, as deep as he possibly could go, and finally stopped.

The muscles of his knot tightened as they finished expanding, locking your cores together. Hawks' head dropped and smacked onto the sheets by your ear. You tilted your head back, nose pointed towards the ceiling as you panted, and felt his rough, staggered breath as it burned your throat.

You felt more than heard the rumbling of his chest where it pressed down on yours. It was unmistakable: the sounds of a satiated beast. The thought had you stuttering out a breathless laugh.

Hawks' nose nudged your cheek and he hummed questioningly.

"You're purring," you answered softly.

"Oh," he answered bluntly.

Luckily, he didn't try to stop it; or, he was consciously unaware of it. Either way, you hoped he wouldn't stop. You loved the sensation of being trapped with him, impossibly close and stuffed like a used sex toy. Just as much, you loved knowing that he was pleased. Shameful as it all was, he had a way of making you feel shameless.

"Baby," he cooed, voice soft and breathless, a little hoarse, like a dying engine. "Are you okay?"

Your arms and legs were still around him, clinging tight like you didn't want to let go. You were strung out and limp, sinking into the sheets, head lulled back and clearly, very pleased. Still, Hawks kissed at your jaw like he was uncertain.

"Are you okay, pretty bird?" you repeated back to him, turning your head to meet his lips with your own.

He kissed you back as opposed to answering, the soft rumbling continuing until you felt it in your own throat. One of his hands tangled in your hair, kneading gently at your skull. Eventually, he peeled back and stared down at you, mismatched eyes unwavering, like you were a specter that would disappear if he glanced away.

He was the one who would be gone in the morning, leaving only an ache in your tummy to remind you that he was here.

But, you knew he would come back.

[hxneyandespressx]

since we’re alone, you can show me your heart

summary: what happens when derek gets a nightmare? the only one who can calm him down is his pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x derek morgan (moreid)

word count:  1.9k

content warnings: mentions of gun and shooting

a/n: set after criminal minds season 11 episode 11 entropy

☆。*。☆。

Spencer ran frantically around his dark and messy apartment, picking up the case files and Chinese takeout boxes that had piled up on his antique coffee table. Few peanut oil stains stuck onto the wooden top. The anxious man took the nearest napkin, hoping that it was clean, and tried his best to wipe off the oil stains. Seeing that they wouldn’t come off, Spencer exasperatedly dropped the napkin onto the table and rushed over to his kitchen, grabbing the necessary cleaning supplies. He got his bottle of white vinegar and water, a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and an old rag underneath the kitchen sink.

By the time Spencer was done, every room in his apartment was clean to his standard. Not a book out of place, no dust lingering in the air. Spencer felt both scared and excited about having his co-workers come over to his place. He never had them over until today. He felt scared if a game, like truth or dare, made him confess his true feelings about his boyfriend.

Derek and Spencer had worked with each other for a long time. As the years went by, experiencing the highs and lows of being FBI agents together, the two of them felt their hearts yearn for each other, but neither of them acted upon it. They were scared of the possibility of rejection, tarnishing their friendship. It was not until Derek decided to break the ice and asked out Spencer. The young man was delighted to have his crush ask him out. It was the one thing that went right in his life.

Three months in and either of them hasn’t said “I love you” yet. Either of them was scared to frighten off the other. Saying “I love you” was a big commitment. They were trying to take things slow, not to rush each other, even though they had known each other for a long time.

The gang was heading over to Spencer’s for a little sleepover to relax as they hadn’t received any new cases within the past 2 weeks. It was nice to have a break from all the traveling and dealing with unsubs; however, it does get boring doing paperwork and in-office consultations for hours.

Spencer’s phone pinged multiple times and a bunch of text notifications came.

Hotch: Sorry, can’t make it. I couldn’t find a babysitter for Jack and Jessica is busy at work tonight. Maybe next time.

Tara: going out on the town with the ladies!

Penelope: sorry spencer but jj tara and i are having a ladies night :(

JJ: sorry spence! perhaps next time!

Rossi: Sorry kid. Forgot to tell you that I’m driving up to Montauk to visit a buddy of mine.

Spencer sighed and felt defeated. Everyone bailed on him at the last minute. Everyone except for Derek. That was fine with Spencer, as this could be a date night for them. Just then, the doorbell rang, indicating someone had arrived. Having a small smile on his face, Spencer scurried to the front door and opened it. It revealed one handsome Derek Morgan, who was holding a large pizza in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

“I saw in the group chat that everyone else bailed on this.” Derek said.

“Yeah but this could be a date night for us.” Spencer smiled at his little proposition. Derek smiled, showing off his brilliant pearly whites, as he entered the apartment.

The couple spent their night-in watching movies, eating pizza, and Spencer going off tangents on his passions. Whenever Spencer starts to rant about one of his passions, Derek just stared at his little genius and smiled at how happy his boyfriend was. And that continued all night long, Derek listening to Spencer talk about 19th-century British literature, coupled with watching random movies of various genres.

Nearing 1 am, the couple laid on the couch, with Spencer in Derek’s arms. The tv was playing Julie & Julia in the background. Spencer was half asleep and noticed that Derek was sleeping already. He gently wiggled out of Derek’s arms and stood up from the couch, scratching his scalp and messing up his already messy curly hair.

“Hey. Let’s go to bed.” Spencer softly said, patting his boyfriend’s shoulder. Derek woke up, feeling groggy. Spencer led the way to his room, holding Derek’s hand. They both flopped onto the bed and Derek wrapped an arm around Spencer’s waist. They were used to sharing a room together, even a bed due to mistakes occurring at the hotels they stayed at when they were on cases. Sleep washed over them as the golden dust of the Sandman worked its magic.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Standing across from Derek were Spencer and Cat Adams. The hitwoman had a gun pointed at one scared Spencer Reid. Internally, Derek was screaming. On the outside, he kept his cool and calm composure.

“Morgan, get out.” Spencer demanded.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Derek said, his voice shaking a little.

“Hm… I guess we’re back where we started. You and me with a gun.” Cat said without a care in the world, keeping the gun aimed at Spencer.

“Reid, it’s time.”

“No.”

“We don’t have a choice. We have to do it,” Derek said. Spencer kept shaking his head no. “We found your father.” the unsub stood there in shock for a few seconds, before rage set inside of her.

“You’re lying. I don’t like men who lie. You men are all the same.” Cat said as she gauged the trigger on her gun. She shot Spencer in the head and without hesitation, Derek started to shoot at the unsub. Derek ran over to Spencer and held his dying love in his arms. He tried to keep him alive until the paramedics came. The last words Derek said was “I love you” before his boy wonder went limp.

Derek woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. He heard himself breathing heavily and felt anxious from the nightmare he just had. The frightened man groggily rubbed his eyes to get rid of the Sandman’s dust. Leaning his back against the headboard, Derek stared at the wall across from him, concentrating his eyes on one spot. He hoped that this technique would help him fall back asleep. Alas, he was shaken up from the nightmare.

The dazed man anxiously searched for his phone, wondering how much time has passed. Fumbling through the grey sheets and trying not to wake up Spencer, Derek found his phone, turning on the touchscreen, the blue screen lit up brightly. 3:20 am. Derek took a deep breath and sighed, leaning his head back onto the headboard and looked over to see his baby-faced boyfriend fast asleep. A soft smile appeared on Derek’s face, reminding him of his reality: Spencer being his angel.

Feeling restless, Derek pushed the comforter off of himself and quietly got off of the bed. He opened the bedroom door and went to the bathroom that was down the hall. His hands turned on the faucet and cupped together to gather the running water. Derek splashed cold water onto his face, making him more alert and awake. His eyes caught the sight of his face in the mirror. Smile lines decorated his face, which contrasted the dark circles forming underneath his eyes. Derek sighed and made his way towards the kitchen.

Derek has come over to Spencer’s place many times before, so much so he knows the way around like the back of his hand. With ease, his muscular hand grabbed a tall glass, with an accompanying coaster, in one of the cabinets above. He filled the glass with water from the faucet below. Loud gulps could be heard as Derek drank the water, cool and fresh like he had found an oasis. Just as Derek gently placed the glass on the coaster, his ears caught the shuffling feet of a tired Spencer.

“Derek?” Spencer tiredly said. “What are you doing up?”

“Just needed some water, that is all.” Derek said his half truth-half lie. The young man shrugged and went towards the refrigerator.

Unknowingly, Derek started to tap his fingers against the dark grey laminate countertop. Spencer caught the sound with his ears and turned to face his boyfriend.

“Derek? Are you okay?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Because you’re tapping your fingers across the countertop.” Spencer pointed out. When the tired genius mentioned the action, Derek immediately stopped, his eyes glancing at Spencer.

“We’re profilers, Derek. You can’t hide anything from me.” Spencer said, feeling concerned for his best friend. The mousy-haired man felt like a hypocrite after saying that to Derek. During the many years he worked with the handsome man in front of him, Spencer developed a crush on him. At first, it was just a silly little infatuation, but as time passed, it changed to being a crush. The young man was able to hide it well. That was until Derek reciprocated his feelings. That same crush turned into Spencer dating Derek. In these past few months, Spencer wanted to tell his angel of a boyfriend that he loved him, but he was scared that Derek would run away from him, just like everyone else in his life.

“Ha– you’re right, pretty Ricky,” Derek said in defeat, hanging his head low. Spencer came up behind Derek slowly, hesitant to show some affection to his probably scared boyfriend. He mustered up his own fears and gave Derek a hug from behind, and felt his boyfriend relaxing in his arms. The couple stood in silence for some time, savoring the unspoken quietness between them.

“Remember when you had to go in as bait for Cat Adams?” Derek asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh– yeah. Why are you asking?” Spencer responded, not getting the hint where the conversation was going.

“Two weeks since that case, I had these nightmares. I thought I could get through with it, but I can’t. My nightmare was about that. I dreamt that you were shot by Cat.” Derek explained.

“Derek…” Spencer felt shocked while his heart was breaking. He felt like he had to do something. But all he could do was sit and listen to his boyfriend get everything off his chest.

"I wish this is a nightmare that I could just wake up from... but it feels all real... and I hate every second of it. I felt like I was going to lose you when it actually happened,” Derek’s voice cracked a bit as tears pricked his deep brown eyes. “And I don’t want this to repeat. I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“I won’t let it happen again,” Spencer quietly said, caresses Derek’s cheek. “We will make sure she stays in prison, alright?” Derek brought Spencer in for a long embrace. The mousy-haired man wrapped his arms around his athletic boyfriend’s waist as he placed his head in the crook of Derek’s neck. The soft warmth coming off of Derek comforted Spencer, clashing with her cold pale skin.

“I just uh…” Derek said tiredly.

“Yeah.” Spencer replied, smiling softly. He knew in his heart that Derek said “I love you” to him.

“You know?”

“I know.”

taglist: @homosexualyearning / @ssajelle / @iconicc / @sunlightgalaxy / @pumpkin-stars / @hotchgans / @pen3mily / @hotchsbabygirl / @gravelyhumerus / @morcias / @notsosmexy / @cherrychris​ / @hqtchner / @girlbossjareau / @pagetsimp / @a-writers-ramblings / @morceid

[headoverjojo]

Can I have Buccigang with a S/o that sleep walks? Like... they just wake up in another place in the house every so often, lol or if after a stressing day they try to 'do' something they forgot, (Dishes, papers, etc.) and talks pure nonsense in their sleep? oWo

Hi there, darling! Absolutely sure thing :3 I hope it satisfies you! Here we go :3

Bruno’s gang with a s/o who sleepwalks

(Under the cut for length!)

Bruno Bucciarati

The first time it happened, Bruno simply thought they were in the bathroom or in the kitchen to drink a glass of water, so he just relaxed on the pillow, waiting for them. When, however, they didn’t return, he frowned, perplexed. It was taking too long… what was happening to them? Maybe they weren’t feeling well? He got up, with a sleepy sigh, rubbing his eyes and going to see where they were. He hoped he was just worrying too much…

He knocked to the bathroom door, but no one answered. He peeked inside, and his s/o wasn’t in. Then, he went to the kitchen, but they weren’t there, and there wasn’t even a used glass in the sink. It was weird… where were they?! He searched around more frantically, now, and finally he found them… in the office he and his s/o shared. He arched a brow, perplexed, seeing them from behind. It seemed like they were searching for something, sorting papers and consulting files… he called them, but they didn’t turn around, nor gave any sign to have heard him. It was too weird…

He went near them, curious, and his curiosity became stupor when he saw that they were… sleeping, They were doing everything while sleeping. He just sighed, sitting on a near armchair, to be sure they weren’t going to inadvertently hurt themselves. Sometimes he even dozed off, tired, but luckily nothing bad happened. When he woke up again, in the morning, they were resting on his chest, sleeping. Maybe they had done whatever they had to… he smiled a little, gently patting their head. Maybe it was time to lock the bedroom door, before sleeping…

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio was a very light sleeper. He needed ages to finally fall asleep, and even the most muffled sound could wake him up and startle him. No surprise, so, when he practically jumped on a sitting position when he heard a clear voice in the room; who was there?! An enemy? And how the hell did they manage to enter?! He looked around, immediately grabbing the knife that was hidden in his bedside table. Weird… it seemed that no one was around, and even Moody Blues didn’t find anyone. Then, he heard again that voice, but it was near… too near! It came from his s/o! He looked down at them, surprised, and he saw their lips moving, firstly silently, then they grumbled something in a low voice, then they almost screamed, startling him again. Were they having a nightmare?! It didn’t seem so…

He understood he didn’t have to worry when he heard them grumbling about flying papers and cannibal nibs. Ok… it was weird, but they simply talked in their sleep. He absolutely didn’t know how in the holy heaven they could dream something that involved flying papers and cannibal nibs, but it was none of his business. What mattered to him was that they were safe… and, with a sigh, he realized that he should have learnt to sleep with such a noise in his ears. Well, it could have been worse…

He needed more than a little time to finally get used to their loud mumbles. He finally managed to find a way to calm them and make them be silent when, during a particularly loud monologue, he hugged them tightly, almost trying to silence them with his embrace. And it worked; they settled more comfortably in his embrace and finally found the peace they -and he- needed to sleep.

Guido Mista

Mista is a person who likes a certain sense of routine in his days. He likes to go to sleep around the same time every evening, and to wake up around the same time every morning. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t adapt to changes; just that he likes some of them a little lesser than others. One of these changes it his s/o’s habit, apparently, to get up and go around during the night… while they sleep. Since the first time it had happened, Mista had been worried sick that they could inadvertently hurt themselves, maybe by hitting a furniture or stumbling on their own feet, so, since that night, his attention, even while he was sleeping, was high. He woke up every time he felt them turning around and, when they actually got up, he gently laid them down again, hugging them tightly to persuade them to stay there and sleep in their bed and not around the house, but, when he couldn’t manage to do so, he just followed them around, tiredly sighing and yawning. After those nights, he always needed a stronger coffee, in the morning…

Even Sex Pistols helped him with this “little problem”. One of them, every night, was awake to check on G/N and be sure to wake Mista up in time to block or, in case, follow them around. Sometimes, if G/N just moves to rest somewhere else, like an armchair or the table, the Pistol “on duty”  perches on Mista’s shoulder -who, meanwhile, just flopped somewhere soft enough to make him fall asleep-, in order to be ready to wake him up if they start to roam again. It’s not easy even for them, but their and Mista’s love for G/N is much stronger than their tiredness. And, luckily, they don’t wander around the house very night!

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia is a heavy sleeper. Like, not even a bomb could wake him up. He just falls asleep wrapped around his beloved s/o and in five minutes he’s gone, sleeping serenely like a baby. Nothing seems to be able to disturb his sleep… but one thing. Sleeping all wrapped around his s/o, he grew used to hug their shape and, without them, he basically cannot sleep. It just doesn’t feel right. So, when they have to get up, he always wakes up, no matter what. It’s usually just for few minutes, the time they take to come back from the bathroom or the kitchen, but, sometimes, it’s not so quick. And, when it happened, Narancia always got up too to check if they were alright.

The first time it happened, he thought they were sick, or that they couldn’t sleep and so they just had moved to the sofa to watch some tv. However, when he sleepely shuffled to the living room, they weren’t there. He frowned, perplexed, and, while sleep was quickly leaving him, he checked the other rooms. What the hell… did they go away? Or maybe were they in danger?! He called out Aerosmith’s radar to search for them and, sighing in relief, he localized them in the spare room. He went to check on them, curious; what the hell they were doing there in the middle of the night? He arched an eyebrow, perplexed, when he saw them making the bed. Why now…? He called them, but they didn’t answer. When he came near, he noticed, surprised, that they were sleeping. So they were a sleepwalker… he never saw a sleepwalking person, but he kinda remembered that sleepwalkers didn’t have to be awakened, so he just let them be, watching them, fascinated. At least they were fine… and, when they finally walked back in their room, he followed them, locking the door. It was better to keep them in a safe space!

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo was another one with a very light sleep -or he didn’t sleep at all-, due to his frequent nightmares and night terrors. However, since his s/o started to sleep with him, his nights became more serene; he always found a safe spot in their arms, and even the most terrible nightmare was forced to surrender and leave him in peace. This was why he was so sensitive to their presence; he immediately felt when they weren’t near him, especially at night. He always woke up seconds after they gently untangled from his grip, and he didn’t go back to sleep until they were back. It usually took no more than few minutes… one time, however, things went differently. They didn’t came back after few minutes, as they usually did. He waited a little more, but then, when the waiting time hit the tenth minute, he got up as well, worried. What was going on?

He looked for them in the whole house, but he didn’t find them. When he finally checked also the guest room, still not finding them, he started to grow really anxious. Where were they? Did something bad happened to them? Or... or did they leave him without saying a word? No, it couldn’t be… they weren’t like this. It couldn’t be. He looked outside and, sighing in relief, he saw them there. But then, irritation filled his heart; what were they doing in the middle of the night in the garden?!

He went outside, calling for them, but nothing. He went to their side, more and more irritated, and then surprise filled him; they weren’t awake… so they were a sleepwalker, it seemed. It explained everything, all in all… he stayed with them, to be sure they were safe. Finally, after more or less a hour, they put back the gardening tools and headed back to their room, still sleeping soundly. Fugo was interested; he had never seen a sleepwalker… and, at the same time, he was worried. Maybe it was time to lock the door, at night…

Giorno Giovanna

Since he was a child, Giorno has learned to sleep always with an eye open. He never knew when his stepfather would have come back home drunk and, so, ready to beat him. He had to be always ready and to hide fast. Even if now he was not anymore a defenseless child, he still had the habit to be extra careful during sleep, when he was more vulnerable. This extended to his s/o too; during sleep, he always unconsciously registered their movements, ready to act if there was something strange. And that was what happened that night; he was holding them, as always, while they were sleeping, when he suddenly felt that he was holding nothing. He immediately woke up, as sleep left him in a second, and sat up, looking around. He sighed in relief when he saw them, but then he frowned, perplexed; they were rummaging in their wardrobe… why so, at that unholy hour?

He called them, asking them what they were doing, but they just grumbled something unintelligible. Giorno arched an eyebrow, perplexed, and went to their side, to see what they were doing. His eyes widened, when he noticed that theirs were closed, and how their movements were heavy, as they… but sure! They were sleepwalking! He had never seen a sleepwalker… he looked at their actions, curious. It seemed like they were getting ready for something… seeing the professional jacket they were picking, he understood: during the previous day, they had talked for long time about the meeting Giorno -and his s/o at his side- would have had with the various Capos. Maybe they had talked so much about that that they were still thinking about it even in their sleep, to the point that they were already getting ready for that meeting… Giorno huffed a small laugh, shooking his head, and gently pried from their hands the jacket, leading them to the bed again. Maybe talking about work before sleeping wasn’t a great idea!

[tk-writer]

Just like old times. [ATLA - Zukaang]

Shortly after he laid down to rest that night, Zuko was yanked awake by yet another frightful nightmare. 

He was drenched in sweat, despite sleeping shirtless with all the bedroom windows open, and his lungs desperately gasped for air as if it were foreign to his body. Grounding himself back in reality was proving to be a challenge with the image of his father still burned into his mind.

It was the same dream that had plagued him since the age of thirteen. Five long years had passed since the fateful day of their agni kai, but being forced to relive it almost every night made it seem like it had just happened yesterday. It was as if the wound was still fresh, the fire still hot, the pain still throbbing.

The fire prince let out a dejected sigh before he decided to get up. He stumbled around in the dark until he was able to shove his feet into a nearby pair of slippers. Then he marched to the nearest bathroom in search of water.

Things were pretty quiet in the palace of the fire nation. After his father had been defeated at the hands of the avatar, the world entered an era of unfamiliar peace. Nowadays, the palace felt more like a home and less like a prison. There wasn’t the same aura of tension surrounding everyone and everything that stepped foot inside, partially in thanks to the fact that Aang had decided to stick around for a while. Something about helping rebuild the fire nation and introducing the element of “fun” back into the culture. What was supposed to be a short term stay had quickly turned into a year, then two, until Aang had practically moved in. 

(Not that Zuko really minded.)

After downing two cups of cold water, he felt his body return to homeostasis and figured it was best to try and get some more sleep. He made his way back to the bedroom, fumbling around until his hands felt the coolness of the slightly damp sheets. He plopped down unceremoniously and let out another sigh before closing his eyes once more.

His eyes shot back open when he sensed movement beside him and hot breath on the right side of his cheek. He turned his head ever so slightly and came face to face with a lithe figure, donning the goofiest grin known to man.

“... AAH!”

“Waaah!”

“Who’s there?!” He leapt out of the bed with a fighting stance, hands already ablaze with fiery blue embers. 

“Chill out! It’s me, Aang!”

The flames provided just enough light for him to see the airbender lounging across the mattress like it was his own. It was enough to pacify his fear. Zuko lit a candle on the nightstand before putting out the fire he’d summoned and inhaled sharply, crossing his arms in annoyance.

“What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

“I heard you yelling in your sleep and it woke me up! I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Feeling a bit sheepish, Zuko scratched the back of his head and lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Oh, uh… sorry about that.”

Aang looked concerned, his brows furrowed with worry. Zuko didn’t dare meet his gaze, knowing it would give away his uneasiness and cause even more trouble for himself.

“Are you okay? You looked really stressed.”

“I’m fine. You can go back to your room now.”

He waited for Aang to move, but instead ended up staring at him awkwardly as the avatar showed no sign of leaving. Instead, he rolled onto his stomach and practically shouted out a suggestion.

“Why don’t we have a sleepover tonight?!”

“What? No. Why would we do that.”

 “Come oooon, it’ll be just like old times when the gang was all together!”

“You mean when we slept on the ground and had no money?”

“Yeah! Except this time it’ll be more comfortable. Ya know, with a bed and a roof over our heads and all.”

Aang seemed pretty gungho about it, and Zuko found it difficult to keep saying no when he was giving him those damn puppy dog eyes, so he found himself giving in without much more of a fight.

(How did he know those always worked on him?)

“Alright. But only for tonight.”

Aang let out a triumphant cry, eliciting a stern “Shhhh!” from Zuko who didn’t want to disturb the others sleeping in the rooms next door. He cautiously crawled back into the king sized bed, taking care not to bump into his uninvited guest. Turning his back to the airbender, he curled into a fetal position and closed his eyes in another attempt at peaceful slumber.

“Goodnight, Aang.”

“Goodnight, Zuko.”

It was quiet for about two seconds, until Zuko felt something thin and soft flutter around his waist. On instinct, he let out a muffled cry as panic struck through his chest.

He relaxed once he realized it was just Aang’s hands.

“Aang,” he warned in a low tone. “Why are you hugging me.”

“For reassurance!” He sang out happily. “So you don’t feel scared anymore.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Zuko argued as he started to squirm from the feather-light touches on his sides. “You don’t need to -aheeha!”

Another cry slipped out after he felt Aang’s hands brush right above the band of his pants. It was a silly sensation that made him twitch wildly, against his better nature. He felt Aang adjust himself, wrapping his arms a little tighter as his fingers continued to absentmindedly brush against Zuko’s bare skin. The firebender struggled to keep from laughing. Physical touch had not been a part of his life for many years, and being reintroduced to it now was making him very, very flustered.

“Hah! What was that?”

“It’s no-ahaha!-thing! Stop touching me like that, jeez…”

“Why? Wait, are you…”

Zuko tensed up, sensing what was to come next. Aang fell silent, spurring the fire prince’s anxiety even more. There was no need to finish the question when he already knew the answer.

“Aang, no.”

“Aang, yes.”

Ten fingers suddenly skittered up both of his sides, and in an instant Zuko burst out into a fit of cackles. There was no way he could hold it back; it tickled way too much. Aang’s touch was like air as he danced his fingertips over his exposed skin. The feeling brought forth the most musical giggles, an unexpected treat from someone who was usually so stoic. Zuko slammed his arms down and curled into a ball, but that didn’t deter the avatar from his attack.

“Aheeheeheehee! No, no, nonononono-OOOOO! Dohohon’t!”

Aang laughed merrily along with him, as if he were having the time of his life. Which he probably was. He always took the opportunity to make Zuko laugh or smile whenever he had the chance, and now was no exception.

“No way! I never knew you were ticklish! Haha!”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHANG!”

The airbender pulled away momentarily to let the fire prince breathe, but his mercy didn’t last long

“So, your sides are ticklish… what about your armpits?”

He jammed his hands in between his clamped down arms and wiggled around as much as he could, with Zuko attempting to squirm away and all. In truth, he was trying really hard not to struggle too much in fear of accidentally hurting his friend. A painful memory of Toph’s burned feet etched in his head as he made sure to keep his hands away from Aang and free of their usual fire. Instead, he just kept laughing until it felt like he was going to choke.

“No… not there! Pleheeheeheease!!”

“Okay, so your sides and armpits are pretty bad. What about your stomach?”

Zuko felt the wiggling hands leave his body for a second, then once again sensed them scurrying across his skin, this time exploring his belly. Soft, muted giggles escaped his lips, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. Still, his skin twitched wherever Aang made contact.

“Ahahaaa… noooo! Stahahap!”

“It’s not so bad here… but what about here?”

Aang gave no warning this time before he began pinching Zuko’s ribs, which spurred another round of maniacal cackling from the sullen firebender. He thrashed from side to side, kicking his legs frantically until Aang had to climb on top of him to avoid getting kicked. The airbender cracked up as he watched him descend even further into uncontrollable giggles.

“Wow, this must be a really bad spot for you!”

“Shahahahahaddup!! It’s not funny!”

“Heh, it’s kinda funny! Who woulda thought the big strong fire lord would be weak to a little tickling!”

Zuko found himself unable to respond as the tickling went on, his pleas turning into babbles thanks to Aang jumping around from spot to spot and teasing him into oblivion. Each time he’d explore a new area, he’d ask Zuko before honing in. And each time, Zuko wasn’t ready. He’d let out a high pitched shriek before succumbing to more upbeat giggles, uncharacteristic for someone of his nature. 

He had no idea how long things went on, but when Aang threatened to tickle his feet, he suddenly grabbed both of his arms and held firm.

“Please… no more…”

He spat out his last pleas in between haggard breaths, and that signaled to Aang that enough was enough. The avatar pulled away, allowing him some respite after the tickly torment he’d just put him through. When Zuko opened his eyes, he saw the avatar staring at him with a warm, sunny smile. It made his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Zuko… I wish you’d laugh more. You have a really nice smile.”

“Wh… huh? Why would you…”

Now it was Aang’s turn to act shy. He let out a sheepish chuckle, backtracking a bit before explaining himself.

“Ah, sorry. I guess that’s kinda sappy. But, I dunno, you seem so sad a lot of the time. Sometimes I wish I could just come up to ya and do this!”

He scribbled across his stomach again, making Zuko squeal again, but stopped before it got to be too much. When his laughter died down again, he mumbled something so softly that Aang almost didn’t catch it.

“Well… maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Hnh, nevermind.”

Aang opened his mouth to protest, but clamped it shut almost immediately. Zuko wondered what he was going to say, but decided to let it be for now. After all, he was pretty spent after the surprise tickle attack he’d just endured.

“Uh, can we go back to sleep now?”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry, heh.”

Aang slid off and made himself comfortable on the other side of the bed, giving Zuko some space just in case he wanted to be alone. Zuko blew out the candle and laid down as well, and for a few seconds the room was silent. However, as Aang’s eyelids began to droop, he heard a timid voice speak up through the darkness.

“... Um… Aang?”

“Yeeeees?”

“Can you… can we… uhm…”

Aang chuckled under his breath, quietly enough that his bedside companion couldn’t hear. Without another word, he hugged his arms around Zuko and pulled him in close until they both were in a comfortable position. He pressed his forehead against his back and felt the firebender relax for the first time all night.

“Goodnight, Zuko.”

“Goodnight, Aang.”

Aang couldn’t see it, but that night Zuko fell asleep with a small smile. Neither woke until the bright light of late morning greeted them through the window.

[yodawgiherd]

Crystal Rose

>>>Read on AO3<<<

The gang celebrates Mikasa's birthday.

What woke Eren up wasn’t any light or bad dreams, it wasn’t any alarm. It was the emptiness of the large bed, the lack of her body against his. Sitting up, he stared at the empty half, wondering what happened. Maybe Mikasa never existed in the first place, his brain reasoned. It would make sense too, as the person he dreamed up was way too perfect to be real, she had to be a figment of his imagination, the way he portrayed the ideal woman.  Or maybe she was an angel, as he thought before, and her holy mission called her elsewhere.

Hmm.

Deep in thought, as one can be right after waking up, he ran his hand over the bedding. Warmth, it was warm, indicating that someone slept there after all. Confused now, because the made-up Mikasa theory was so fitting, Eren brought the cover up to press it against his nose. Yep, that was her scent, the one he could never truly identify yet it filled him with thoughts of home and happiness. Finally fully awake, Eren ran a hand through his hair, checking the bedtime clock. It was a bit after 3 AM, so Mikasa not being here meant only one thing. She had another nightmare.

Eren told her to wake him up when that happened, and she did so in the past, so her straight up disappearing was a bit worrying. Fully intent on finding his love and comforting her in those trying times, Eren rolled from the bed and left the bedroom. His search wasn’t very difficult. Mikasa was in the living room, sitting at a window seat and staring into the darkness outside. It didn’t look good, she was curled into a small ball, arms hugging her knees, making herself as tiny as she could. She heard him when Eren got closer, the huntress that she was, turning to face her fiancé. And what he saw immediately made his night miserable. Mikasa’s eyes were puffy and red with tears in them, her face was wet and streaked with her crying. She was sad, and it broke Eren’s heart into thousand pieces, reached so deep down and affected him on some primal level no other event could.

“You are dead.”, she told him in a grave voice, “It’s all over.”

It was obvious that Mikasa was talking about her dreams, as Eren didn’t feel like dying in reality. Coming to sit next to her, he gave her some distance, knowing that Mikasa was vulnerable right now and not sure if she wanted to be touched.

“What happened?”, he asked.

“We were all there, Me, Armin, Jean, Levi, even Annie and Reiner.”

“The big guy?”

She nodded, a few of the tears sliding down over her pale skin and down to the chin.

“Jean hit you first, weakened you somehow, then Reiner kept you from getting back up, but it was Armin who finished you off.”

Teaming up like that, Eren couldn’t help but wonder what he did to force his friends into this. In no way he could see Armin ever wanting to kill him, such a gentle soul as his friend did not like violence.

“I watched it all, from somewhere up high, I watched them do it, and I didn’t do anything to stop them.”, Mikasa continued, voice straining with pain, “And while it was terrible somehow I knew that it was necessary, that it was the only way. I felt peace because we saved the world by killing you.”

She put a hand over her heart, fingers clawing at the fabric frantically as she choked the words out. agony in every single syllable.

“I-I sa-said Goodbye E-Eren, and I… and you… yo-you were gone and…”

Mikasa broke, hiding her face as she sobbed openly.

“It’s…. It’s so cold…”, she pushed out in between the tremors that shook her body.

Gently, Eren reached outwards and touched her back, an offering of his body should she want it. She did, collapsing onto his chest and letting him wrap her in a hug while she cried her eyes out. Mikasa looked so small when she curled into him, so weak, it rubbed Eren the wrong way. He wanted to protect her so much, wanted to help her against these nightmares, but he was feeling useless. He held her tight, warmed her with his body heat, mind racing and trying to figure what he could say to make her feel better.

“I’m so sorry.”, he whispered, not even sure what he was apologizing for but it didn’t matter. It must have been his fault, if all his friends worked together to stop him, he must have done something terrible. Worst of all, he hurt Mikasa, and that was an unforgivable crime. All he wanted was to protect her, her safety and happiness was his highest priority. Yet his other self kept doing this shit, making her cry and he hated that Eren dude with passion. How dare he.

“Why am I and Levi the only one with those dreams?”, she cried,  “Everyone I know is in them but no one remembers anything, just me and my brother.”

Levi’s nightmares were not nearly as vivid as Mikasa’s, much more muted and easier to ignore. But the fact that the sibling shared similar dreams was a strange one, Eren had to agree.

“You Ackermans are special, no other way to put it. You and Levi, I’ve never met anyone like you and I don’t think that I ever will.”

“But I don’t want to be special, I don’t want these things, nightmares and random headaches, I don’t…”, more tears spilled from her eyes, drenching Eren’s chest, “Why do they have to be sad? Why do you have to die or be in danger all the time? Why do we have to fight?”

Stroking her hair, he wasn’t sure what to say. Dreams are dreams, hard to influence and understand.

“I don’t know, but look at it this way.”, Eren pulled back, meeting her disturbed eyes, “If Armin, the smartest guy I know, killed me, then there was no other way.”

Her lips trembled again, letting him know that those words were not what Mikasa was looking for. Fuck. She folded into his arms, sobbing, and Eren felt like an asshole. Good going, Yeager. It was such a contrast, seeing her weak but knowing how strong she was. Physically he could feel it, holding her in his arms. The perfectly shaped biceps and firm shoulders, now shaking with her sobs, the weight against him reminding Eren of all the lean muscles her body possessed. She was so incredibly well-built, a warrior, a statue of ancient Greeks shaped into perfection. All for nothing, all useless now, Mikasa couldn’t fight away her fears, and losing her fiancé was very high on the worst nightmare list. She felt incredibly fragile as if she would shatter with the wrong touch, and that was something Eren feared from the bottom of his heart. Mikasa was helpless, paralyzed with sheer terror, and Eren hated seeing her like this, he wanted the strongest person he knew, both physically and mentally, back.

“I know that this sounds stupid, but it’s only dreams Miki.”, he tried a different approach, “You will always wake up from these, and I’ll be right there next to you, ready to hold you and chase those nightmares away. I’ll never leave because I love you more and more every damn day.”

She sniffed against his neck.

“Y-You promise?”

“I swear on my life.  Dying would mean not spending more time with you, so I don’t plan on doing it anytime soon.”

Mikasa hiccupped and pushed away from his chest, eyes once again search his face. With the warmest smile Eren could muster, he wiped the tears away from her eyes as gently as he could.

“The way you say it, I am the villain in your dreams no? If all of you banded together to stop me, it must have been an epic adventure. Of course that Armin is the hero of the story, and you could never be on the evil side.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged.

“You’re too pure, I’m the one corrupting you.”, moving closer, Eren whispered right in her ear, “I’m the bad guy.”

Finishing his sentence with a low growl, Eren could hear her giggle, and it instantly warmed him up. Anything to make her smile, he would go to any length to make her happy again. He kissed her cheek, then the side of her neck before pulling back up, checking if Mikasa is feeling better. She wasn’t crying anymore, and her eyes lost the terrible sadness in them. It was still there, muted, but it didn’t surprise him, Eren couldn’t even imagine how he would feel if he had a dream about Mikasa dying. Just thinking about it made his heart hurt, because how does one cope with losing your other half?

“You want me to cook you something?”, he suggested, knowing that his chocolate chip pancakes could usually cure Mikasa’s sadness.

But she was way too comfy here, sprawled on top of Eren and holding him close, so Mikasa shook her head.

“Let’s stay here for a while.”

“Okay.”

Bowing her head, Mikasa tucked herself into him, even pulling her legs up to get the most of her body touching his. A small part of Eren’s mind did wake, to tease him with the horny because he was still a man and Mikasa was everything one could wish for. Improper now, considering the nightmare and the situation they found themselves in, so Eren held himself back and stroked her back and exposed legs gently, feeling the muscles shift beneath the porcelain. Together, they stared into the darkness outside, not saying a word and simply being there together. Some time later, when she wasn’t falling asleep, Eren asked something that was on the back of his mind.

“Miki? Do you think that your dreams are going to stop now?”

“Why?”

“Well, since you guys killed me, didn’t you defeat the final boss?”

She sighed, shifting on top of him to be more comfortable.

“I feel like there’s still a little bit of the story to tell, but it is very close to being done.”

Bending, Eren kissed her hair.

“Let me know how it ends, I’m on the edge of my seat here.”

She giggled again, heavenly sound of bells.

“Will do, bad guy.”

“For you Miki, I’ll be the villain any day of the week.”

When Mikasa fell under again, she wasn’t bothered by any more dreams, welcomed by the darkness of restful sleep. Her awakening was also much nicer, she didn’t wake with a beating heart and sweaty palms, she slipped out of her sleep roused by an array of delicious scents.

After opening her eyes, it took Mikasa a moment to realize where she was because this was not their bed for sure. When the memories of her night conversation with Eren came back, it was clear that they fell asleep here at the window seat, cuddled together. As her fiancé was gone, her brain quickly connected the scents and his absence to come up with an ingenious statement. Eren was cooking.

Sitting up, Mikasa stretched, feeling the faint pull in her muscles caused by sleeping all curled. But craning her neck to get the kinks out, it did nothing to prevent her from smiling. They fell asleep wrapped in each other on a window seat, like a pair of lovesick teenagers. There is a certain charm to that.

Her hair a complete mess, eyes still with sleep in them, Mikasa padded over to the kitchen, curious to see what Eren was creating. He looked, hearing her enter, his smirk widening when he could feast his eyes on her body clad only in the shirt she stole from him, eyes inappropriately lingering on the way her nipples poked through the fabric. To stop his mind from going south first thing in the morning, Eren lowered his gaze, but that only made it worse since now he was staring at her legs instead. So pretty, so long, so toned, widening into those incredible thighs and the ass that he wanted to bite into. But eating ass for breakfast is not exactly nutritious, and Eren pushed these thoughts back.  It was hard, wrestling his primal side into silence, but he did so, moving his gaze back towards the kitchen. He was doing something before Mikasa walked in and began distracting him by existing.

Luckily, she didn’t notice the hungry stare he threw her way, too busy exploring the various food he made. There were eggs, there was bacon, there were pancakes. Eren was cooking everything she liked, moving around in the kitchen smoothly, completely in his element.

“Is someone coming over?”, she asked, making him look up again.

“Nope.”

“Then why are you doing so much?”

“Well, you know why.”

She stared at him. He stared at her.

“Miki? You don’t know?”

It wasn’t their anniversary, that was for sure. It wasn’t the anniversary of the first time they “consummated” their relationship, a strange tradition that Eren kept bringing up, probably to make her flustered. What was she missing?

“Uhm…. Is it important?”

“Depends who you ask I guess, but it’s one of the most important days in the whole year for me.”, walking over, Eren dumped a chocolate chip pancake on the pile before spilling the secret, “It’s your birthday.”

“Oh?”, Mikasa’s eyes widened, “Oh!”

Grinning, Eren walked over to her and bent down, pressing a sweet kiss to her surprised mouth.

“Happy birthday babe, I love you.”, reaching to his back pocket, Eren brought out a small box, handing it over.

Mikasa took it with curious fingers, opening the gift and hoping that it wasn’t another bike. Several times in the past, Eren gave her a bike for her birthday, when a new model came out that was even more modern and faster than the one Mikasa had. Yet she adored the one she had right now and didn’t want to change. Her worry was unnecessary.

It wasn’t bike keys Eren gave her, it was a small collection of various pins and rings that Mikasa quickly identified as piercings. She could put those into her ears, decorating the pierced cartilage in various places. With this, she had a variety to choose from, because Eren picked several pairs for her, from skulls and crosses to straight industrials, complimenting her preferred style of clothing. It was a nice gift, and she thanked with a deep kiss that Eren appreciated.

With the ceremony of gifts concluded, Eren challenged Mikasa to some Tekken bouts, a decision he came to regret when she kept beating him over and over. He did sneak some wins in, but in the grand scheme of things, he was still the loser party. Must have been the long shifts at the hospital, he reasoned with himself, he had next to no time to play lately. Not that Mikasa was slacking, far from it, but she did find some time to train, because she pulled moves that Eren never saw before.

“We going again?”, she asked, all casual, sprawled on the couch in her victorious smugness.

“You’re on, Ackerman.”, he growled, hitting the rematch button.

Maybe it was the distraction of her presence, the way she tucked her legs beneath herself when she sat up. Maybe it was the way she bit her bottom lip when concentrating, or when she pushed the hair out of her face, trying her hardest to make it stay behind her ears. Excuses, Eren knew, but he ignored the voice of reason in his head. After having his ass kicked for about an hour, Eren’s pride couldn’t take it anymore and he dropped the controller to tackle her, tumbling together on the couch.

“Tired of losing?”, she asked, peering down at him while Eren buried his face in her chest.

“Yes.”

“But..”, she reached down, intertwining her fingers with his long hair, “Whatever else will we do?”

Abandoning his nice resting place, Eren pulled himself up to face her, noticing the slight blush rising to her cheeks.

“I have a few ideas.”

And he kissed her, swallowing that surprised gasp from Mikasa’s lips that turned into a giggle instead. She tasted amazing, like joy itself, and Eren took full advantage of being allowed to kiss the angel that she was. Her mouth moved with his, opening with a gentle moan when his tongue probed for access and then it was messy and breathtaking. She needed air, but Eren was relentless, descending to nip at her neck instead. His hands were busy too, one gently massaging her breast through the fabric while the other descended, grabbing a handful of that gorgeous ass of hers. Having such a perfect butt should be a federal crime, because it completely clouded Eren’s senses with desire, his fingers digging into that sinful temptation.

It reminded him of the incident that happened about a week ago when he came back from a long shift at the hospital at about four in the morning. Exhausted, he took a shower before joining Mikasa, who was already fast asleep in the bedroom. He collapsed, not even bothering to check where and rested his head on the first thing that was somewhat soft, his brain reasoning that it’s probably her chest. In the morning, Eren was mightily surprised when he discovered that he spent the night resting his head on Mikasa’s ass because she treacherously decided to sleep on her stomach. To punish her for the deception, he did the first thing that came to his mind, and that in retrospective was both stupid and unreasonable. He sank his teeth into the impromptu pillow, waking her up. He thought that it was going to be sensual, get her into the mood maybe, but he was dead wrong. Understandably, Mikasa didn’t like being awoken by having her butt bitten, and she complained, her “What the fuck, Eren?” echoing through the bedroom.

They made up after, and Eren apologized by giving her lazy morning cunnilingus which she took full advantage of, holding him down with her legs until she was completely satisfied. Then she got up, headed for the bathroom and went on with her day, leaving him with nothing but a raging hard-on. It was a fair punishment, and for once he didn’t complain.

Eren was torn back into reality by a harsh bite Mikasa planted on his neck, obviously noticing his memory trip. Reminded that here and now was way more important, he licked the pout away from her lips before claiming them in another bruising kiss. They didn’t even end up doing anything explicit, only a lot of kissing, some groping, and cuddling on the couch, enjoying each other’s presence. When Mikasa had her fill of new love bites, she decided to get a bit of a workout and turned on the music before walking over to the dance pole. Eren watched her for a time, mesmerized as always, because she once again completely defied the laws of gravity. Holding on the pole with her hands alone, she air walked up until she was upside down, anchoring herself with her legs instead. After that, her hands let go and Mikasa pulled herself up with nothing but her abdominals until she could grab the metal, her head back above her legs. Incredible. But in the end, seeing her being productive made Eren get off the couch as well.

With nothing better to do, he decided to bake a cake for the birthday girl. A small one, the main thing was already ordered and would arrive at the party, but Eren wanted to do it anyway. He was very good with cooking, but not so much with baking, and practice makes perfect. One day, he would manage to create such perfect cookies as his mother can do, present Mikasa with a plate and watch her eyes light up when she takes a bite. One day. So, he baked, Mikasa danced slash worked out at the pole, everything covered by the tune of rhythmic music she put on.

A lot of chocolate, that was important, because Mikasa liked it. Some strawberries too, and Eren was getting lost in the baking, his mind focusing on the task at hand. It wasn’t until she took a break and came close, sweat on her face, that he looked up from his work.

“What are you doing?”

Eren looked over the mess in the kitchen with a smirk.

“Baking.”

“I noticed, but why?”

It was kinda cute how obvious Mikasa could be sometimes, but Eren couldn’t tease her about it. He was the same, maybe even worse.

“Well you see,”, Eren turned back towards his work, heating the chocolate, “Certain someone has a birthday today, so I thought that I might bake her a cake.”

“….Huh.”

“Don’t worry, if you won’t like it I’m sure that Sasha will, she can relieve you of the burden at the party.”

“What party? Wait, there’s a party?”

“Yes ma’am. As it would seem, you have plenty of friends who would like to celebrate your birthday.”

Once the cake was in the fridge to cool down and Mikasa was done with her workout, Eren realized that he’s quite hungry. Not feeling like cooking right after working on the chocolate monstrosity, he decided to abuse the takeout system and order delivery. To get a second opinion on his choice of food, he turned to Mikasa who was scrolling through her phone.

“I could go for some sushi right now, you in?”

Her lips curled, but before Mikasa could say her usual quip, Eren took the wind right out of her sails.

“Yes, I’m suggesting it only because you are part Japanese and I am a huge racist. I’m also only dating you as a joke, because how could I ever love a half-breed. There, did I miss anything?”

Mikasa pouted, all her jokes dismantled before she could say them.

“No…”

“Good.”, he leaned over, pecking her on the lips, ”Now with that out of the way, Sushi?”

“Yes…”

The sushi was good, very good even, as the restaurant Eren chose was rather expensive. When they finished eating, Eren pulled out the cake, watching with bated breath as Mikasa took the first bite.

“So?” he asked, unsure if he didn’t fuck something up.

She chewed, slowly, taking her time. Damn woman, he was on the brink here.

“Its….”, her face lit up a huge grin appearing, “Amazing!”

Leaning over the table, she gave Eren a very proper “Thank you” kiss, so proper that he could taste the chocolate on her lips as well. When she sat down again, digging into the cake, Eren couldn’t help but smile himself. Seeing her happy made him so…. happy.

“I’ll have to bring some to mom then, she likes to make fun of my baking.”

“Carla doesn’t know what a talented son she has.”, Mikasa assured him, taking another bite.

“You are the only one who truly appreciates me, babe.”

She giggled at that, leaning over the table again.

“You want another taste of the cake?”

“I’ll never say no to that.”

He understood the offer, meeting her halfway. Eren wasn’t sure what of the taste was the cake and what Mikasa herself, but her lips were that tad bit sweeter with chocolate in the mix. When she had her fill, it was almost time to get ready for the party, and that threw her into an unsure mood. Even with all the experience she gained at the modeling agency, Mikasa had trouble picking out clothes to wear. She had so many! And it was mostly Eren’s fault, because he often gave her something out of nowhere, saying that this will look great on her. Usually, he was correct, but now Mikasa was left with a pile of clothes to sort through, ruffling her hair in frustration.

“What should I wear? Should I dress up?”

“It’s gonna be people you know, wear what you want.”

“But Eren, I want us to fit! What are you going to have?”

“Uhm… Jeans and T-shirt I guess.”

Mikasa scoffed at his uncreativeness, her eyes rowing through the dresser. She was feeling goth tonight, in part because she knew that it will make Kiyomi roll her eyes and complain about that style, but mostly because it was something she wore often and was very comfortable in. But it was hard to fit with Eren in those clothes since he was

so uninspired when it came to style. Mikasa didn’t think about it that often, but now after spending so much time in the model agency, she knew enough to try and make them match.

Fingers tracing one of the black shirts, she pulled it out, realizing that it was way too big. Eren’s then, one she stole and put into her own dresser for nights when he was working and she was feeling alone. He never did mind that, loving the way his shirts covered her curves and ended in that perfect spot located at halfway of Mikasa’ butt. Watching it, a new idea popped into her mind, one that he was not going to like. At all.

Obvious of his impending fate, Eren staring into his phone, sitting on the bed and not doing the logical thing. Like trying to escape. He ignored Mikasa when she walked to the bathroom to gather her supplies, he ignored her even when she sat down on the mattress next to him. Only once she cleared her throat, he put the device down.

“What’s up?”

“Babe, I have my first birthday wish.”

That was fast.

“Sure,”, he said, “What is it?”

With a sly grin, Mikasa held up the lipstick she brought in the small pile of make-up.

“I want to dress YOU up.”

“The what now?”

“You! I want to pick your clothes and do your make up for the party, so we fit together.”

Eren’s eyes slid over to the lipstick, then to the eyeliner on the bed, and then to Mikasa’s excited face.

“No.”

“But…”

“No, I’m gonna look like a clown.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Are you saying that I look like a clown?”

“Tsk, of course not, you pull it off flawlessly. But there are certain differences between us two.”

“Such as?”

“Well,”, he reached over to touch her cheek, “Your skin is really pale, so it creates a nice contrast to the black makeup. And your hair is midnight too, making it fit together. I’m tanned and brown-haired, there is no way I can look as good as you do.”

But Mikasa wanted to do this, she really did, so it was time to start playing dirty. In one fell swoop, she was in Eren’s lap, anchoring herself with hands that wrapped around her victim’s neck. He was caught - both physically, because if Mikasa wanted to she could probably keep him in place with her thighs alone considering how strong her legs were, both also mentally, because when you have Mikasa Ackerman in your lap you don’t move and you don’t breathe. The moment is too magical to be true.

“Please Eren,”, she pouted, deploying all of the weapons in her arsenal, “It’s my birthday….”

In a last-ditch effort, Eren opened his mouth to say no to her, only to find himself attacked by her lips. And as Mikasa aggressively kissed him, the “No” inverted into “Yes”, and she had won. So Eren suffered through the eyeliner, he suffered through the lipstick, he suffered through the nail polish. After that, she picked some black shirt and pants for him, completing the image that she often wore. Done with him for now, Mikasa told him to wait so she can get herself ready, giving Eren the time to look in the mirror. Yup, he was right in his assumption, he was looking like a clown. Ymir, Jean and Onya are all going to have so much fun once they see him.

Yet when he saw Mikasa, saw her smile and heard her giggle, when she looked at him with the crinkle in her eye, Eren couldn’t care less. She was happy, she was having fun, and that was the most important thing. After all, it was her birthday.

Maybe to reward him for going along with her plan, Mikasa dressed in a way that made him truly appreciate the beauty that she was. Nothing overly complicated, black top and skirt, and fishnet stockings over her usual combo of thigh highs and combat boots. Maybe to tease him, her outfit had some leather belts here and there, snaking around her body, reminding him of the bondage harness she sometimes wore during their playtimes. Mikasa must have reached deep into her pile, because she even had a netted top on, over the shirt, a thing Eren hasn’t seen on her for some time now. It complimented her usual choker and all the necklaces, as she wanted to evoke her style as much as she could because Kiyomi is probably going to lose her mind over it. The top and skirt left a strip of skin uncovered in the middle, bringing a pair of her toned abs into view, a sight Eren simply loved. Okay, he looked like a clown, that was given, but Mikasa was pulling it off flawlessly as always and she was the main event of the evening. It was her birthday, after all. He can survive the humiliation. Hopefully.

And then they finally made it to the Third Wheel for Mikasa’s birthday party. Everyone was already present, making their arrival fashionably late.

“Do you see what I see?”, Jean gasped, eyes wide.

“I can’t believe it.”, Ymir admitted.

“Somebody pinch me.”, Onya said, “I’m dreaming.”

Ymir did so, pinching him with much more strength than required.

“Ow!”, he complained, rubbing his cheek

Ymir shrugged, giving him a nondescript look.

“What?”

“Shut up, both of you.”, that was Connie speaking, appearing from somewhere inside the bar, “And soak it in.”

And they all did. Because seeing Eren, the arrogant Eren, the always smug Eren, with black eyeshadow and nail polish, dragged behind Mikasa who was having the time of her life, that was an event they were sure to remember.

Kiyomi was the first one that the pair met, once again accompanied by Yelena, her faithful shadow.

“I didn’t know that you will make it!”, Mikasa chirped, holding onto Eren’s arm and more or less forcing him into the spotlight next to her, “But I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Yes, I couldn’t miss it.”, Kiyomi’s eyes roved all over the pair, her mouth forming that thin line that appeared whenever there was something she disliked, “But did you have to do this to me?”

“Oh, but I often dress like this, and so does my boyfriend we love this style,”, Mikasa squeezed Eren’s arm, “Isn’t that right baby?”

He was already feeling the stares on him, on his nails, knowing that all of his friends were having a blast. Probably taking pics too, judging from the commotion. It is Mikasa’s birthday, he reminded himself, this was her wish. She. Is. Happy.

“Yes, totally.”, he lied, putting on an awkward smile for the old lady, “We love dark colors, sadness and all that jazz.”

The disappointed frown didn’t disappear, but the old woman didn’t grill him any further. Kiyomi and Mikasa got into a conversation about topics Eren had no idea about and Dot Pixis also appeared, joining the pair. With his other half currently engaged, Eren’s eyes, hidden in those dark shadows Mikasa painted on them, turned towards the other people present at the birthday party.

Eren silently dreaded this moment, when he will walk up to his friends and try to look cool and unbothered while wearing that makeup. It was going to happen, sooner or later, so gathering his courage, he did just that, approaching the group that noticed him almost immediately. Even his mother was there, chatting with the group, and very badly hiding the laughs that his appearance forced out of her. Sure mom, laugh at your only child. Do it.

Taking a deep breath, Eren spoke up.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?”

And the dam broke.

“Eren, who died?”

“Did they cast you in The Crow remake?”

“Are you cosplaying a failure in life?”

“Evanescence needs a new singer?”

Overwhelmed, he held up his hands to stop them.

“I get it okay? I look like a clown.”

“I don’t think you do.”, Jean said, snapping another picture, “Clowns are funny, but this… We are never letting you forget this.”

“Fine, I don’t care. Mikasa wanted it, and I’m not going to say no when it’s her birthday.”

“Mikasa wanted it?”, Onya wondered, “Why?”

“Kiyomi despises the style, and Mikasa likes poking fun at her. That’s about it.”

“A prank then.”, Connie nodded, exchanging a look with Sasha, “We can respect that.”

“It’s not really a prank,”, Jean said, “It’s more of a way to get under Kiyomi’s skin.”

“Still, it’s cute that Eren is so willing to make a fool of himself only because Mikasa told him to.”, Carla pointed out, “A nice birthday gift.”

“Thanks, mom.”, Eren deadpanned, “I appreciate it.”

She patted him on the cheek.

“Anything for you, sweetie.”

His ghastly appearance somewhat explained, the group’s focus shifted towards other serious topics. The jokes didn’t stop, but now that he was not the main attraction, Eren could finally relax and engage in the conversation. Which, somehow, took a strange turn as Mikasa rejoined them, pressing a quick peck to Eren’s cheek.

“We should establish like an underground fight ring, right here in the pub.”, Sasha was beaming with energy, “And then have people bet on the fights! Imagine how cool that would be.”

“How would that be fair,”, Jean pointed out, “Mikasa would steamroll everyone.”

There was silence after that nobody spoke into, the eyes of everyone slowly but surely turning towards Levi.

“What do you want me to say?”, he asked, noticing the attention out of nowhere, “I’m old, not delusional, I’d lose to her nine times out of ten if we were both serious.”

There was a collective sigh and a victorious smirk from the birthday girl herself.

“Well, there goes the only one who had a chance.”, Connie said.

“Maybe Mikasa should be disqualified.”, Jean offered, not giving up yet, “Since she’s a pro and all that.”

“That’s not very nice.”, Armin interjected in her defense.

Still, Jean’s comment made her frown.

“Scared, Kirstein?”

“Hell yeah I am, I’ve seen what you did to those guys during preliminaries.”

Mikasa mumbled something, leaning on Eren’s shoulder for mental support against such an accusation while Jean retreated to a safe distance behind Hitch. He still remembered the Thunder Spear. The conversation flowed after and while the idea of a fight ring was exciting, everyone agreed to that, the idea was put on ice for now.

The party continued with the guests once again breaking into smaller groups. Eren got stuck in a conversation with Armin and Hitch, who was trying to unravel the psychological reason for his makeup. Mikasa let him out to dry for once, heading to the bar to get a refill on her drink. Halfway there, she was tackled by a small cannonball, who she only identified because of the blonde hair. Krista was buzzed for sure, her cheeks were ruddy and the eyes that dug into Mikasa were all excited over nothing.

“M-Mikasa! Kasa! Listen.”

“What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“We want to do the… the thing with Ymir.”

“What thing?”

“You know the… the….”, Krista’s flushed cheeks were turning even redder now as she struggled for words, “playtime?”

“Huh..”

Detective Ackerman was on the case. Krista was blushing, she didn’t want to talk about it much yet brought it up. It must be connected to the time when Eren came over and … Oh!

“I get it.”, she said, making Krista beam up now that she won't have to spell it out.

“But what do you want from me? It’s going to be about you and Ymir.”

“Yea but, how do you do it. Do you like point at your feet and say: Kneel, slave! and Eren obeys?”

“Not always, it's much more about the moment. Don’t stress it that much, I’m sure you two can pull it out.”

“Ymir can, but I want to be the one on the top.”

“Oh,” Mikasa blinked a few times, “You?”

“Yes, is that strange?”, Krista looked away, biting her bottom lip, “Maybe I should give that up and let her..”

“No,”, Mikasa interjected, “don’t do that, don’t put yourself into a position you don’t like. “

She took a gentle hold of Krista’s chin, turning her to look back into her eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with you wanting to try something new. You being comfortable is the most important thing. Whatever you want to try, go for it, because even if you fail it will be you and Ymir who knows about it. You’ll laugh and move on, there is literally nothing to lose.”

Krista’s face lit up as Mikasa spoke, and then she was on her, hugging her. She staggered, taken aback by the sudden affection. Even after letting go, Krista still clutched to her arm, smiling up at her.

“You’re like… the coolest person I know.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Maybe, but it's still the truth. We watched your fights, and while Ymir was staring at your ass, not that I blame her, I watched you move and you’re so amazing!”

“Uhm…”, Mikasa wasn’t sure what to do, “Thanks?”

Krista was in on it, her face beaming when she continued.

“You go like boom, kick and pow, punch and…” she imitated the moves, kicking the air, “another, and another and…”

On her third punch, Krista ran out of luck and Levi happened to be passing by - he got hit right in the face. The seasoned veteran that he was, Levi didn’t even flinch, looking over to the pair with a raised eyebrow. Calmly, he asked.

“What. The. Fu…”, Hange told him not to swear so much, “-Hell?”

“Oh my god.”, Krista covered her mouth, eyes widening in alarm, “I’m so sorry!”

Levi exchanged a look with Mikasa, who was barely keeping the laughter in, some of it still simpering through her dark lips. It felt strange, getting punched by Krista, as if it happened already, somewhere in the past.

“Did you ever hit me before?”

“What? No! Of course not, I’d never.”

“Hmm…”

Krista was saved from further questioning by Eren, who picked exactly that moment to bring the cake out. Everyone gathered around while he lit the candles, taking a step back to let the birthday girl take her rightful place.

“You have to wish for something!”, Armin reminded her.

But she had everything. Her friends all around, her fiancé at her side, everyone she cared about was happy and safe and most importantly alive. At that moment, Mikasa felt a surge of happiness alongside a tinge of sadness. Whoever the Mikasa in her dream was, she never got to experience this, and she felt sorry for the poor thing. She had everything, while the other girl had nothing, only because she was born into such an unfair and cruel world.

“I hope that you will find happiness at the end.”, she whispered under her breath, “I wish for that.”

Puckering her lips, Mikasa blew the candles, acing it on her first try.

“Never have I ever… had sex in a public place.”

“What, you didn’t?”

“Some of us have decency, Ymir.”

The freckled girl groaned, downing the shot before nudging Krista. The blonde was blushing like crazy, but followed her girlfriend’s lead, surprising exactly no one. Who else could Ymir be indecent with? Carla passed, but Sasha drank, leaving Mikasa as the only one to react. What a stupid game.

She didn’t even know how she ended up here, sitting at the table with the other girls, while Eren was having some sort of deep discussion with wasted Jean and Onya. The party had already progressed past the healthy hours, meaning that most of the other guests already left. Even Armin called it quits, citing that he had an important call with a publisher tomorrow. It was just them now, playing a drinking game, and Eren with the boys, arguing over something stupid.

“What’s the holdup?”, Ymir barged into her thoughts, “Can’t remember?”

Oh, she could remember, very vividly too. The restaurant bathroom, the public park, the beautiful view where Eren had her spread over the hood of the car…. She drank, making Carla blink a few times as she looked at her, then to her son, then back at Mikasa. Blushing, she refused to meet the older woman’s gaze.

“Okay,”, Ymir saved her, “You’re next Carla.”

Her eyes, so similar to Eren’s, narrowed, as she drilled them into Mikasa.

“Never have I ever,”, she said, “had a piercing.”

The jab so obviously aimed at her made the raven scowl, but she drank. Luckily not alone, as Ymir also took a swig, much to Sasha’s surprise.

“Where?”, she asked, making the tall girl mumble something and look away.

It was Krista who answered the question, tapping the center of her breast and giving Sasha a wink. That was a surprise to Mikasa too.

“You turn Krista.”, Hitch noted.

“Never have I ever… had a tattoo!”

This time, Mikasa also had to drink, much to Carla’s satisfaction. Sasha did too, earning a raised eyebrow from Hitch.

“I have a butterfly on my ankle.”, she explained before turning to Mikasa, “Miks, you’re up!”

Maybe Mikasa could get back to Carla’s good graces if she implied something nice about her son, instead of the fact that he was a bit of a sexual deviant. Not that Carla knew even a fraction of the things he and Mikasa did together. But slightly drunk Ackerman wasn’t the best thinker, so she blurted out the first thing that came through her mind.

“Never have I ever faked an orgasm.”

A wave of groans ran through the seated players. With a sigh, Sasha was the first one to drink, followed by Hitch. Seeing them cave in, Carla also took a sip. That was supposed to be it, but then Krista, totally red in the face at this point, also drank, making Ymir’s eyes widen.

“Babe! What the hell?!”

“I’m sorry, it was only one time!”, the short girl pleaded, fingers grasping on her girlfriend’s shirt, “I was so tired and out of it, but you were trying so hard!”

“A small white lie can be good for your partner's sexuality.”, Hitch chimed in, “If it helps the other party feel better it has a positive effect on their overall psychic state and the level of comfort around you.”

Ymir frowned at her over Krista’s blonde head.

“That’s why you did it?”

Hitch shrugged, having her reasons.

“Male ego is fragile.”

They all drank to that.

A few meters away, the guy group was trying to show the perils of his new gig to Eren, who was playing the perfect boyfriend, irritating Jean to no end.

“It might get hard, all this faithful shit you keep pulling.”, he was saying, making Eren tilt his head in question.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,”, Onya explained, ”since you are going to be a model and all, you are going to have some girls going after you.”

“So?”

“You know….”

“I know what?”

“Side chicks? Fun on the side? Flings? I mean…”

Onya looked to Jean for help, and luckily the taller guy stepped in.

“He’s talking about other women that will probably want to have sex with you. There, you understand that?”

Eren’s eyes lit up.

“Oooh, you mean cheating! Nah man, I’m good.”

“You are saying that now, but you don’t know what kind of hotties you will attract.”, Onya continued, now that Eren finally understood his angle, “Never say never.”

“Yea,”, Jean followed that up, “What if you get bored of her?”

“Bored of Mikasa? How?”

“What if you guys have a big fight?”, Onya continued.

“Then we will talk it out.”

“What if you wake up one day and realize that you don’t love her anymore.”

Eren actually laughed at the absurdity of the question, shaking his head.

“Not happening.”

“Look, she’s hot, we get it, but there is always a possibility.”

“Nope.”

“So what, are you going to sit here and claim that Mikasa is perfect?”

“I don’t know about that, she has plenty of faults. But she is perfect for me, my ideal angel.”

“You’re hopeless.”, Onya surrendered, “I give up.”

Yet Eren was still not done in his rant.

“To be honest, I don’t get cheating in general.”

“Dude,”, Jean groaned, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

But Eren pressed on.

“I mean, you have someone that loves you, and you risk it all for a way to get off? Can’t you rub one out and call it day?”

Jean exchanged a helpless look with Onya, who shrugged. Seeing no support there, he looked back at Eren, who was casually sipping his drink.

“I wondered if Mikasa had you neutered, but this confirms it. You can’t say shit like that and want me to believe that you have any balls left.”

“Are you that interested in my balls?”, Eren’s eyes narrowed, “Maybe you want to take a look down there?”

“Somewhat eager to shove your crotch to my face. See, it’s strange that you were never bothered by how strong Mikasa is, by all the muscles, the short hair too. But I think that I cracked the code.”, Jean pointed at Eren, smirking, “Look at you, with the eye shadows and nail polish. You’re fucking gay in denial, bro.”

Onya snickered, Eren snorted and almost stood up before a familiar hand with black nails appeared, snaking around his waist in a very possessive hold.

“You boys having fun?”, Mikasa asked, her voice in that icy tone that made everyone present shiver.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Great party.”

“Happy birthday. Again.”

Onya and Jean spoke over one another, nervous smiles all around while Eren sat back down, wondering what they were so afraid of. Sure, Mikasa could freeze people with her glares, but they were still acting a bit over the top. What he didn’t know was that Jean told Onya all about the Thunderspear, so now he was nervously checking Mikasa’s legs, all the way from her powerful thighs down to the blackness of her combat boots. Look, it wasn’t that Onya was scared of Mikasa, but hearing that she can kick hard enough to make a man feel like half of his body was blown off, is a cause for concern for anyone valuing their wellbeing. It made even Onya, with his dark skin, look pale in the face.

With nothing else to say and not feeling like repeating the gay joke now that Mikasa was here, Jean and he took their exit, leaving the pair alone. Now with no one to bother them, Eren was free to wrap his hands around Mikasa’s hips and pull her down to his lap, an offering which she took ignoring the empty chairs left behind by his friends.

“So, are you having fun?”, she purred, playing with the ends of his hair.

“Considering that on your last birthday party I was in a chastity cage, I take this as an improvement.”

She sighed at the memory.

“Damn, that was great, especially what followed.”

“I agree, you let yourself go wild back then. And god, it was amazing.”, he squeezed her sides lightly, “You are an amazing dominatrix when you feel like it.”

A tiny smile curled her black lips up.

“Thanks, you are not half bad yourself.”

“I’ll treasure that compliment, mistress Ackerman.

“As you should, master Yeager.”

Both giggling at the completely unnecessary formalities, they kissed, ignoring the party completely in favor of getting lost in each other’s lips. It was a great birthday, but the biggest gift was this. Being here with all her friends, with her fiancé, all of them safe and happy. It warmed her to no end, making her so overjoyed that she didn’t mind when Eren’s hands discreetly descended to her ass in a public place like this. To top it off, Mikasa didn’t even know that Eren had one more surprise up his sleeve.

It didn’t happen until much later, when they left the Third Wheel and took a cab that, Mikasa assumed, was supposed to get them home. She spent most of the ride with her head on Eren’s shoulder, eyes closed. When they got out, she was surprised to realize that this was not their house. Instead, they were standing in front of another establishment, a club if she was to guess.

“Another club? I don’t think I want to drink anymore babe.”

Mikasa didn’t like getting hammered, and she was already tipsy. But Eren was quick to diffuse her worries.

“No, this is not that kind of club. This is… Eh…”

It looked unassuming, just a door with a bouncer in front, the same as any other place in the city. But for some reason, Eren was scratching the back of his neck in an obviously nervous gesture.

“This is a performance club, sort of.”

“Like a theatre?”

“Well..”, he barked out a nervous laugh, “not really.”

She poked him in the shoulder.

“Tell me.”

He took a deep breath, looking her straight in the eye.

“It’s a BDSM club, and there is a performance tonight, so I booked us a booth.”

“You mean like…. Like….”

“Yeah.”

Seeing the pink that dusted her cheeks and the unsure look in Mikasa’s eyes, Eren continued.

“Listen, we don’t have to go if we don’t want to, I just thought that it might be interesting to see a pro at work. I know the guy who’s going to perform tonight.”

“You do?”, now that was something Mikasa didn’t expect, “How?”

“It’s the guy from the store, Darius Zackly, you know him too. When I talked to him a while back he gave me some great tips about rope bondage, helped me figure out a few things. He’s partly the reason why I am so good with it now.”

Mikasa could agree with the good part, Eren always delivered an incredible experience. She looked at the club, then back at Eren’s face, then back at the club. What was there to lose? It’s not like she and Eren were some vanilla couple that would get scared from what they would see in there. And it could be fun seeing other people engage in similar fun that they had.

“All right, let’s go.”, she decided, grabbing Eren’s hand and pulling him, “I don’t mind getting wild on my birthday.”

The bouncer let them in with no big fuzz, and Mikasa pulled Eren through the door and into the strange yet exciting place.

[pokeshippingflashfic]

Hi! It's me again :) I would like to request another Ash comforting Misty flashfic. This time I imagined Misty having a panic attack. Hope the idea appeals to you! And take your time, no worries :)

[Hah, perhaps unfortunately, after I received this request and gave it a whopping five minutes of thought, I suddenly felt really inspired to just go for it.]

She was floating rather blissfully in a pool of water. Small waves lapped softly against her, pushing her rather loftily to and fro as she blinked up straight into a bright sun that, despite it’s shine, didn’t seem to hurt her vision. A multitude of water-type Pokemon were swimming around her, some diving under or leaping over, just everywhere… and she accepted this rather passively even not knowing whose Pokemon they were or where they’d come from.

It was a rather pleasant dream overall… until it wasn’t.

What’s…?

Suddenly she was sinking down, the sun fading away, taking its light and - she assumed though she couldn’t say she felt it - warmth with it. The Pokemon, no more than vague shadows representing familiarity, had all but vanished except for one. 

She was gripping her Staryu by its top point as it dove deeper into inky, cool abyss, leading her towards… something. She was looking for something, desperate to save it, but she could barely see her Pokemon plunging through its element a foot or two in front of her. How could she possibly find…?

What’s happening…?

Training instincts told her to conserve oxygen, but her lips flew open anyway as if trying to call out to her target. Bubbles and breath and a single word escaped her, in such clear articulation she knew it shouldn’t have been possible.

“Ash!”

She was looking for Ash, her best friend. He’d fallen from so far, so fast… He was sinking! Was he even conscious…? She remembered now, at least that much, but the anchoring question of why seemed impossible to answer at present. She had to find him!

Where was he? How much farther would she have to go? How could she possibly hope to find him in this blackness? And how far had she gone without needing to take a breath…?

And yet Staryu continued to faithfully carry her onward in their mission.

She had reached a peak of lucidity just in time for an object slightly larger than her hand to float hazily by. Without concern, she snatched it out of the murk. 

It was a cap she had seen on his head near constantly in recent days, her heart plummeting in breathless fear and panic at the sight of it in her grasp and him nowhere in sight. She didn’t think about the insensibility behind calling out to him again.

“Ash!” The shriek of her own unnerved horror threatened to deafen her as well as her Pokemon. “Ash, where are you?!” 

“Misty, wake up!”

Her eyes snapped open, wiry muscles rigid as a damp sheen clung to her brow and neck. Fists clenching tightly around her bedroll, she leaped into a sitting position, at this point realizing she hadn’t taken a single breath since waking, inhaling deeply in response.

“I… What…?” she whispered, vocal chords weak and throat dry. Craning her neck, wild gaze taking in her surroundings, she was met with Ash Ketchum and his partner Pikachu staring her up and down looking reasonable taken aback from beside her.

“Uh… you okay?” the young man asked after a few seconds, leaning a little closer. She couldn’t answer, fingers wringing their way around the hem of her sleeping bag at the mere question. “You looked like you were having a nightmare.”

A nightmare…?

“Pikachupi, kachu pika?”

“Y - yeah, we were worried. Glad you’re up now though.” And, looking slightly bashful, averting his gaze, Ash added, “It… kinda sounded like you were calling out my name. But…”

Almost any other time, the redheaded teenage girl would have read something into how flustered he looked at the thought of her dreaming about him. She also would have had the clear head to feel self-conscious over an Ash donned in nothing more than boxer shorts and a bandage around his scalp, which was currently the case. All the sight did now was remind her of…

“I think… about earlier…” she muttered, heart leaping up into her throat, stomach churning before icing over. “Or… I guess it was yesterday…”

“Oh.” It was hard to tell by the dim light of the low fire but his face seemed a little paler.

Yesterday, when Team Rocket had last attacked them. It had been all of six or so hours ago; barely dusk. They had used their tricks to steal Pikachu as well as Ash’s belt lined with the rest of his Pokeballs before taking off in their latest hot air balloon. 

In her effort to assist, Misty had released Staryu to sabotage their escape but her precious water-type’s rapid spin had only been able to cut all of two ropes tying the villains’ basket to their balloon. One rope had been secured again by the Rocket gang and tied slipshod once more while Ash, in furious pursuit, had grabbed the other one before they’d lifted too high from the ground, immediately carried up and away with them.

Misty had seen him try to climb it while she ran to catch up, seen also Team Rocket’s collected anger and alarm as they attempted to shake him loose before Jessie had released one of her own Pokemon to force the teenage boy to let go.

Ash hadn’t much chance at evading; it was hard to do so when he was busy trying to keep his grip on what was steadily becoming a literal life line, Pikachu calling out to him from where he was trapped a good twenty or so feet overhead.

Even from her slowly increasing distance, Misty heard the blast that was Jessie’s Gourgeist releasing their seed bomb. The attack descended, exploding as it approached her friend. Ash was shouting, slipping, flailing, a second explosive impact and he was suddenly falling from the sky as her heart stopped–

No more playing softball! 

He’d hit the body of water that had (luckily) drifted below him with a sickening smack on his back, sunk quickly below the surface. It all happened so swiftly.

Gyarados appeared in a familiar flash of red and roared, his trainer commanding him to immediately leap and bite through Team Rocket’s balloon, tearing the fabric instantly and disabling the criminal trio’s getaway. So violent, so much, so fast.

In the meantime, Misty grabbed a hold of Staryu, inhaled deeply and held it, both diving to search for their friend… So dark… So gone… So quickly…

“Hey, are you okay?” Ash abruptly asked her, voice sounding distant and hollow, reverberating in her eardrums, the sound challenged by her roaring, pounding heartbeat.

“I…”

“Misty, what’s wrong?” He sounded a little more anxious now during round two, and she was surprised to vaguely notice his hand around her wrist, though she couldn’t feel it for some reason.

“I don’t…” She couldn’t breathe, response reduced to a throaty gasp. Her throat was coated in plastic and suffocating. Her skin was burning from cold somehow, she needed water–

–he was sinking so deep down–

–and air–

–holding her breath, but she would top out after one hundred and eighty seconds max and how much time had passed already–

–sweat was pouring from her forehead, her neck, she was either numb or aching, on fire, her gaze vacant, and it scared him if he was being honest–

“–Misty, what’s going on–?”

“Pikachupi!”

–where was he, where is he, how big is this place… his hat is in her free hand, her grip on Staryu stiffening, she would have to sacrifice the hat if, or when, she found him–

–so many times, this had happened too many times already since knowing him, what if she doesn’t get to him quick enough, what if he–

“–Hey!”

His shout was enough to momentarily clear her head. Perhaps he was able to sense that fact because he took advantage, and Misty felt the shocking impression of cool hands resting firmly against her flushed cheeks. Then the two were eye to eye and her wave of despair and doom and panic briefly subsided.

“Listen, Mist, you’re not there, you’re here. Pay attention to me right now!” he told her forcibly, and she felt him tug a little uncomfortably, her neck yanking, so she wouldn’t lose focus. “Look at me, okay? Can you do that?”

She could barely hear him, gaze flickering between the fire light glowing in his eyes to his fringe and lashes, to his cheeks… It was all him though… She could… She could do this!

“You need to take a breath! C’mon, we’ve got this, just do what I do, look,” after which he did indeed lead by example. She watched his chest rise and fall, his eyes fluttering momentarily closed and lips pursed barely open as he exhaled.

She gurgled and choked, blinked away the white hot tears at the corner of her burning eyes, halfheartedly shook her head in defeat.

“It’s okay, c’mon, we’ll try again together, now in through your nose,” he coached her, slowly initiating his own attempt and waiting until he heard her copy it before moving on, “and then out through your mouth… You got it!” he applauded her, “Okay, and again… Let’s do it a few more times…”

It seemed forever and yet also instantaneous for the symptoms to subside, and she did what she could to bear in mind what Ash was saying and doing to tether her to the present.

“–take a breath–”

His hands on her cheeks…

“–Pay attention to me right now–”

His shoulders rising and falling…

“–we’ll try again together–”

His face overtaking her vision, mere inches from hers, collarbone connecting to his bare chest…

Ash wasn’t sure what emotional response was most prevalent a few minutes later when his redheaded friend, still trembling a little but no longer writhing and choking, maneuvered to cover his hands with her own, both pairs now held against her cheeks. Part of him was pleased, it seemed to be her first conscious and calm move since… whatever had happened. Another part of him was loath to admit how flustered he felt as her somehow inconceivably soft fingers splayed over his own rougher ones.

“S - so… what happened?” he had the nerve to eventually ask her, though he could still barely look her in the eyes. Her current object of focus was Pikachu curled up in her lap while she patted his short fur coat. The teen boy noticed it offered a pleasant distraction, all things considered.

“Dunno,” she croaked, cleared her throat, tried to elaborate. “That’s… never happened before that I know of. It’s like… I was having that nightmare, I think it was based off what happened… y’know, yesterday… But then I couldn’t stop thinking of it… Then I was feeling it, like it was happening all over again, and I was… thinking of you, losing you…” She didn’t give the flush on her cheeks the chance to settle, continuing with her description. “Y’know, you worry me too much, Mr. Pokemon Master!” she finished rather harshly, faltering in her grounding activity.

“Mwah, wait a sec, now it’s my fault?!”

“Of course it is, you dummy! I mean, you shouldn’t have done that! We would have gotten your Pokemon back eventually! We always do!”

Rather than risk a rebuttal that would lead to another panic attack, he stared her down before heaving a deep sigh and relenting.

“Sorry… It’s second nature by now.”

She thought about asking him if he meant his self-sacrificing nature or worrying her to near death but decided against it. They’d been through enough by now and it was only roughly three in the morning!

“Y’know Ash, I can admit after all the time we’ve known each other… that I really like the kind of person you are,” she iterated almost affectionately instead, “You’re passionate and considerate, at least when you wanna be,” she made a point to add. “But sometimes… I really wish you’d take a little better care of yourself. Every time something like… like yesterday happens… I worry it’s the last time I’ll ever see you.”

The… last time? he thought, not quite understanding immediately what she’d been getting at… Oh, there it was. He hummed under his breath, brow furrowed, had gotten to the point of opening his mouth without a clue as to what he’d say before she interrupted him.

“Well, if there’s anything I know for sure it’s that there’s no changing you… so I guess for now at least I’ll have to do my best to support you.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” The response was so simple but he honestly had no idea what else he could say. Perhaps it was something for another time.

“I mean, after your help earlier, I guess I owe you, right?”

But Ash was briefly overwhelmed by the flashback of his regaining consciousness with blurred vision on the hard ground the evening before, head aching and blood dripping from his temple, Misty kneeling over him soaking wet and shaking from the brisk chill, practically crying even as she smiled in relief at the sight of him coming to.

His gratitude and… something he couldn’t quite place swept through him and swelled up, filling every ounce of his person as he took in the sight of his best friend sitting at his side.

“Please, Mist,” he told her peaceably in utter confidence, “it was the least I could do for you.”

[There were a couple details i left out because of the word count limit. Ash was down to boxers because he didn’t plan ahead, simple as that. His only outfit was soaked after falling into the water so yeah, it’s meant to be air-drying. Misty is fully dressed because she did plan ahead. Lol. Ash also received some cuts and stuff from the minor explosives and Pikachu escaped his cage when Gyarados attacked TR’s balloon, after which he rescued his trainer’s PokeBelt from them. Just in case anyone was curious. As for Misty’s panic attack timing, I felt that the adrenaline rush in the moment would keep her from falling prey to it so that’s why it takes place hours later when she has time to think. As for how Ash helps her control it, he’s instinctively offering her deep breathing and grounding techniques which - if you’re unfamiliar - are pretty basic mental coping skills.

Also a few unrelated things: Please do not just like this story! If you had a good time reading, I implore you to share this and help me spread the word about this blog! I haven’t received many requests lately, only one every 6-15 days! That being said, if you have a fic request, please send it in! I have 1 or 2 in my inbox and a couple others in drafts that I’ve started but I could use some more prompts if you’re interested in me writing for them!]

[lovelahela]

❛ it lives in the woods ❜ ─ prologue

⇢ masterlist ; check masterlist for fancast!

⇢ pairing: noah marshall x f!mc (marisol reyes)

⇢ genre: horror

⇢ chapter: zero (prologue)

⇢ words: 2687

⇢ description: something old and powerful lives in the woods surrounding the small town of westchester... something that knows their names. tensions flare, old wounds are reopened, and lives hang in the balance of one, very important question: are you scared?

⇢ notes + warning: this story will include disturbing scenes, potentially dark/triggering subjects (including but not limited to underage substance/alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety) and strong language. reader discretion is advised.

        Tonight, the moon is playing peek-a-boo, weaving in and out of ribbons of black clouds scudding across the sky. Accompanying the flickering radiance of lampposts scattered across the small town of Westchester, the light of the moon stretched across the vast cluster of trees that surrounded it and to a cosy, modern house far away from said lampposts that stood out significantly next to the worn-out, withering shack that stood meters away from it. The town was characteristically quiet, its folk invested in whatever dream of winning the lottery and marrying the most good-looking Hollywood actor they were having. It was almost peaceful.

        The functioning word here being almost.

        Inside that modern little house lay a young teenage girl, fast asleep in the comfort of her mattress and scented candles. Marisol Reyes tried very hard to be normal, thank you very much. She ran two clubs, maintained outstanding grades, and managed Westchester High's successful swimming team as an efficient captain. Some might even say she was one of the "popular kids," but she was no where near that (proven by the constant degradation courtesy of Britney and her posse), and preferred to keep it that way. All Marisol wanted was to blend, to be away from the spotlight - she had enough of it after being drowned in all the wrong kinds of attention when one of her best friends perished a decade ago. Being pointed at by judgemental kids and gossiping parents took a toll on her, and she swore to go out of her way to erase the devastating, untimely death of Jane Marshall from her life - she would never be the "best friend of that girl who died" ever again.

        Although Marisol strongly refused her mother Soledad's advice to see a child psychologist and cope with the horrible trauma that cost her her childhood, she insisted that she was able to, get over it. She pushed aside the recurrent nightmares and the obsession with self-defense and martial arts classes, plastered on a smile, and said she was fine - every single time, all through the ten years of looking over shoulder and denying just how damaged she really was.

        The sound of violent vibrations against a wooden surface startled Marisol Reyes out of her uncharacteristically peaceful slumber. She jumped out of her bed and grabbed the kitchen knife that always lied stoically on her bedside table like a war veteran, hair frazzled and muscles tense. The focus of her almond-shaped eyes darted around the room frantically, fingers tightening around the hilt of the knife as her heart beat wildly in her chest. Once she could not make out an outline of an intruder in the darkness that enveloped the area, she realized the vibrations were coming from her phone, buzzing enthusiastically with text notifications. She groaned at her overreaction to such a harmless event while rubbing the sleep from her eyes and picked up the small electronic device in her tense hands.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:12 AM

UNKNOWN NUMBER

marisol, you there?

it's dan.

i messed up. i'm sorry, i'm so sorry

Mark as spam?

Block number?

        "Oh my God..." whispered Marisol, rereading that one text over and over again to make sure she didn't imagine it.

        it's dan.

        Those two words stole the breath and heat from her very skin. Suddenly her defenses are like paper, paper being soaked by rapidly falling rain drops. Dan Pierce. They hadn't spoken since the tragic incident a decade prior - after the funeral, the eight children went their separate ways, determined carry the truth behind that catastrophe with them to the grave no matter how deep they buried it inside of them. She debated replying - she hadn't so much as greeted him in so many years, and suddenly he bombards her phone with frantic messages in the middle of the night? Something seemed off. Marisol could practically feel danger creeping up slowly but surely behind her.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:15 AM

DAN PIERCE

marisol?

MARISOL

dan, hey.

it's been a while, u okay? what's up?

DAN PIERCE

i went into the woods.

i had to be sure, i had to prove to myself that he wasn't real.

that it was all in our heads.

but he is, mari. he's real. it was all real.

read 3:16 AM

        Marisol's previously tense hands began shivering vigorously along with the rest of her limbs, all of them weakening by the second. She closed her eyes and drew in long, deep breaths, attempting to calm down and muster up whatever courage she had left. She wasn't sure if the texts she responded with were an attempt to convince Dan, or herself.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:17 AM

MARISOL

hey man, u sure ure not drunk?

DAN PIERCE

he was whispering, just like when we were kids.

MARISOL

dan, please stop.

we made all that stuff up, we were kids.

mr red was just a dumb game that spun out of control.

we made it all up.

DAN PIERCE

 he does. he's with me right now.

MARISOL

for fuck's sake dan

if ure in the woods get out NOW

it's not safe in the dark

DAN PIERCE

i can hear him in the trees.

i can hear him whispering...

read 3:18 AM

        Marisol hissed a long string of curse words, fumbling around in the dark for her jacket. It didn't matter that they lost touch with each other, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him - of losing someone else in the disbanded group that she once would have said she trusted with her life. Maybe, if you dug deep enough through the traumatic, emotional baggage she lugged around every waking moment, she still would.

        Just as she snatched the keys to her mother's car (which she was only allowed to use in the case of an emergency, much to her dismay), someone rapped the window harshly, startling a shriek out of her. Her phone slipped out of her hands and landed on the wooden floorboard with an upsetting thud, just barely illuminating the room with a disturbing glow.

        With the manner of a paranoid animal about to get preyed on viciously, Marisol snuck a peek at the window. Her blood ran cold when she made out the shape of what she was hoping was a human. Wasting no time, she jumped towards her lamp and turned it on. A yellow light filled just enough of the vicinity - enough to see that the man waiting outside her window was none other than Dan. She heaved out a relieved sigh and opened the window  (reluctantly so), ushering him inside outside of the chilly embrace of the crisp night.

        He climbed into his former friend's bedroom, hoodie dirtied by mud and hints of dead leaves. His long hair was unkempt, his eyes were accompanied by worrying and prominent bruises under them, and what used to be his beautifully tanned skin was then pale and sickly as though he was near death itself. Dan sat hunched over on the floor like a frail puppet being held up by a single fraying string. It was horribly peculiar to see him like this - he always held himself with confidence, tall and muscular frame towering over even those taller than him. To see him lying on her floor, so vulnerable and beaten down, it was heartbreaking to say the least.

        "God, Dan, what happened to you?" asked Marisol, eyes softened with concern as she scanned his body for the injuries littered on his skin and mud staining his clothes. He looked up at her, expression shallow, striking a faint but growing fear inside of her. "How... how did you even get here? We're on the second floor."

        "I climbed." His answer was curt and simple, no emotion to his voice at all. Nothing in his eyes or the tone of his voice supported the signs of terrifying struggle that blemished him. Marisol gulped.

        "Oooookay, Spider-Man!" Nervous laughter cut through the uncomfortable silence choking them. She frowned and took small, careful steps forward as to not startle him. She crouched down to look him in the eyes as calmly as she should, slowly pulling down the zipper of his hoodie.

        "Listen, bud, why don't you take a shower? I'll wash your clothes, give you some of my dad's, and you can tell me happened, yeah?" Her voice was low and soft, as though she was consoling a frightened child. Peeling the hoodie off his slouched shoulders, she avoided his eyes, which were - very creepily - trained on her paling face. She sighed, visibly relieved when he decided to focus on the string of Polaroid pictures and what looked like dozens of framed award certificates hung up on her wall, suddenly completely neglecting her physical existence next to his enfeebled body.

        "I'm fine." His words resembled that of an accused, soulless criminal awaiting his punishment in court, perfectly trained to deny his guilt to his grave no matter what the situation was — it seemed to rehearsed. Then, abruptly, his head snapped in her direction and he grabbed her forearms tightly, staring at her with wide, crazed eyes. She could have sworn she felt all of her internal organs cease functioning for a split second and yelped pathetically. "Come on! We need to get the others!"

        Her breath hitched in her throat. She searched and searched her brain for the proper response, hyper-aware of the growing madness that distorted his handsome face. When she spoke, the pitch of her voice was a bit too high for her liking. "What — What others?"

        Dan's hold on her tightened noticeably, causing her to flinch and whimper involuntarily. A curt, mad laugh that sounded like one the Joker himself would utter left his lips. "Our friends, of course! Noah, Lily, Ava, Lucas, Andy, Stacy — the whole gang!" Another laugh that deepened the pit in her stomach, a laugh that would haunt her for days.

        Suddenly, Marisol regretted turning away psychological help. The rate of her breathing quickened anxiously as she felt a gate in her mind burst open, letting unwanted memories flood it mercilessly at the mention of their names. She could not see Dan anymore, only flashing images of ruins, of an eerie forest, and of nine children irresponsibly skipping through the trees, on their way to revisit the entity that would then change their lives forever. Her eyes were coated with a glossy sheen of tears that were more than ready to flow down her cheeks against her weakening will. When she finally mustered the courage to speak again, she whispered: "I've barely spoken to them for years, Dan. Not since Jane — "

        Before she could register what was happening, Dan stood up and pulled her with him with an unimaginable force that was sure to leave bruises. Their faces were uncomfortably close, so close she could smell the scent of blood and dirt that replaced his usual cologne. He stared at her like an enraged panther, tiny bubbles of froth forming at the corners of his mouth and face contorted with a venomous outburst. Fear was struck inside her that she felt in her very core — she almost thought he would kill her right then and there. "They have to come. Everyone has to be there. That's the rule."

        She could feel the sweat trickle down her neck, the throbbing of her tear-filled eyes, the ringing screaming of a little girl in her ears, and the thumping of her horror-stricken heart against her chest. "Rule?"

        The world stilled around them. Suddenly, she could not hear a single thing, not even her own breathing — only the awfully familiar words that the boy hissed: "Everyone plays together."

        Marisol could not have been more thankful for the sound of her phone buzzing yet again against the floorboards. She took that as an excuse to gingerly wiggle out of his loosened grip and, with shaking legs, approached her cell and picked it up. A crack tarnished the previously pristine screen, but she decided to worry about that later when it was a more appropriate time to fret over a slightly broken phone. 

        But what she saw was her breaking point. Her free hand reached up to cover her mouth and stifle a sob threatening to spill out of her quivering lips and before she could control it a steady flow of salty tears coated her cheeks.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:26 AM

DAN PIERCE

are you still there?

i think i'm lost

marisol? my battery's almost dead, please help me!!

read 3:26 AM

        The shock ricocheted up her skeleton; an enormous engulfing terror made her feel so, so sick in her mind and body. She's seen darkness before, the kind that makes an empty street look like an old-fashioned photograph, but this was different — this was the kin of darkness that robbed her of her common sense and replaced it with a paralyzing fear. By her genes, she is a predator with the intelligence and perceptive eyes to hunt, but in that moment, she felt like a helpless prey. Marisol slowly rose from the illuminating screen of her phone, her wide, suspicious eyes meeting his. 

        "Dan?" She sniffled weakly.

        Although his eyes were cold an empty, right underneath them a grin stretched his lips impossibly from one ear to the other, radiating clear indications of raging madness.

        "Marisol."

        She lunged for the knife on her bedside table yet again, shrieking as he took large and quick steps towards her violently shaking form. She searched desperately for an escape route that wasn't blocked by the towering body of the intruder in front of her but to no avail. He grabbed her wrist with a bone-crushing hold, squeezing yet another helpless screech out of her. Her voice broke when she cried out: "Dan, please! Don't make me do this!"

        And he did nothing but widen the frightening smile that would permanently etch itself into her retinas, haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

        So Marisol did the only logical thing her frantic brain could come up with — with a heart-wrenching scream, pained by having to inflict pain on a friend who was once very dear to her, she drove the blade of the knife into his abdomen. Much to her increasing horror, he did not so much as flinch at the pain, only tightened the hold around her throbbing wrist. He merely growled like a feral animal, burning holes into her with his enraged gaze. "Wrong move."

        Dan tackled her effortlessly to the floor, straddling her hips and forcing her into a cage that she would never break out of in her wildest dreams. He smashed her head against the rough surface underneath her, darkening her fading vision. "We all have to go back, remember?"

        "LEAVE ME ALONE! GET — OFF — ME!" She thrashed in his hold, no longer attempting to swallow the sobs. Finally, after agonizing attempts to kick and thrash and flail, she was able to free one of her hands and in result scraped her previously perfectly manicured fingernails down the skin of his face.

         A cry of disgust and disbelief bounced off the walls of the room when it peeled right off, revealing putrid flesh under it. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving her to stare into milky whiteness while the stink of stale dirt burned the  insides of her nostrils. His long, skinny fingers curled around her neck, pressing, closing with a lack of mercy or remorse, feeling like tendrils wound around her oxygen supply. Despite her lungs blazing with agony, Marisol continued to fight fruitlessly until her energy started to dissipate like water going down a drain. Her hands fell to her side and her body grew limp, using her last breath to scream for help that, somewhere in the back of her min, she knew would never come. The last thing she saw before she embraced the coming blackness of unconsciousness was the ghastly monster that rendered her powerless and savagely tore open her old wounds.

[the-100-fanfiction]

The Morning After (Bellarke Story Part 2)

Don’t worry all! I’m setting up my AO3 account soon so you won’t have to scroll for ten years to read these posts!

BELLAMY

My memories from last are a blur. I remember dancing with all my friends, drinking at the bar, laughing, drinking some more. Then nothing. At least until the end of the night. That I remember perfectly clear--despite how drunk I was.

I remember stumbling into her room, unable to keep my hands off her. Her hands yanked at my clothes, desperately wanting to get them off. My mouth was all over her, every inch of bare skin I could find. I couldn’t get enough. Then we were both naked, falling onto the bed, our limbs intertwined.

Voices outside interrupt my thoughts and yank me back to reality, and as soon as it does her name rings through my mind like glass shattering in a library...Echo.

Shit. What have I done?

Before I even register what I’m doing, I’m dressed and sneaking out of Clarke’s room while she lays blissfully asleep.

I need to find Echo. Now.

CLARKE

I roll over on my back, stretching my hands high above my head and pointing my toes as far away in the opposite direction. A smile spreads across my face as I remember last night. The dancing, the laughing. Bellamy.

I reach my hand over to the other side of the bed, to find nothing. I turn over to see if he’s somewhere else in the room, maybe he’s in the bathroom? But the bathroom door is wide open, and he’s nowhere to be found.

Did I imagine last night? It wouldn’t have been the first time that I dreamt of what it would be like to sleep with him. I sit up, my bladder forcing me to move earlier than I want to, when I feel it. The tenderness between my thighs.

It wasn’t a dream then. But if they had slept together, where was he? Bellamy Blake is not the kind of guy to sneak off in the middle of the night without a word.

I scurry over to the bathroom, one eye closed as I try to maintain my balance since my head is thumping like nobodies business. After peeing, I wash myself off quickly, throw on some clean clothes, and head out to find the others.

To no surprise, most of the gang was in the Workman’s bar, nursing hangovers with some breakfast. Except for Bellamy--and Echo. Dammit. I had forgotten about Echo up to this point. How on Earth had I forgotten about Bellamy’s girlfriend??

Part of me didn’t want to admit it, but I had been wishing for this to happen for a while now. To be with Bellamy. I realized that I loved him more than as my best friend when he returned to the ground. I’d tried to shove the feelings down as best I could, after all he had, no has, a girlfriend. One that he’s been with for years.

I had forgotten about all of it last night though. It was just him and me and our family, having fun. I wanted him so badly last night. When he put his hand on my waist on the dance floor, I felt every emotion, every desire pour out of me. I didn’t even realize I had kissed him at first. The next thing I knew he was pulling me out of there, back to my apartment.

The happiness I felt this morning, even just moments ago, fell away as I realized what must have happened this morning.

He remembered her. Echo. And being the selfless man that he is, wouldn’t want to hurt her in anyway. He’d gone back to her this morning when he realized he’d made a mistake last night.

It hurt. Badly. But I’m used to pain. Used to holding it in to keep everyone else together. I’ve done it before and I can do it now. As I step up to the table with everyone else and take a seat, I plaster the best “everything is fine” grin on my face that I can muster.

“Miller, you look like shit,” I say. His only response is a glare before his head finds comfort in his arms on the tabletop again. “Did everyone have fun last night?”

“Murphy was just telling me how much fun you had last night Clarke,” Raven adds in, and my heart drops. I didn’t even think about if any of the others had seen Bellamy and I kiss last night. Or if they’d seen us leave the hall together.

“Oh,” is all I can think to say.

“Yeah. Apparently you were tearing up the dance floor without me. Bitch.” She says with a smile. So she doesn’t know. I do a quick search around the table to see if anyone shows signs up knowing more, but if they do, no one is fessing up.

I smile back, partly with relief. If no one knew, it would be easier to pretend like nothing happened.

“Where did you and Big Brother go at the end of the night? I looked up and you were both gone.” Octavia asks.

“I went home. I genuinely have no idea where Bellamy is though.” A half truth. I don’t know where Bellamy is. And I had gone home last night. I just left out the part that he went home with me.

As if I’m cursed by the gods, the sheer mention of his name brings him and Echo walking through the bar doors. We make eye contact for a split second before I turn my gaze back to the table.

They’re walking side by side. No sign of tension or anger. No sign that he told her about last night. A small bead of hope was crushed inside me at the sight. I had hoped he would tell her, that he would end things with her and tell me that he had been in love with me too. But it was a fairytale. And my life is more like a reoccurring nightmare, that is, except for Madi. Madi was my single spotlight of happiness.

It’s fine. He didn’t want last night to happen, so it didn’t. As far as I’m concerned, I went home by myself, I slept with no one, and I’m the same person I was yesterday.

“Hey guys,” he says, his voice low and rough. My heart aches at the sound of it.

“Bellamy. Didn’t think you’d have the energy to join us this morning,” Murphy says with his usual sarcasm and attitude.

“What the hell does that mean Murphy?” Bellamy challenges back.

Emori answers for him. “You drank me and Murphy under the table last night. I’m surprised you’re even standing right now.”

“Yeah, well, it was a night to celebrate.” He says more calmly, taking a seat at the other end of the table with Echo taking the last empty seat beside him.

Enough chit chat. The only way I can make it through this is to keep my mind busy, and there’s plenty that needs to be done.

“We need to talk about the plan. What we’re going to do with the rest of our people up on the ship. How we’re going to bring them down. How we’re going to build a life here with these people.” They all look at me as I say this, and look right back at each one, except him.

“We can’t bring every one of them down at once. That kind of influx would drought this place of everything. Food, clothing, housing. All of it.” Raven says.

“I agree. So we do it in phases. With the help of the people here. We make sure we have the resources in place. We’ll need to put together a transition plan. Make it go smoothly on both sides.”

“John and I can help with the transition plan,” Emori offers. I nod my head in thanks.

“Miller, Echo. Do you guys think you can go through the manifesto of people up there. Figure out how many people we can wake at a time, who we should wake up first, and then be there to persuade anyone from doing anything stupid here?” I ask. I try to not let my emotions show in my eyes as I look at her. I think I do a pretty good job, because she responds with, “Of course.” Miller simply grunts in response.

Bellamy hadn’t taken his eyes off me this whole time. I tried not to notice, not to even look in his direction. But I could feel his gaze on me with every word I spoke.

“Okay. I’ll talk to Madi about how she wants to address this with the people. We should get started right away though. Our people have been asleep long enough.” I stand up and turn to leave the bar without waiting for anyone else to say anything. I’m halfway across the courtyard when I feel a hand grab my forearm.

“Hey-“ I start to say, before I realize it’s Bellamy.

“Clarke,” he says back. His voice is urgent, pained.

I pull my arm free and cross them both over my chest, making direct eye contact with him. I wasn’t some lovestruck teenager. I wasn’t going to weep and cry about “How could he do this to me?”

“What,” is all I say. My response must have thrown him off guard because he took a small step back.

“I…we need to talk about…about last night,” he says.

“What about it?” I counter.

“We both had a lot to drink, and I know I wasn’t thinking straightly, but—”

I cut him off before he could say the words that would crumble me. “Listen Bellamy. I already know what you’re going to say. It was a mistake. We were both drunk, and it should have never happened. In fact, we’re just going to pretend like it never happened. Okay? So you’re fine. We’re fine. Everything is the way it should be.”

Bellamy stands there for a few moments without saying anything. His eyes are blazing with some kind of emotion though, but I can’t tell which one. He finally says, “that’s truly what you think?”

“That’s how things are.” I wasn’t going to give up the tough girl act. It was the only thing holding me together.

“Okay princess,” he says with a bite of anger.

“Okay,” I snap back before turning on my heels. I changed direction without realizing it, going back to my apartment. Once I was inside, I shut the door, locked it, and sunk to the ground, tears falling down my face and silent sobs rolled over me.

BELLAMY

Shit. I stood there in the courtyard, watching Clarke stomp away without looking back.

When I left this morning, I went to talk to Echo, to tell her we needed to end things. She was surprisingly okay with it. She said that she had felt them drifting apart for a while, and that she would always care for me. I felt the same too. We had something special once, when it was just the six of us in space, watching Praimfaya destroy their home. But things were different now. He was different.

And then last night happened, and it all snapped in to place. Clarke was what I had been missing in my life. The missing piece.

I was going to tell her, to go back to her apartment before she woke up. But as Echo and I walked through the courtyard, I had seen Clarke walk into the bar. When I got there though, she wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t think when I left her place this morning about how she would feel waking up without me there. I was so worried about setting things straight with Echo so Clarke and I could have a chance, if she wanted to have a chance, that I didn’t even think.

And then she said all that stuff. About last night being a mistake. It hurt. And before I knew it, I was pissed and all I did was make everything worse. Apparently, she didn’t want a chance at ‘us’. But I didn’t even fight for her. Didn’t try to talk.

I know Clarke. Better than anyone. I know she was upset and was speaking out of anger. I should have fought for her. Made her listen to what I had to say. And then if she still insisted on it being a mistake, I would have walked away. No hesitation. But I didn’t. I just stood there and watched her walk away.

“Dammit Blake. What are you doing here?” I whisper to myself.

I need to make things right. Whatever I need to do, however long it takes. I need to make things right with Clarke.

[a-marlene-s]

Giveaway Prize: 1st Place the 2000-word one-shot!

Winner: @ladylucina28

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Family day...

Au: Everybody lives!!!!

Couple: Fred Weasley x Hermione Granger

Word Count: 2030

-.-

Fred…

Fred…

Fred.

FRED!!!

Fred Weasley woke up with a start, he flung himself upwards clutching his nightshirt right above his heart. He reached over in hopes of looking for his partner but he came up empty. Fear overwhelmed at how cold the other side of the bed felt. Flinging the bed sheets off himself, Fred did not bother with his slippers before leaving the room with wand in hand that he got from the night table.

Walking through the home, Fred took note of all the curtains were pulled back to let in natural sunlight. This did put some ease for him, but not enough to put away his wand. He continued his way through his home, checking his children’s rooms to see they were nowhere in sight. Panic over took him and Fred quickly ran through his home as he wanted to find his family.

As Fred paced down the stairs, he heard giggles that was followed by familiar laughter that brought back his sense of peace. He hid his wand into his pants pocket and proceeded down steps and as he did, the sound of laughter only grew. On the final step, he took pause as the it got quiet and Fred had to strain his ears to hear whatever was being said. Then a burst of laughter filled the home and he couldn’t help but laugh along to it.

Continuing on, Fred made it to the kitchen to see his family enjoying breakfast. Hermione is helping their youngest, Clover with cutting up what appears to be pancakes for her. While the twins, Millie and Tillie are fighting over which persevere is better. This… this is something he always looked forward to seeing every morning and would not trade it for anything in the world.

“Morning, did we wake you?” Hermione spoke up, breaking Fred out of his thoughts.

Fred couldn’t help but grin. “Here I thought you’d be doing Minister-y work, Minister.”

Hermione could not but smile. She looked over and could tell something was off with her husband, his smile did not quite reach his eyes. He had another nightmare… maintaining her smile to not alarm the children, she pulled out a table and pilled it up with pancakes. “I decided to take the day off. I flued Shacklebolt to take care of things for today. I have the entire day planned out.”

“Oh?” Fred could not believe what he is hearing. The fact that his dear wife, who just also happens to not only be the Minister of Magic, but also the Hermione Granger-Weasley, decided to take a day off… that is huge. Of course, he supports her in all of her endeavors just as much as she supports his, it has been increasingly difficult to have time for themselves and as a family. “What’s the occasion?”

Fred did a quick search of a kitchen, expecting something or another. He paid extra focus on the calendar that placed on the top cabinet to see if anything was happening that day. Nothing. Now this did strike fear within him. Did he forget something?

“Nothing is scheduled for today. I simply wanted time with my family is all.”

“Momma, are we going to Diagon Alley today?” Millie asked excitedly at the aspect of visiting her favorite place in the entire world. “Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!”

“Long as they don’t let out any of those Fanged Frisbees out.” Hermione gave her husband a pointed stare, who in turn, simply looked away and let out an innocent tune. “Fred.”

“Who? Me?” Fred blinked innocently at his wife. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“No Fanged Frisbees or anything else that could harm the children.” Hermione raised an eyebrow to emphasize her point.

Fred raised his hands in a mock surrender. “I promise to make sure we put away all of those things away. No more surprise haircuts.”

“Good. Now get ready.”

-.-

Never in a million years did Fred ever believe he would have the life he has right now. No, it’s not the fact he is happily married, three loving kids, and running a business with his brother. It is the fact he is living in a muggle neighborhood, right next to his in-laws. He suspects Hermione wanted to live here after everything she had put her parents through during the way. But, he is not one to complain about it.

With Hermione becoming Minister and them taking part of the war, security measures have been placed making the area secured enough they do not need to worry. Still… the fact everytime Fred steps out his front door he could feel Grandmum Granger opening one of her curtains to see what they are doing before closing them shut once more. Yeah, that happens quite often.

“Papa! To the park!” Tillie called out, running out with her sister right at her heels.

“No, to Diagon Alley!” Millie cried out, running after his sister.

“Park!”

“Diagon Alley!”

Fred could not help but smile at the sight of his daughter bickering over what they wanted to do for the day. It reminded so much of his own siblings.

“Girls, we are going to both places, just wait.” Hermione said walking out the door with Clover in her arms. Fred hurried over to take Clover into his arms to carry her and the diaper bag from Hermione while she locked up.

“Mommy, are we going to the park?” Tillie asked her mother, tugging on the diaper bag she is carrying.

“I want to go to Diagon Alley.” Millie pouted, tugging on her mother’s long sweater.

“Girls, girls! Let’s to go the car and we’ll figure out where we are going first!” Fred started to lead the girls to the car giving Hermione enough time to properly lock things up. “Into the muggle car! Muggle car~”

“Fred, don’t call it that. The neighbors.” Hermione shot her husband a look that caused him to give her a sheepish smile. At the smile, she could not help with a smile of her own. “Into the muggle car.”

“Muggle car~”

-.-

“Do you remember when you asked me to the Yule Ball?” Hermione asked out of the blue as she drove her family to muggle London, catching Fred off-guard.

“I remember asking you. I remember not believing the fact you accepted. I remember Harry and Ron ganging up on me. I remember them threatening me over it. Ron looking disappointed and Harry didn’t know what to think or say… besides that, I don’t remember much else.” Fred said, thinking over when he had asked Hermione to the Yule Ball as his date. Not as a friend asking a friend. It was him asking her on a date, a massive on at that.

Hermione accepted and the two have been steady ever since. Sure, they had times when they butted heads. When he and George had dropped out of school after humiliating Umbridge to give an example of a reason they had fought. Luckily for everyone, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes took off for the Weasley Twins and Fred was no longer stuck in the dog house. Or had howlers being sent to him daily.

One of their biggest obstacles the couple had faced by far, were the reputations of the Battle of Hogwarts. Neither one was the same after that, Hermione being in the forefront of it all and Fred doing his best to help any underage witches/wizards out of the castle, both doing their best to save as many as they could. Everything looked to be going their way… until Fred saw a flashing green light.

“You had that nightmare again… didn’t you?” Hermione asked, just low enough for the girls not to hear. Fred’s silence spoke volumes for Hermione. “Have you thought about talking to a professional?”

“And miss the chance to talk to you?” Fred attempted to joke but his voice sounded grimace, even to himself. He took in a deep breath when Hermione gave him a look. “I tried to make an appointment to that one placed you told me about, but I didn’t understand what they were asking of me and that they didn’t have room for me there.”

“Oh! I will talk to my father; I am sure he will talk to Dr. McCoy to schedule you in his office.”

“Isn’t that the guy that gave your mother prune juice under the guise of grape juice?”

“Yes…”

“Heh, I remember him. I like him. Funny fellow.”  

-.-

Hermione and Fred knew they were being watched by Aurors as they eat ice-cream with their children. One of the many perks of being Minister and the constant need to be vigilant. They actually found it rather hilarious for the fact that the two that are supposed to be watching of them are none other than Harry and Ron.

When the two Aurors were not looking, Fred used magic to put Puking Pastilles into their respective ice-creams. “Now… we don’t have to worry about them.”

“What happened to-”

“Uncle Ron-”

“Uncle Harry?”

The twins asked, looking over to see their uncles running out of the shop while looking rather green and holding their mouths.

“They were being noisy.” Fred replied, ignoring the looks Hermione gave him.

“You didn’t have to do that. They’ll probably send someone else to watch over.” Hermione pointed at Fred with a spoonful of ice-cream. Fred stared at the ice-cream before reaching over and gobbled up the ice-cream. “Fred, that was too much! You’ll get brain freeze.”

Fred only gave her a grin before he felt familiar pain began to overwhelm him. “Too much!”

Hermione could only let out a tired sigh before taking a large scoop of ice-cream for her to eat. She ignored Fred’s pout at seeing her able to eat ice-cream without the fear of getting a brain freeze. It also did not help how the twins could also do the same, mocking their father everytime he got a brain freeze everytime he ate too much of his ice-cream.

“Oh, Clover… It looks like it’s just you and I…” Fred sniffled while cooing over his youngest, who is sitting on a baby high chair. However, to his dismay, she had managed to take some of her own ice and pushed it into his nose. “Now I have a nose freeze.”

-.-

“I think… that’s the end of it.” Ron wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He should have seen that coming. Every Auror that has ever been tasked with watching over Minister Granger, they knew there is a massive chance Fred Weasley will use every trick he has under his sleeve to get rid of them. Of course, it is under the pretense if that they are unable to get away from his pranks, then how are they able to protect the Minister? His wife? Yeah… no one ever leaves unscathed. “How did he do that?”

“I don’t know…” Harry heaved out the remainder of his breakfast. “I think he did that to get us out of there. Otherwise he would have used the Fanged Frisbees against us back in the shop.”

“No, he would have used a screaming yo-yo when he caught us sneaking into ‘Wheezes.” Ron reminded him. He reached into his back pocket to take out a mint and offered one to Harry. “Do you think we should have somebody else watch over them?”

“And deal with the paperwork that comes along with it… no thanks.” Harry said, taking a mint and popping it into his mouth. From their spot, they could see the Granger-Weasley family enjoying some ice-cream after a long eventful day of being a family. He could not help but smile at the sight before them. Even from this distance, Harry could see how Fred adores Hermione, Clover, Millie and Tillie.

“I still can’t believe they ended up together…”

“Don’t tell me you are still stewing over it? After all this time?”

“No, I’m not. I just… never thought Fred had feelings for Hermione is all.”

“Hermione loves him because he makes her laugh… and something about his devious side.”

“Ugh… let’s just go already before Fred makes us eat another prank candy.”

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 26

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

LATER THAT DAY

SHADY BELLE

Hitching our horses at the posts outside of camp, Eddie went off to get somethin’ to eat while I searched for Dutch, eager to give him all the info Trelawny had told us the previous day.

It looked like the gang was a bit more agitated than usual -- aside from little Jack who was mindin’ his own business and playin’ in the grass -- and not too far away from me, I could hear Bill and Javier arguing while Kieran got trapped in the middle, unsure of how to handle the situation like the innocent bystander he was.

What really concerned me though -- outta all this unrest -- was of course, Micah...who seemed intent on hammerin’ his boot-licking rhetoric into Dutch’s head at the moment as they spoke on the manor’s front porch, hidden away from the rest of the gang.

For whatever reason, they was talkin’ in hushed tones and making sure to keep their voices low, almost as if they didn’t want no one else to know what they were saying. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought much of it -- Dutch had private conversations with the gang’s members all the time, after all -- but the fact that it was Micah made me suspect something was off, and I didn’t like it one bit.

Approachin’ the two of them at a casual pace, I interrupted their little secret meeting, just barely picking up the last sentences of their conversation.

“--you really believe that?” Dutch questioned, sounding slightly dismissive, but also strangely intrigued.

“It’s just somethin’ to bear in mind.” Micah suggested, holding his hands up in a diplomatic manner.

His eyes wandered over to me, making him drop the subject. “Ah, but look who it is. Mister Morgan. You certainly know how to show up at the most inconvenient times, don’t you?”

I scoffed. “Nothing’s convenient when you’re around.”

Micah rolled his eyes at that and leaned against a pillar, makin’ himself right at home as Dutch brought his attention to me. “A real gentleman, as always.”

“Arthur!” Dutch called out, lighting a cigar. “You’re back. What’ve you learned?”

“We met with Trelawny,” I replied. “He says the party’s in four days. Well-- three, now.”

Dutch tossed the match away. “Three days. That should give us enough time, but we’ll have to move quick. So, what’s the situation lookin’ like? What can we expect?”

“About the same as any party. Accordin’ to Trelawny, there’ll be lots of rich folk, lots of money, and lots of security.”

The other man grinned. “Sounds good.”

I hesitated. “...And there’s also the fact that guests ain’t allowed to carry weapons on the boat.”

He quirked a brow. “What? How are we supposed to rob people without any guns?”

“Josiah reckons we can cheat in the Poker games,” I explained. “One of us’ll act all prim and proper, slip our way in, and another person will tell them what moves to make from a distance. I think Strauss would be best for that job.”

Dutch nodded. “I agree. This is definitely up Strauss’ alley. And what about the person who’ll be playin’ Poker? Any ideas who should do that?”

I rubbed my chin. “...I say Eddie.”

He breathed out a puff of smoke. “Not Micah?”

A sarcastic chuckle escaped me. “Well, that depends on if you actually want the money or not.”

The sleazy man frowned at that. “Oh...very funny, Morgan--”

“--Enough!” Dutch stepped in almost instantly, scowling at us. “Don’t you two start now.” He let out a fatigued sigh, goin’ along with my recommendation. “Very well. Since Arthur’s the one been investigatin’ this, I’ll go with what he says. Alright, then. Eddie will do the job. In the meantime...”

Dutch sauntered down the porch’s short stairs, gazing at the surrounding view. “...I don’t like the idea of us being completely unarmed on that boat, so I’ll see if we can’t disguise some of our boys as the security. Maybe even as the servants, too. As for the rest of you,” he glanced at me and Micah, “...just prepare yourselves. Once we have this money in our pockets, we’re leavin’ Shady Belle the first chance we get. We’ve cowered in this swamp for long enough, and our enemies are too close for comfort. It’s time for us to get out of America. It’s time for us to disappear, and it’s time...to live as the free men we was born to be.”

THREE DAYS LATER

NIGHTTIME

THE GRAND KORRIGAN, SAINT DENIS

Straightenin’ my tie, I hurriedly walked alongside Trelawny and Eddie as the magician led us into the main area of the boat, all three of us trying to maintain a casual temperament while we passed by other guests in the party.

All around us, I could see servers practically shoving champagne glasses into peoples’ hands, high-society folks insincerely flatterin’ each other, “esteemed” businessmen getting drop-dead drunk at the bar, musicians slaving over their instruments, and even politicians bragging about how oh-so-extravagant their lives were as they turned every conversation into a gloating competition.

And as if the guests themselves weren’t insufferable already, the decor on this boat made me feel like a peasant. Just within this little area, there were two diamond chandeliers hanging from the tall ceiling, priceless paintings adorning the mahogany walls, and lavish furniture made from the most expensive of materials. It felt like I was walkin’ through a prodigal’s dream.

Really, the only good thing ‘bout this party so far was the ragtime music comin’ from the piano...and even that was being drowned out by the haughty laughter of the “fine” men and women on this boat.

Fortunately though, we weren’t entirely alone. I spotted Javier disguising as a guard at one of the doorways, and I also saw Lenny masquerading as a cleaner while he pretended to scrub the floor with a broom. And, sittin’ ever so conspicuously in one of the corners as he observed the Poker games, Strauss calmly enjoyed a glass of Scotch, silently acknowledging our presence with a subtle nod as he took a sip.

Personally, I just wanted to get the money, get this over with, and get the hell outta here. The fact that I was unarmed made me uneasy enough, but now that Eddie was gonna be the one throwin’ himself into the center of attention, I couldn’t help but fear for his safety. I mean, things was precarious already with Atticus constantly huntin’ us down, and on top of that, I didn’t even know how we were gonna escape this boat in case something went wrong. That tended to be the case when Trelawny was the one in charge of planning.

If anything were to go awry tonight, we’d be dead men...and I certainly didn’t wanna think about what would happen to the rest of the gang if we got killed. We had to be extremely cautious.

“Alright, gentlemen!” Trelawny said energetically, presenting us to the flamboyant party. “Here we are. The Grand Korrigan. Quite a splendid sight, wouldn’t you agree?”

Eddie glanced around in disgust, evidently not fond of the overall uptight mood.

“...I hate this already.”

Josiah let out a chuckle. “Hold on to that feeling. You’ll blend in with these...wonderful people effortlessly.”

I went straight to business. “Well, whatever we do, we need to move quick. We ain’t got much time. Eddie, why don’t you go ahead and join one o’ the games? And make sure you can see Strauss from your seat. Trelawny, try to keep the other guests distracted from us, would you? We got enough eyes on us as is.”

The magician nodded. “Alright. Should be easy enough. And what about you, Arthur? What’ll you be doing?”

I lowered my voice. “Dutch mentioned there might be more money stashed away on this boat somewhere. I’m gonna have a look around, see if I can’t figure out where it is.”

Josiah raised a brow. “You seem unsure?”

A worried sigh escaped me. “Robbin’ a heavily armed riverboat without a gun tends to bring out the self-doubt in me...!”

The other man scoffed. “These people are virtually idiots! This is simple stuff.” He adjusted his top hat, switchin’ to a more elevated tone. “Now, have a good time, gentlemen, but don’t lose too much money...or your wives are going to kill me!”

I patted Trelawny on the shoulder, instantly makin’ my way towards the sumptuous-looking bar as Eddie got to work. “Whatever you say.”

Squeezin’ through the scattered crowds of people, I strolled past the multiple Poker tables as well as servers who were tryin’ to get my attention as I found a place to sit at the bar, attempting to look as ordinary as possible.

Things seemed to be goin’ well so far, and if I was being honest, this party wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be. Sure, I didn’t really care for the guests or the social climbin’ or...really, any of it, but at least they had Poker to keep people entertained, and loads of money just sitting around. It was already a helluva lot more interesting than Miss Powell’s nightmare of a gala, and I hoped this one wouldn’t end the same way. Shootouts weren’t exactly my favorite pastime, especially when I didn’t have a gun.

Pulling up a chair at one of the tables, Eddie took on a much more pretentious facade as he introduced himself to the other fellers sittin’ around him, almost making me laugh at how well he was blending in with them.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Eddie greeted, sounding annoyed. “Edward Dawson. Sorry I’m late. My driver took his sweet time getting here.”

The man opposite of him smiled with the least amount of emotion I’d ever seen, his nose damn-near touchin’ the ceiling with how upturned it was.

“Desmond Blythe.”

The other players casually waved at the pianist. “Hello there.”

Gathering the cards, the dealer split the deck in half as Eddie got comfortable in his chair, keepin’ a close eye on Strauss who was guiding him from a distance.

“Not to worry,” the dealer reassured. “Welcome to the game, Mister Dawson.” He began shuffling the cards. “Okay, gentlemen. Let’s play.”

Desmond leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “I hope you’re a player. Been too many cowards at these tables recently. Nothing less dignified than a man afraid to lose a little money.”

Briefly flickin’ his eyes in my direction, Eddie gave me a confident but slight nod as he took his cards in hand, trying to make some sort of conversation.

“Well, would you look at that,” the boy commented, glancing at his pile of chips. “Chips already stacked up and good to go. Thank God someone here knows what they’re doing. I was beginning to think everyone in Saint Denis was incompetent.”

The dealer sat back. “We aim to please, sir.”

“So...” Eddie said, bringing his attention to Strauss, “how are we all faring?”

The player sitting to Eddie’s left shrugged. “Some better than others.”

The boy folded. “If we all fared the same in life, now where would the fun be?”

Desmond grinned in agreement, tossin’ in his bet. “Quite.”

Eddie examined Mister Blythe for a moment, his eyes widening in recognition.

“Wait,” he inquired as the other gentlemen made their moves, “you wouldn’t happen to be Desmond Blythe the Hosiery King, would you? Perhaps I should’ve brought my other wallet.”

The conceited man appeared somewhat irritated at the observation. “...Not my preferred title, but...yes, you should have. Haha!”

Continuing the game, Desmond pushed all his chips into the center of the table without a hint of hesitance as the other men reluctantly followed his actions, kissin’ their sweet chips goodbye as they went all-in.

“...Here we go, then...” one of them murmured.

“To Hell with it.” Another said, damning the risks.

Finally revealin’ their cards, Blythe placed his hand down and laid out three queens as a smug expression crept its way onto his face, the other players unveiling measly combinations.

The dealer picked up the deck, adding two final community cards before announcing the winner.

“Mister Blythe wins with three queens.”

He let out a victorious guffaw at the outcome, tossing his cards back to the dealer as the majority of the table quickly cleared out.

“Goodbye, gentlemen!” Desmond looked at Eddie. “I guess it’s just you and me now, friend.”

The pianist prepared himself. “I guess it is.”

“Time to see if you’re really the man you seem to think you are.”

Eddie straightened his posture, scootin’ his chair closer to the table. “Likewise, Mister Blythe.”

Desmond placed a big blind. “So, what business are you in, Mister Dawson?”

The boy took his cards in hand. “I’m an oil man.”

“Funny,” Blythe picked up, “I haven’t heard of you.”

Eddie threw in a bet. “Oh...you will.”

Blythe decided to raise and took a handful of chips, nonchalantly setting them down next to Eddie’s.

“You got enough chips there to go a little higher?” He taunted. Jesus, this man was infuriating.

The pianist looked at Strauss’ signal, makin’ the bet even higher. “Your confidence is refreshing, Mister Blythe. I’ll raise.”

Desmond’s arrogance dimmed slightly at the action. “Call.”

The dealer placed three community cards down, revealing a seven of diamonds, a ten of clubs, and a jack of spades.

Blythe’s snobbish smirk returned almost immediately. “Okay, Mister Dawson. I’m all-in.”

Eddie went along, throwing in some chips. “I’ll call.”

Displayin’ their cards, Desmond laid out a pair of jacks while “Dawson” revealed a pair of queens, both of them eager to see the last two community cards.

Slipping a pair out of the deck, the dealer presented a king of clubs and a three of hearts, crowning Eddie the victor.

Desmond angrily tossed his cards away at the sight, cursin’ to himself in a heated tone. “Shit...! Shit!”

Eddie chuckled, gathering his prize. “Looks like good fortune is on my side today. I suppose this means you’re done?”

Blythe’s eyes narrowed in an offended manner. “Done?”

“Bust,” the boy explained, rising from his chair. “Or...do you have something else to play with?”

“...Meaning?”

The pianist paused for a second, pickin’ up some of the chips. “Well...I was told there were some serious players on this boat. But maybe that’s not you, no offense--”

Desmond pointed a finger at Eddie. “Sit your Limey ass down.”

Eddie firmly put the chips back on the table. “...Why?”

Blythe wasn’t quite finished just yet. “I got a watch.”

The pianist chuckled sarcastically. “My, my.”

“An expensive one...” He clarified. “Real fine. Swiss. A Reutlinger, no less. It’s in the safe upstairs. It’s worth more than you.”

Eddie considered the offer, glancin’ at both me and Strauss before deciding to accept the challenge.

“Alright,” he agreed, sitting back down. “I trust you.”

Desmond seemed satisfied. “Good. Now play.”

“...As you wish.”

Resuming the game unexpectedly, the dealer began shufflin’ the deck once again as Blythe and Eddie placed their blinds, eager to see who the winner of this round would be. Though, I guessed most of us already knew.

“So,” Desmond said as the dealer gave him his cards, “you must know Leviticus Cornwall, big oil man like you?”

The boy quickly thought of a lie. “Of course. We’ve crossed paths. I was fortunate enough to tour an operation of his in New Hanover.”

Ignoring Eddie’s previous statement, Blythe barely peeked at his cards before lettin’ out a confident laugh, instantly shoving all his chips into the center of the table.

“I am one-hundred percent all-in, Mister Dawson!” He announced. Even the dealer could sense his boldness.

“Don’t worry, sir,” he reassured meekly. “Everyone is the author of his own good fortune...”

Eddie looked to Strauss for guidance, sighing in uncertainty as he followed Desmond’s actions. “Well...nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

The two of them flipped over their cards.

“Pair of kings.” Eddie observed, earning a chortle from his opponent.

“Very good,” Blythe praised, displayin’ a pair of aces, “but not good enough!”

“...Shit.”

Layin’ out all the community cards at once, the dealer put down a nine of diamonds, an ace of diamonds, and a four of spades, followed by a jack of diamonds -- the tables was turnin’ now -- and a two of diamonds.

“Yes...!” Eddie cheered. “You little beauty.”

The dealer shrugged at Desmond. “Hard lines, Mister Blythe. Mister Dawson wins with an ace-high diamond flush.”

Desmond shook his head out of annoyance. “God...damn you...! Err, n-no offense.”

Eddie smiled proudly at him. “None taken.”

A man who I assumed was Blythe’s butler came waltzin’ up to the table, congratulating the pianist on his “victory.”

“Well played, sir.” He placed a comforting hand on his master’s shoulder. “...Unlucky, Desmond.”

The pianist straightened his suit. “Forgive my lack of discretion, gentlemen, but...where is this Reutlinger you mentioned?”

Demond’s butler beckoned Eddie. “It’s upstairs. Shall we go and have a look?”

“Of course. Lead the way.”

The boy stood up and began followin’ the man to the ornate stairwell, leaving Blythe all by his lonesome at the table as he grieved for his empty wallet. No one seemed to suspect that Eddie was a cheat -- yet -- and it looked like Desmond’s butler was leading him straight to the stash of cash Dutch mentioned before.

I sighed out of relief.

I guessed now, all we had to focus on was gettin’ off this damned boat before anyone realized just who we were. I wasn’t entirely sure what Trelawny’s plans were for that, but at least we got the money in our pockets. And even better, it seemed as if Josiah, Lenny, Javier and Strauss had all pretty much gone unnoticed by the other guests in the party. ...I only wished I coulda said the same for myself.

Outta the corner of my eye, I spotted one of the guests approachin’ me with a glass of champagne in his hands as he closely studied my face, probably wondering just who the hell I was. ...Shit. Had someone recognized me? I certainly hoped not.

I braced myself for the upcoming conversation, only to hear a surprisingly familiar voice callin’ out to me.

“Fancy meetin’ you here, sunshine.”

My heart practically froze. There was only one person in the entire country who called me that, and just by hearin’ that nickname again, I knew immediately who it was.

I steadily turned to face the man, trying my best to keep calm.

“...Rodrick Kinglsey...?”

The deranged man grinned at me, his injured eye covered by an elegant patch to go with the three-piece suit he was wearing. Though, it didn’t make him look any less crazy.

“Try not to mind the eyepatch,” Rodrick teased, noticin’ my line of sight. “I don’t like it neither, but Atticus said I had to look...presentable. And it seems you’ve cleaned up, too. Heh. The things we do for money...”

He took a sip of his drink. “Now, before you go and do anythin’ stupid, I’d advise you not to make a scene. After all,” Rodrick wrapped a friendly arm around my shoulder and brought my attention to other members of Atticus’ gang who were just now arriving at the party, “I ain’t alone on this boat. Make one wrong move, and it could be your last. ...We can discuss this like gentlemen, can’t we?”

I gritted my teeth in concentration, desperately wishin’ I had a gun on me right now, and also wondering just when the hell Atticus’ gang got on the boat. How did they know we’d be here? When did they even board the ship? Was Atticus with them? It couldn’t just be mere coincidence that we ran into each other.

Goddammit...just when I thought this night was goin’ smoothly.

“What the hell are you people doin’ here?” I whispered sternly, still trapped in Rodrick’s grip.

He laughed casually. “Same as you, I suppose. Just here to enjoy some...‘friendly’ competition.”

I scoffed. “...Sure.”

Kingsley loosely gestured to the Poker games. “So...you try your hand at any o’ these tables yet, Mister Morgan? I’m sure a man like you would do just fine. Especially with a little extra...‘help.”

I picked up on that instantly, my heart startin’ to pound faster with every passing second. This bastard knew about our plans.

“Look,” I snapped back, “if you’re here to steal our score--”

“--Oh, I don’t care about about the score,” Rodrick interrupted. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind robbin’ a few hundred bucks, but I think we both know why I’m really here. Yeah...I’m far more interested in that boy of yours. Mister ‘Dawson.’ You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you, Arthur?”

I cocked my head at him. “Even if I did, you really think I’d tell you?”

The man chuckled. “No. But Atticus insisted I had to be civilized, even though I told him that wouldn’t work.” He gave me a condescending pat on the back. “Arthur Morgan’s a man of action, after all. Not words. Almost nobody knows just how deep his relationship with young Theo goes, yet it’s pretty clear just by watchin’ the things he does.”

A puzzled expression covered my face, causing Rodrick’s smile to stretch even wider.

“Oh, yeah. I saw how you killed Middleton. Hardly left anything to bury. ‘Cept for maybe a finger. Eh, it was for the best, to be honest. Thatcher used to be quite the assassin, but he turned soft when it came to killin’ the Bishop boy. Reminded him too much of his own child.”

The redhead shook his head in an impressed manner. “And poor ol’ Colm. Christ...by the time we went to clean up his body, the man’s face had been smashed in, and there was a hole in his forehead.”

He snickered in a goading tone, trying to spark a fire inside me. “You...really get mad...when people hurt Eddie, don’t you? Almost...uncontrollably so.”

Rodrick leaned closer to my ear. “I wonder how you’d react...if I hurt him?”

I glowered at the man. “What’re you talkin’ about, you crazy bastard? You already did. You tortured the kid.”

“And I enjoyed every second of it,” he admitted, starin’ blankly in the distance. “The boy turned out to be much more resilient than I anticipated, but...just the idea...of what your sour face would look like once you found out what I had done to him...”

Rodrick slowly turned back to look at me and -- upon seein’ my pissed-off expression -- instantly broke out into a hysterical guffaw, his shoulders shakin’ in sync with his laughs as he separated himself from me.

“Yeah...!” He exclaimed, almost cackling at this point. “Pretty much exactly like that!”

The man placed his glass of champagne down on the bar and leaned on it for a moment, wipin’ away a series of genuine tears as he let out an amused sigh.

“Oh...” Rodrick breathed out once his laughter died down. “Who am I kidding, Arthur?” He stood back up, smirkin’ widely at me. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Without warning, the lunatic suddenly smashed his glass into the side of my head and initiated a fight, causing all the other guests on the boat to start screamin’ in alarm as Rodrick unleashed hell, swinging his fists wildly at me like there was no tomorrow.

And just before I could even attempt to bring him down, the man had grabbed a security guard by the collar and repeatedly bashed his head against the bar’s marble counter, stealin’ his gun afterwards before going trigger-happy on me.

“DON’T YOU RUN FROM ME, MORGAN!” He bellowed, firing one shot after another as I ran like hell, splinters erupting behind me once the bullets blasted into the wall.

“WE AIN’T DONE YET!”

Pushin’ over one of the Poker tables, I hastily took cover behind the flimsy piece of furniture while I frantically searched around for any means of defense, shielding myself from Rodrick’s sporadic shots as Javier came running to my rescue.

“Here, Arthur!” He offered, tossing his rifle to me.

Snatching the weapon straight off the floor, I hurriedly cocked the firearm and poked my head out of cover, only to see that Rodrick and his friends had gotten their hands on Lenny, Josiah, and Strauss, and were now holdin’ them hostage.

“Come on out, sunshine!” Kingsley yelled with a demented smile, his voice carrying even more force than the bullets he was firing mere moments ago. “Or I’ll sink this goddamn boat...and every sad son-of-a-bitch on it!”

I retreated back behind the table and slammed my fist on the floor out of frustration, silently cursin’ to myself as I thought about what to do next. Normally, I woulda just killed Rodrick and set Lenny free, but those bastards had captured everyone except me and Javier. If either of us took a single shot, the other two hostages would be executed immediately. We couldn’t fight them head-on, but we also couldn’t let them kill the other gang members.

What the hell were we supposed to do...?!

Takin’ a deep breath, I decided to play along with Rodrick for now and carefully stood up from my hiding spot, instantly causing him and his allies to aim their weapons in my direction as Javier and I approached the middle of the boat.

Kingsley followed my every step with his gun, blatantly grinning out of satisfaction.

“Ah...and there he is,” He taunted, tightenin’ his grip on Lenny’s neck. “The devil himself.”

Javier and I stood side-by-side, paralyzed on the spot like a pair of deer. Neither of us could see any way outta this situation just yet, and aside from all the chaos we was already dealin’ with, Eddie was nowhere to be found.

Whether that was because the boy was hiding somewhere else, or because he had already been captured -- I had no idea. But the thought of Rodrick findin’ him terrified me, and I knew that no matter what happened, I couldn’t tell them where he was. I wouldn’t.

Deciding to take my chances, I inched closer to Kingsley and very subtly took a single step forward with the hopes of catchin’ him by surprise, only to have the man shoot a bullet right in front of my foot as I violently sprung back.

“Move one more...goddamn muscle...!” Rodrick roared, drilling his gun into Lenny’s temple, “and I swear, I will shoot this boy right here, right now, RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!”

I instantly came to halt, admittedly trembling like a little boy on the inside as smoke rose from the wooden planks underneath me. I’d met some crazies in my lifetime -- hell, some of ‘em was even in the gang -- but Kingsley made them all look like saints. Where in the hell did Atticus find this man?

“Well then...” the redhead said, calmin’ down slightly, “now that we have an understanding, won’t you gentlemen be so kind as to drop them weapons, and raise your hands in the air?”

Javier and I exchanged looks with each other, both of us reluctantly followin’ orders before putting our guns down and lifting our arms above us.

“There you go...” Rodrick praised. “Nice and easy. ...Now then,” he cocked the hammer on his pistol, “I don’t believe I was clear enough before. Where exactly is...Mister Ryan?”

Neither of us said anythin’ in response, causing Kingsley to instantly fire a bullet straight into Lenny’s head and kill the kid on the spot.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, about ready to raise hell, only to have an array of guns aiming at me.

“Easy there, sunshine...” Rodrick warned. “Wouldn’t wanna get shot, now would you? After all,” he dropped Lenny’s body to the floor, “you are my favorite out of the entire gang, Arthur. I don’t wanna see you die. And besides, what would poor Eddie do without you there to protect him...?”

Suddenly remembering that Eddie was still out there somewhere, I backed down at the thought of him and forced myself to show some restraint, restlessly stayin’ in place.

Kingsley chuckled at the sight and glanced at one of his comrades, talkin’ about me as if I was some kinda wild animal.

“You see, Mrs. Middleton?” He commented. “That’s how you tame the beast. He ain’t no big, bad wolf like Colm said. The sad truth is...he’s simply human.”

I paused for a moment.

Did he say Mrs. Middleton? Shit. I never knew Thatcher had a wife. But I had no doubts that she knew about me. In fact, there were a lot of secrets within our gang that Atticus’ people seemed to know about, and it made me question just how secure our little camp really was.

Before I could think on the subject any further though, I suddenly noticed Eddie sneakin’ back into this area as he crept through the doorway that led to the stairwell, his clothes stained with small splatters of blood. I guessed he had already been through a fight of his own. I was just glad to see him in one piece.

Getting a closer look at the situation, it didn’t take long for Eddie to figure out just what exactly was goin’ on before he brandished a rifle -- one that he probably stole from the guards -- and steadily aimed it straight at Rodrick’s head, ready to fire.

Just as he went to press the trigger however, one of Kingsley’s friends happened to hear the subtle noises comin’ from Eddie’s direction and instantly spotted him, creating just the distraction that I needed to make a move.

“Rodrick!” They called. “Over there!”

Whirlin’ around in surprise, the man averted his eyes from me and, for just a split second, appeared to forget all about us as I broke into a sprint and charged towards him like an angry bull, tacklin’ him to the floor.

Almost immediately, guns went firing all around us while Josiah broke free from his captor and elbowed them in the face, bolting directly for cover. In the meantime, Strauss was simply dragged away by Mrs. Middleton as he yelled for help, only for his voice to be drowned out by the explosive gunshots thunderin’ all over the place.

In order to avoid the dozens of bullets zippin’ past me, I hurriedly jumped off of Rodrick and reached for my own rifle, making a beeline straight for the exit as Javier ran after me, firing a number of blind shots to distract our enemies.

Sliding behind a wall, I held onto my weapon for dear life and, against my better judgement, quickly glanced back at the scene where the hostages were being held, only to come across the sight of Lenny’s corpse sitting in a pool of blood.

“Goddammit, Lenny...!” I cursed, clenchin’ my jaw. “Eddie?! Are you still alive?”

The pianist called out to me from behind another Poker table.

“For now! We need to get out of here, Arthur! Is there any way to escape?”

I gestured to the door we used to enter the party.

“I think we can leave through there! But we’ll have to swim back to the city! So everyone follow me, and don’t look back! There’s too many of them for us to fight!”

Fleeing from cover, I raced from one end of the boat to another as Eddie, Javier, and Trelawny all ran beside me, our legs just barely escapin’ the shower of bullets that was raining down on the floor beneath us.

It looked like most of Atticus’ gang was stayin’ back and firing at us from a distance, but Rodrick, on the other hand, decided to switch things up and retrieved a shotgun from one of the guards’ bodies, storming after our group like a goddamned predator.

He didn’t seem to give one damn about gettin’ shot or being caught in the crossfire; all he cared about was catching up to us and marched relentlessly through every obstacle in his path, occasionally letting loose a shell here and there as we jolted outta the way.

“...Theodore Bishop!” Rodrick shouted in a singsong tone, cocking his shotgun. “I see you, boy!”

The man fired a shell at Eddie just as we hugged a corner and missed the boy by a centimeter, shattering an ornate lamp into dozens of pieces before proceeding with his hunt.

Finally reaching the exit, I practically tore one of the doors off its hinges and urged everyone else to go through first while Rodrick continued to pursue us, his weapon now out of ammo.

“Hurry!” I exclaimed, holdin’ the door open. “This way!”

Dashing to safety, Trelawny, Javier, and Eddie all scrambled through with an amount of speed I’d never seen as I followed their actions, slammin’ the door shut and locking it tight just before Rodrick could reach us.

The four of us all backed away from the exit and watched in horror as Kingsley viciously bashed the doors from the other side with the stock of his gun, hollerin’ at us like an absolute madman.

“Oh, you think you’re safe back there?!” He hammered his weapon against the wood. “Just wait until I find you again! Y’all are dead men, you hear?! DEAD MEN!”

I placed a firm hand on Eddie’s back and guided him away from the exit, escortin’ everyone to the exterior areas of the boat.

“C’mon,” I said. “We need to leave. Now!”

Scurrying through the corridors, our group wasted no time in putting this godforsaken riverboat behind us as Rodrick kept tryin’ to break the door down, his voice echoing throughout the area like thunder.

I had no idea what the living hell just happened, or how Atticus even knew we was gonna try to rob the boat, but we had to get as far as goddamned possible from Saint Denis now. What on Earth was Dutch thinkin’ when he decided to go after this tip? We already pushed our luck enough, robbing that bank...and I told him people was gonna suffer after what we did to Colm, but he just refused to listen to me. And now, Lenny was dead.

As for Strauss, I didn’t even know what his conditions were. Last I saw him, Mrs. Middleton was haulin’ him away, and I didn’t even have the chance to go after him...or retrieve Lenny’s body.

Everything was falling apart right now. Our gang’s numbers were slowly dwindling, the camp’s morale was next to nonexistent, and all this mayhem only reminded me how important it was to ensure Eddie made it out alive.

He and John...they was the only ones outta all of us who still had a chance to live a normal life. John had a family, and Eddie had a future ahead of him. The rest of us however, we were more ghosts than people. The world didn’t want folk like us no more, and sooner or later, we were just gonna have to come to terms with that.

For now though, all I wanted was to get enough money to leave this place, and possibly even this country. Shady Belle had become more of a large graveyard than a camp at this point...and I didn’t wanna be there when things finally came crashing down.

MIDNIGHT

SAINT DENIS, THE HARBOR

Reachin’ a hand down, I helped Eddie up onto the pier as we all removed ourselves from the cold water, still in shock from everything that just occurred. It looked like Rodrick had given up on his pursuit -- for now -- and for the first time in a while, we actually had a moment to breathe.

Wiping some mud off Eddie, I tidied him up a bit and thoroughly looked him over, making sure the boy was okay.

“You alright?” I asked. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

The pianist shook his head. “No. They roughed me up a little, but I’m fine. It happened when Desmond’s butler took me to collect the watch. Things were going smoothly at first, but then...they just came out of nowhere. Ambushed us. Killed the butler, too...but I managed to escape.”

I froze. “Wait, Rodrick’s men found you?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.”

A horrible thought crossed my mind. “...Then...then why was Rodrick askin’ me where you were? What was the point of holding Lenny hostage if...he already knew...?”

The pianist’s eyes widened with realization and he furrowed his brows in an apologetic manner, immediately bringin’ a hand up to caress my cheek.

“I...I think Rodrick was playing games with you, Arthur. That’s all he does. That bastard will do anything to trick people into thinking their lives are over for the sole purpose of seeing how they’ll react. I’m...I’m sorry.”

I took a step back from Eddie and dragged a hand through my hair, suddenly feelin’ more disappointed with myself than I ever had in my entire life.

That maniac knew where Eddie was all along. I could’ve just told him his location, and it wouldn’t have made any difference. The boy still would’ve been fine...and Lenny would've been with us now. How the hell did I not see it before...? Oh, you goddamned idiot, Morgan. How did you not realize...?

“...L-Let’s just get back to camp,” I replied, blinking rapidly due to the tears that threatened to spill. “Dutch is probably wonderin’ where we are.”

Trelawny agreed in a disheartened voice. “Indeed. I think I’ll join you gentlemen for now. Saint Denis isn’t exactly ideal anymore.”

Javier jumped in. “And how are we supposed to tell Dutch what happened tonight? Where do we even start?”

I stormed away from the pier with my head hanging low, both confusion and rage rippin’ me apart as I silently damned this entire city to hell, ready to knock some sense into Dutch if he didn’t pack up and leave by tomorrow.

“...With the truth.”

[whitewolfbumble]

The Fallout - Prologue (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Talk of nightmares and (minimally) human experiments, some fighting (ala Civil War), tiny bit of language.

Word Count: About 3k 

A/N: Hello my precious blueberries. Welcome to the prologue before the start of The Fallout! You can skip to Part One if you so choose really, this sets up where in the MCU timeline we are, along with you backstory, and the first meeting with you & Bucky. I haven’t written anything in forever so please let me know what you think or if you would like to be tagged!! A reblog, like, or message would mean so much! 

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST

They had found you some time ago. To be specific about it, Steve had found you some time ago. It felt like another lifetime to you now. But you tried not to keep track of the amount of lifetimes you felt you’d lived.

Back in those days the Avengers would catch wind of something about to go down, but time and time again you would beat them to the punch, as it were.

They would show up just as you left, expecting to find an enemy to take down or situation to get under control. But they would instead discover a group of enemies roped together (usually unconscious and somewhat undamaged) and the day saved. You had tried to put the killing behind you… as much as the gangs and groups you tracked down would allow.

The Team would show up and you would vanish, leaving only the whispers of any onlookers who caught a glimpse of you. Tearing apart buildings and bodies was never much of a public activity of yours, but whispers followed your wake nonetheless.

There weren’t any civilian casualties to your missions so you were never high on any official watch list. Just a ghost that went from city to city, popping up in one country then the next, somehow knowing where the trouble would be. Often just before the Avengers knew it and always just enough time to get it done yourself before they flew in.

It was a game you had played for quite a while.

But Steve knew what this looked like. He understood who could train someone to do this, with the stealth, boldness, and efficiency like you did. He had said as much when he finally caught you.

“How long were you with them?”

There was no real condemnation in his voice surprisingly, but understandingly. It was the first time you had met the infamous boy scout face to face. You figured he would be a self-righteous prick but, like all that met him, that notion was quickly dispelled.

You had wanted to distrust him more than you inherently did, like you did everyone. Even when you lined up side-by-side the destruction and bloodshed you had caused lately versus the kind yet firm voice of Steve Rogers, something didn’t add up. There was another variable that made him a little softer than expected, you just didn’t know what yet.

“You would’ve read my file. Guess,” you said, not exactly unkind.

Maybe it was a combination of his kind eyes and voice that prompted your invitation for him to pry deeper. Why ever you said that to him, you didn’t know. You decided in a moment that you didn’t want a gentle man like him to look too far into your past after all.

He thought briefly nodding slightly as he took your advice and began to take a crack at it. “Not all of them had pictures–”

“You’re right. The worst of their experiments didn’t.”

You figured out later what it meant for Steve to find you. You were a step to something greater. You didn’t take offense to it, on the contrary; you joined in, firm and resolute when he told you why you were so important. And after years that would hopefully be coming to fruition today.

“Keep sharp, they’re not going to be far behind,” said the voice in your earpiece.

“Understood,” you whispered back. A heavy slam followed your words. 

Entering the small apartment with a heavy kick to the wood door, you didn’t stop to look around or search for anyone. The only movement was the cloud of dust brushing up around you when the door hit the wall. You knew no one would be here, your recon earlier proving this specific unit was abandoned.

Special forces weren’t going to be exactly gentle in this situation but they would be a lot slower than you. You also needed to be a lot more subtle than them too.

Subtle being relative, you noted as you kicked in the back door, a gust of cool air flooding you and the stale space.

The musty little apartment you were in had been abandoned like most in the decrepit building, offering a perfecting “jumping off poing” as it were.

This place was perfect for someone lying low, you noted, appreciating how smart a move this was for the man you were after.

“I’m about to enter the apartment, I’ll confirm once I’m in,” you said, hushed. “Or you’ll hear a big metal fist hitting my face and the cracking bones will tell you.”

“Please,” Sam started, flying somewhere above you as you gauged the balcony one floor below you and one to the left. “Like he could possibly get a shot at you, even if he was in there. And that would mean you were wrong about him being gone. For the record, also not happening. I’d stake my wings on it.”

“Yeah, except that is exactly how you would want your apartment to appear if you were actually there,” you said, looping and securing your grappling device onto the railing then to the back of your belt.

You slipped on your gloves: jagged metal on your knuckles but a gripping ribbed plastic on the fingers and palms.

“You’ve got this, Y/N,” Steve said on the comm line, somewhere below you. You pulled yourself up on the railing crouching and keeping low, steadying yourself in the slight wind. The fourteen stories between you and ground didn’t factor into your mind at all, eyes and mind focused. “We’re here as back up. This is only recon. We only need confirmation for now.“

“Is that how you stayed alive all these years?” Sam questioned, ignoring Steve. “Paranoia dialed up?”

You still stayed fixed on the balcony you intended to leap too, muscles tensing as you readied yourself.

“Probably,” you said before throwing yourself off of the ledge.

A rush of cold wind whipped your face and whizzed in your ears, the sudden feeling of falling fast lurching your stomach into your throat. Arms out, you grasped on to the metal railing of the intended balcony with a bone-jarring thud and used your soaring momentum to throw your body head first over it, flipping in one smooth motion and rolling to your feet. You ended up in a crouched position on the balcony floor, with the feeling of your stomach now at your feet before it snapped back in place.

Immediately you pressed yourself to the side of the balcony, flush against the cold, rough brick. Silently you pulled your gun out and stood up, unlatching the safety line from your belt. Looking through the small back door window into the apartment you saw the curtains somewhat drawn, leaving the interior dimly lit with a soft orange glow.

Exactly how you would have left it.

Getting in wasn’t a problem- most places couldn’t keep you out no matter how hard they tried- and certainly not a 50-year-old rusty porch door in Bucharest.

Whisper quiet you walked in, measured footsteps grounded and stable like you were waiting for a shadow to leap out and kick your legs out from under you at any moment.

You weren’t nervous, not really, it was more habit than anything. Or maybe experience was a better word for it. People dropping out of the shadows to try and kill you was all too habitual for you. Or it used to be anyways. But old habits die hard.

You made quick work of the tiny interior. Nothing in any rooms, no one to be found. ”I’m in. All clear.”

The dark apartment was dingy and homey. Soft light bleared through the old tattered curtains, lighting up small patches of the equally old space in a dusty haze. A mismatch of outdated paint and yellowed wallpaper lined the creaky, cramped apartment. Everything was basic and old and used. Little food, no real clothes, a tattered blanket on a threadbare mattress. It was lived in, with the worn look of memories rotting every inch of it.

You immediately liked it, in a sad kind of way. This would be a place you would pick too. A place you felt you deserved. Dated and forgotten.

You made your way back the door again to start your search and stopped in the kitchen first. Your mission was not to find the owner necessarily, but to confirm the intel was correct that this was his place.

You picked up a small brown notebook off of the top of the low fridge. Carefully you turned it over before gently opening the pages. Small cramped writing was within, sometimes long continuous blocks of words filled page upon page, sometimes short little pieces only a couple lines each were here and there. Small little coloured stickers stuck to some of the pages, obviously there to keep track of something of significance. You turned to a red one, part way through the book.

“…Coney Island Cyclone six times. We got sick but were laughing right after for some reason. The girls had left us after the third time around…”

Memories, you thought to yourself. This was a book of memories.

“Y/N?” Steve said while you kept reading.

“The intel was right, this is his place,” you said in a whisper.

“Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” you said, holding the open notebook in your hand. “I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“For what? We don’t have long. If it’s his place he’ll be close and we have to find him before the German Special Forces are on his trail.”

You turned over a few more pages, fingers and eyes trailing down the small little words.

“Then you should go,” you whispered. “I need to follow up with a few things here.” 

“Y/N, you’re our best way of tracking him, I need—”

“I haven’t… secured the area,” you said, not really any truth to that. “I need to make sure there aren’t any… traps for unwanted visitors. Particularly if the police decide to knock on the door.”

You shrugged to no one, making up some excuse to stay put. You knew he would be back, and you knew this whole mission wouldn’t work if the team overwhelmed him.

“Alright,” Steve agreed after a moment. “Sam will keep an eye above. Y/N, update me immediately if anything happens.” 

You nodded in acknowledgment.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, agreed,” you sighed slightly. Somethings go without saying, just not on this team.

You continued to stay motionless in the kitchen, reading the little booklet that was left behind. You knew he would come back for it. This was precious. You only write down memories for a limited number of reasons. He wouldn’t leave this unattended long.

You didn’t tell Steve your gut instinct about this as you didn’t want to get his hopes up. Really, very few of the possible outcomes you could think of actually ended well. So you waited alone.

“… stabbed in the side, throat crushed. There were two witnesses, his wife and their child, and I shot both in…”

“… injections in both thighs with a deep green liquid, making me convulse uncontrollably. Searing pain began from my hips to my feet. I begged them to cut off my legs but they didn’t respond. They never did. The pain didn’t stop until after the sun when down…”

“… train car alone, cargo carrying boxes of cheap plastic toys. It was dark and freezing and traveling somewhere in the woods…”

“…. and I couldn’t control it. I resisted until I blacked out but they tried again and I wasn’t able to stop it…”

Your back had been to the front door the whole time, but you didn’t need any indication that he was there. He made no sound, and nor did you. He would’ve known you were in the apartment before he entered, just as you knew when he came in and stood behind you now.

“Head’s up, Y/N, German Special Forces approaching from the south,” came Sam’s voice.

You paused, debating on responding and interrupting the silence that now hung heavy and thick in the air.

“Understood,” you said quietly, placing the notebook back on the fridge and turned around slowly.

He stood there in front of you, your mind snapping his face into the memories you had of him. Those memories were old and worn and blurred. They still stung you white hot in your dreams sometimes, but the faces in those memories had faded over the years.

The sudden wave of remembrance bound you in like a vice, twisting and weaving pain into your muscles, sinking deeper and deeper. It was like for a brief moment you were back there, reliving them from the beginning. For a second there was such clarity to those memories that you haven’t had in decades.

But you looked beyond his face to his eyes, and the murky twisted face that usually filled your unconsciousness shifted back into its usual place, before the image of the nightmares faded from your mind completely.

His eyes were different than what you remembered. Vastly different from what you had seen all those years ago.

Deep and blue and searching your own eyes for something, he looked at you. In them there was no threat. He held your stare with his own, guarded and with a muted desperation of trying to place you.

He didn’t remember you.

Your blurry memories had come flooding back in a second, but his had not. You weren’t a painful memory behind his eyes or written in his little brown notebook. He didn’t remember.

For some reason, you instantly felt lighter at that. The pain of your shared experiences would have weighed heavily on you both and you had been bracing yourself for it. You were relieved that it never came.

You immediately took him in, wondering about the next move. You knew yours wouldn’t be violent if you could help it. He was breathing fast, but body looked to be relaxed enough for the situation. He stood wearing a simple cap, red shirt, and brown coat. No weapon, no clenched fists, not even in a posed position ready to leap into violence. He was oddly still, obviously fighting the desire to kick into fight or flight.

He probably didn’t know why either. But you did.

“Do you know me?” you asked simply, your voice smooth and low.

His breath was still quick, you could practically smell his adrenalin mixed with that telltale super soldier heat.

“No, I don’t,” His voice was deep and growly, but it wasn’t completely sure. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“They’ve set the perimeter,” came Sam’s distant voice in your earpiece again.

“I know you’re nervous,” you said taking a small step forward. “And you have plenty of reason to be… But you know that’s not true, Bucky.”

Regardless of whether or not Bucky remembered you from his past, you were an Avenger… of sorts (or that’s at least how you thought of it). 

You weren’t shiny, or in the spotlight, or a poster child of good deeds. To the public you were quiet and dark and kept back, hood covering you up and eyes always down. Generally the populous didn’t bother you much as most were too afraid of you anyway. All for good reason.

Maybe he could ignore any semblance of memory, but not when you were face to face here. He knew from the media that you were Hydra, twisted and broken like he had been by them, and that you had escaped their death grip on your body and mind.

At any rate, he would know from the TV coverage what brought you here and could guess your allegiance.

“I wasn’t in Vienna, I don’t do that anymore,” He shook his head once, slightly, body getting tenser by the minute.

“They’re entering the building,” Sam buzzed.

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now,” Another step closer, your voice a kind warning. “And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

He nodded, understanding. Defeat was behind his eyes. And you didn’t think it was for his impending fate, but the souls that were going to try and take him down. A pang of understanding hit you.

“Smart,” he said, shifting. “Good strategy.”

Right on cue came Sam’s next warning was followed by footsteps coming from the ceiling above you. Both of your eyes broke apart from each other and shot upward for a moment.

“They’re on the roof, I’m compromised.”

Bucky turned to the right and walked towards the other side of the room, his fist now clenched and breath sighing.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Bucky.”

He sighed and you could see the defeat in him rolling through his body, uncoiling and recoiling his now posed muscles.

“It always does.”

“Thirty seconds, Y/N.”

Shit. You needed more time. Your goal had been to get here and convince him he could have a life. Build new memories. And not do it alone. You weren’t convinced of your resolve until you saw him. The real him. Not the one you had known or the one they had made him be.

“You don’t want to live like this anymore, do you?” you asked quickly, needing to at least try and reach him before this all went to hell. “You could have gone back to them, but you didn’t. If you still want to fight than why are you here?”

He looked up, pained and guarded. “I don’t know.”

You all but closed the distance between the both of you, walking within his metal arms’ reach.

“Because you don’t want this anymore!” you implored. “I got out Bucky, I did. You know you can too. You can return to who you were. It’s possible, I’m proof of that.”

And then everything went to shit.

One grenade crashed through the small kitchen window and immediately your emotions shut down and you kicked it into high gear.

In a split second you slid back over the small kitchen bar and reached to grab frying pan off of the stove. You swooped down to scoop the grenade back out the window when another came through the window next to Bucky.

He reached down, grabbed it, and threw it at you as you swung around, knocking it back out the window with the frying pan. But just barely.

“Really? C’mon,” you said. Such a dick move.

Hearing yelling from outside and figuring you probably couldn’t reel in an ex-Hydra super soldier alone, plus fight the full force of the German Special Forces team, all while simultaneously not managing to kill either party. 

Killing them would’ve been quick and easy. But this you had your doubts at.

“Steve, I have an update!” you shouted, as Bucky one-handedly threw the dining room table down the hall, blocking both the door and the soldiers looking to get in.

But two soldiers crashed through the windows and you both simultaneously punched them out in one hard blow to the face. He might have a metal arm, but you came prepared with your own brass knuckle gloves. 

The jagged metal met the face of the nearest soldier and you fought your instincts to both keep fighting him and keep fighting everyone else until they all stayed down.

You didn’t need to shout commands or tell Bucky what you were doing, you knew you both would be thinking of the same thing. Call it your shared Hydra upbringing.

You wretched open the back door just in time for the solider to come in gun first. You grabbed it hard and pulled, sending him careening forward until Bucky’s appeared beside you, his fist slamming into the soldier’s chest and sent him flying back two feet in the air and almost right off the balcony’s edge.

You reached out and grabbed Bucky, eyes wide. Did he have any control in a fight? You couldn’t remember exactly when you came out of it, but even with some shared experiences and similar reflexes, you were still decidedly not the same people.

“Bucky, stop! You’re going to kill someone!” Pot calling the kettle black right there, but whatever.

“Y/N, I’ve engaged! Working my way up to you,” Shots and grunts sounded in the background of Steve’s voice.

Bucky whirled around with a metal arm crashing into your chest and slamming you down to the ground hard. For a moment his body was poised above you, his own chest heaving against yours. Again he brought his metal arm up and fist clenched he drove it down into the floor, just an inch away from your face.

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” He reached into the newly made hole in the floor, pulled out a bag and threw it clean out of the apartment to the building across the street.

And from the look in his eyes, you believed him. His eyes were endlessly deep and pained. But the pain wasn’t for himself.

Maybe he did have control.

“Alright,” you nodded, agreeing with him, just as Steve crashed in and the next wave hit the three of you full force.

PART ONE

[sweetimagines]

Serpents and Flowers - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Description: Moving to Riverdale Hgh is a better change than Sweet Pea could expect.

Warnings: None I can think of.

Word Count: 1227

A/N: Excuse my cliché. I couldn't help myself. I’m sorry it’s been over a moth without any updates... 

Tag: @southsidejuggie (Cleaning out my tag list. Let me know if you want to be tagged.)

Y/N’s point of view

When the news of Southside High closing down hit, the loud cheers muffled Y/N’s near panic attack. It was near impossible to find a middle ground between the Serpents and the Ghoulies, but she managed to, and the girl was more than comfortable where she stood. Yes, the toilets didn't work, the principal didn't care, the library didn’t have any good books and the English teacher turned out to be the Candyman, but it was still her home. Y/N understands that for most of the students this is a good change, not everyone can be an autodidact like her, but being shipped elsewhere is a nightmare she wasn't expecting. 

Luckily, Y/N’s not going too far: Riverdale High, along with mostly Serpents. Most Ghoulies were sent to Bexter High, so she could only imagine the mayhem they were gonna cause in Greendale. Between the two gangs, she much rather stick with the snakes than the ghouls. Either way, she’s not expecting a warm welcome from the Northsiders. Having their school filled with Serpents must be just as annoying for them as having to go to said school for Y/N. 

Y/N walks through the front doors of Riverdale high. Jughead takes the lead on the group - she thinks it’s because he used to go there before Southside High - while she tries her best to stand as far away and hidden as possible. From the back, she can barely hear the raven-haired girl that looks like a goth princess but sees perfectly well the look of discontent on the ginger boy next to her. There’s something almost fake to her tone - whenever Y/N catches a few sentences - though she doesn't get a chance to fully investigate it as a wicked being interrupts them to insult the new comers. 

While everyone’s focus is on the gang’s jackets, it’s easy for Y/N to go by unnoticed. However, after the graffiti incident - which she’s sure it wasn't the gang since she’s familiar with their style and that... was just plain ridiculous - the Principal makes her wear the uniform even if she’s not affiliated with the Southside Serpents. Which happens to be the first time the Northsiders notice Y/N’s presence there, being the last thing she wanted. She avoids drawing attention but the “blue and gold” uniform that only Southsiders are supposed to wear doesn't exactly help. She keeps mostly to herself, laying low in the library. Where an unexpected and indirect - but very much appreciated - company is found. 

Sweet Pea’s point of view

The past few weeks at Riverdale High have not really gone according to what Sweet Pea expected. The problem is not even having to wear a stupid uniform - after a few days, it wasn't even required anymore - or the constant bickering with the Bull Dogs, but keeping up with classes. It’s not as if he was failing classes at Southside High, but between teachers that didn't care and textbooks with missing pages it certainly didn't prep him for the constant content intake. He has two different essays to write and homework for almost every class. It feels like being punched hard in the face with knowledge, but Sweet knows how to take a punch and he’s an expert at hitting back. It also doesn't help that the only time he sees Toni is when she comes over in the morning to cover his thumb tattoo with foundation. He was used to running his essays through Topaz first to make sure he spelled everything correctly, but since she joined the River Vixens, her time for old friends has been limited - he’s not salty at all... but still doesn't complain about it. He understands that constantly hanging out with two childish dudes must be draining for her and he knows she needs girl friends as well. Fangs, on the other hand, is a whole different story. SP reckons Kevin Keller must have some kind of spell over his male friends, first Joaquin and now Fogarty, which he finds odd, given that Foaquin was once a thing. Fangs and SP were both supposed to try out for basketball. Instead, his friend went after wrestling, no explanation needed there. Jughead is too concerned with making sure people know he’s a proud Southside Serpent that it reached an annoying level even for Sweets, so he’s been avoiding him.

The library becomes his new safe haven. Quiet and full of books he has to read in order to at least get a B on his assignments. Pea recognizes one Southsider girl who is also always there. Her name doesn't come to mind as he’s only seen her in passing, but she was always easy on the eyes. Occasionally, he spots her getting a bag of chips from the vending machine in the students lounge when his three best friends hang out for lunch - which only happens if Toni doesn't have cheer stuff, Fangs already had his daily share of Keller, and Jughead isn't hiding away in the Blue and Gold’s office. Every single time, Sweets thought about asking her to join them, but not even knowing how to call her always stopped him. It seems Topaz is aware of his wishes. “That’s Y/N.” She shares, as the girl walks out of the lounge - headed to the library. “She was in my math class back at Southside High.” The pink-haired girl has an approving smirk on her lips. SP doesn't even try to pretend Y/N hasn't left his mind, it’s no use with his friends, they know him too well. “I don’t see much of her anymore. Big school and she was always... reserved.”, Fangs adds before chewing on his sandwich. “I see her all the time in the library.” Sweets wishes he’d see more of her. “You should talk to her.”, Toni suggests, taking a bite off her green apple. A mischief look takes over her and Pea barely has time to frown his brows before she’s dragging him out.

They make their way up the steps to the second floor. “Care to tell where you’re taking me?”, Sweet Pea asks as Toni is still holding onto his flannel. “Library.” She lets go of hi, instantly regretting as he stops walking. “You can take down any Ghoulie that comes your way but is too scared to talk to a girl?” She resorts to his ego and it works. The second they reach the doors to the library, the bell rings and a girl rushes their way, bumping hard on Sweets. Her folder was half open and a paper falls down from her grip. Pea quickly picks it up and takes a look. It’s a half finished drawing of what he recognizes to be his face - mostly because of the Serpents tattoo on it’s neck - being cut diagonally by a flower. Toni gets a peak at it before Y/N retrieves it - her face as red as a tomato. “Thanks.”, she mumbles and speeds away to her next class. Sweet Pea stands motionless, flabbergasted. “Those were sweet peas.” Topaz shows a google search of the beautiful flowers to him from her phone. The tall Serpent is still taken aback by Y/N’s pencil strokes that made him look peacefully handsome. 

[belladonaofylisse-blog]

anyone interested in interacting with my kids?

i realized that i’ve barely had my kiddos interact with anyone so if you’d be interested with our ocs interacting, please send me a message about it! i would love to see my characters have more friends ( or enemies lol )

and here are some short character bios under the cut so people don’t have to track down their old, outdated ones.

IOLE — 24 years old, Female ( cis ), War Cleric

History: Born in New Plegia, but ran away with her mother to escape her father, Askari’s constant abuse. They lived on the streets of Ylisse for a time until a kindly priest named Issak took them in, offering them a place to stay at the monastery where he worked and lived. Iole was reluctant to trust him at first, but quickly came around to him after he comforted her from a nightmare. Issak eventually married her mother, Nura, but she died a few years later due to a prolonged illness. After her mother’s death, Iole dedicated herself to becoming a high-ranked officer just like her mother was, training every single day. Through helping her step-father with his priestly duties and training everyday, she grew into a strong young woman and enlisted as soon as she finished her training. Once enlisted, she quickly raised up the ranks, even being promoted from a recruit to a soldier only 5 months into her training period. Many rumors began to spread about how she achieved such a thing, some believing she did so through less-than-honorable means. Because of this, she had no friends to speak of. She became the captain of her platoon a year after joining and eventually was promoted to be the 23rd platoon’s lieutenant after the departure of their previous lieutenant. She currently works directly for Maxwell, who she also has a rather obvious crush on.

After Lucien’s death, Iole along with her childhood friend, Eion, and Issak left Ylisse to look for Maxwell. Unknown to her, Askari had found her location and tailed her to Valm. 3 weeks passed until he made his move and cornered Iole. He attempted to kill her with his musket, but Issak took the fatal bullet for her, being shot in the chest. Askari unfortunately escaped and Issak died from his wound. Iole refused to return home, insisting upon staying to help Maxwell and Elene. Though, she is currently at an extreme low-point, being severely depressed and reckless.

Personality: Hard-working. Compassionate. Generous. Friendly and Personable. Motherly towards others. Flirtatious at times. Extremely Protective of her loved ones. Works quickly. Bottles up negative emotions. Tends to put on a smile, even when upset. Puts others before herself. Paranoid of losing those who she cares for. Emotionally Brittle. Merciless on the battlefield. Apathetic and Reclusive as a child.

EION — 21 years old, Male ( trans ), Valkyrie

History: Originally born in Chon’sin to a impoverished young couple, He was left in the care of a monastery in Ylisse by his parents, hoping to give him a better life than they could. Eion preferred to keep to himself, even lashing out at those who attempted to connect with him. Because of this, he became extremely reclusive and often skulked about the monastery. He found himself often watching others from a distance, especially Iole upon her arrival. Eventually, she confronted him and while she was combative towards him at first, they two grew to become rather close as she slowly began to trust others. Along with this, Eion ended up developing feelings for Iole, but was far too scared to act upon them. After she enlisted, he was content with staying at the monastery, but soon came to realize how lonely he was without her around. Iole sending home letters mentioning Maxwell on a frequent basis also seemed to spur him on. Asking Issak to teach him how to wield magic, he became Eion’s mentor. Upon finishing his training, he left the monastery for Ylisstol. After enlisting, he quickly realized that there was little hope that Iole would return his feelings and his feelings soon began to fade. Unfortunately, he developed a crush on Lani soon after.

Currently, Eion is still rather shaken after Issak’s death. His stress and anxiety is only amplified by having to deal with his unrequited feelings for Lani.

Personality: Appears Stoic and Aloof. Really just Shy and Socially Awkward. Abrasive towards others. Dedicated to doing his best. Often overworks himself. Frequently Stressed. Easily embarrassed or flustered. Tries to be as serious as possible. Shows his more relaxed and playful nature once close with others. Hopeless Romantic. Falls in love easily.

VERA — 1,815 years old, Female ( cis ), Manakete

History: The daughter of the former divine dragon, Xane, Vera grew up traveling about the world with her parents. During this long period of happiness, she spent most of her days playing and admiring the cultures of the world, but only from a distance. With tensions raising in Archanea, Xane and Vera’s mother, Aine, grew fearful of what could happen to them or their daughter. As a result, they concealed their manakete heritage from the world and lived away from society. Many years passed, the three living through the ruin of war and the prosperity of peace. Upon finding that her sister had gone missing, Aine tearfully said her goodbyes to her family and began her search, leaving Xane to care for Vera alone. For years after, Vera and her father continued to travel, but soon enough, Vera’s curiosity got the best of her. One day, while sneaking away to venture into the city by herself, she was attacked by a group of bandits. They were ready to steal her away to their camp until Xane came to save his daughter. While he was able to scare them away by successfully transforming into his former dragon form, it took a heavy toll of his body. With his last breaths, he told Vera to find Tiki and keep herself safe. She followed her father’s dying request and began to travel throughout Ylisse to find where Lady Tiki was. Eventually learning of her location from a kind fortuneteller, she set of to Valm to meet her father’s dear friend.

After living with Tiki for a year and a half, Vera decided to leave Mila Tree and search for her mother. She is currently still searching for her, but fears that she may never find her.

Personality: Cheerful. Carefree. Adventurous. Playful. Somewhat Mischievous. Friendly. Childlike. Often has her head in the clouds. Forgetful. Distracted easily. Always smiling. Naturally Curious. No concept of personal space. Quick Learner. Terrified of Bandits.

KODA — 20 years old, Female ( cis ), Dancer

History: Koda keeps her past a secret to many, only sharing that her parents were killed when she was young and she has a twin sister named Kanza. Escaping from their caretakers, she and Kanza were separated during their escape. For a time, Koda wandered about Ylisse, looking for her sister. She soon gave up after 2 long months of searching and eventually found herself in the ports of Ylisse. She decided to travel to Valm in the hopes of possibly starting over. Learning that the Seven Seas was set to return to Valm that night, but with no money to pay for passage, she resorted to using her usual tactics to find her way onto the ship. Seducing a member of the crew and knocking them out once they were in the lower decks, she quickly hide amongst the cargo, but was quickly caught by Batiste. Instinctively, she shakily held a sword to his throat. While his crew was ready to protect their captain, Batiste stopped them, saying that he “liked her.” This caught Koda off-guard, allowing him to easily disarm her. She feared the worst was about to come, but was surprised when Batiste allowed her to stay on the ship until they arrived in Valm. Confused that he didn’t throw her overboard or harm her, she quickly began to find herself often thinking of Batiste and how strange he seemed to be. The crew was kind to her as well, despite her threatening their captain’s life before. Upon arriving in Valm, she was somewhat sad to leave the ship, but was ready to do so. She was shocked when Batiste offered her a place in his crew, which she agreed to without a second thought. Since then, she works for the crew by doing whatever she can to help.

Personality: Comes off as emotionless at first. Slowly warms to people. Timid. Quiet. Somewhat meek. Easily confused or embarrassed. Often lost in her own thoughts. Unintentionally brutal at times. Tends to not think before she speaks. Passionate. Likes to compliment people. Scared of becoming intimate with others. Extremely sensitive to touch.

KANZA — 20 years old, Female ( cis ), Duelist

History: Like Koda, Kanza rarely speaks of her past besides the basics of it. Though, she is much more willing to talk about how it affected her. After getting separated from Koda, she began looking for her sister, but found no leads on where she was. She decided to leave for Valm, hoping that perhaps Koda had gone there as well. Eventually ending up in Rosanne, she tried to find work while looking for her sister, but with little success. Spending a few nights sleeping in the streets, she then met Falcon one night, who offered her a place to stay. She was reluctant to trust him, but was quickly won over by a hot meal and a warm bed to rest in. While she soon began to trust her new caretakers, their habit of sneaking off in the dead of the night made Kanza wonder what they did while they were away from the tavern. Her curiosity got the best of her, eventually following Falcon on one of his missions and finding out about his role in the Beasts. After saving him from a sniper, Falcon agreed to help her impress Lioness enough to get her into the gang. Soon enough, Kanza found a new family with the Beasts, assuming the codename of Dove and becoming their information gatherer.

Personality: Playful. Flirtatious. Loves to compliment people. Hot-headed. Easily Angered or Frustrated. Protective of her loved ones. Extremely defensive. Combative. Overly Emotional. Flustered when complimented. Hates being talked down to or demeaned.

[thatishogwash]

I’d Follow You Anywhere

A/N: Slowly getting around to posting all the stories that seem to keep piling up in my folder. The number of “Untitled Document”s I have is ridiculous.

AO3 Kuroo is naked and tied to a street lamp.  Well, he’s  mostly naked, apparently his oh-so-kind, psychotic kidnappers decided that taking his grimy, dirty underwear was just one step too far in their plan to use him as bait.  Honestly if that had happened a decade ago, Kuroo wouldn’t even say this was the worst thing that had happened to him.  He was in the middle of Tokyo so someone would eventually cut him down and the worst-case-scenario would be to have his mostly-naked body posted all over the internet and maybe he’d be taken in for public indecency.

Except it’s not a decade prior, it’s now and now means the fucking apocalypse is happening.  Has happened.  The world has already gone to shit and Kuroo had been taken in by some post-apocalyptic bullshit gang who decided to string him up to a light post in the middle of a zombie-infested Tokyo to try and capture the rest of his people.

It was that last thought that had him struggling at his restraints until he was out of breath and hurting from where the rope had dug into his exposed skin.  He needs to get out, and only partly because it’s only a matter of time before a hoard of the undead come ambling down towards him and he can’t even defend himself.  Mostly he needs to get out because if his people do see him, despite the fact that he sacrificed himself- let himself be run down and captured so they’d have time to escape, they would walk right into the trap to try and rescue him and then they’d all be fucked.

Kuroo pulled and pushed against the ropes before his whole body froze and his head cocked to the side.  Subconsciously he wass attuned to every spare noise because the street had been dead silent since he was strung up to the light post.  He knew that the psychotic assholes are somewhere in the surrounding buildings, waiting and watching but he wondered what would happen if zombies got to him before someone living did.

Kuroo turned his head, his heart pounding wildly in his ears, a whimper caught in his throat.

Something down the street, around the corner and out of sight was making noise.  A soft thud, followed by a long draaaag and Kuroo was pulling at the restraints, trying not to make any noise even though he wanted to sob.

Thud. Draaag.

The reason Kuroo refers to them as zombies, besides the fact that they are zombies, is because it dehumanizes them and lets him detach from the situation.  Zombies brought up memories of video games and bad B-rated horror movies with even worse subtitles.  Zombies were dumb and slow and easily shot down with one clean shot through the head.

Thud. Draaag.

Kuroo had never shot a gun in his life.  His aim was terrible and his hands trembled so badly that he always handed over a gun to someone more capable.  Guns were practically useless though, they were so loud and the one thing that was sure to draw the undead was a loud noise.  Not to mention it wasn’t exactly easy to come across guns either, let alone find or keep ammunition.  Also guns backfire and discharge incorrectly if they aren’t cared for properly, which is never anything they show in tv shows.  Guns are useless.

Thud. Draaag.

Where there was one zombie, there were more.  They congregate together, just like most alive humans do.  Before everything went radio silent there were a lot of studies conducted about that phenomenon.  Some said it was just natural, others arguing it was a basic human trait and somewhere inside the undead, there was the same building blocks of humanity that existed in alive people.

Thud.  Draaag.

Kuroo stopped caring about who the zombies were before they became zombies a long time ago.  Letting yourself believe that zombies could one day be rehabilitated was a one way trip to crazy down, and Kuroo had enough to be crazy about.  Like the fact that it wasn’t just zombies hunting people, but other people too.  Those who had shed all sense of morals and humanity and hunted people down.

Thud. Draaag.

Like the assholes who had cornered Kuroo’s group.  They had stripped Kuroo of all his supplies, his clothes, even his socks.  They had jeered and roughed him up, spat on him, treated him lesser and Kuroo hated those people more than the zombies.  Zombies, to Kuroo, completely lacked all humanity.  Their only thought was to feed.  The jackwads who tied Kuroo to the light post, they had no such excuse, they knew what they were doing was wrong but they just didn’t care.

Thud. Draaag.

Kuroo eyes were wide, he knows he hasn’t blinked in a while because they are burning and hurt but he stares as the creature- the zombie, the undead- whatever the fuck you want to call it, stumbled around the corner of the street.  His- her- it’s leg ends in a stump where it’s foot should be, the dull thud is bone hitting concrete, the drag because the leg is broken somewhere near the knee.

Kuroo was hyperventilating, his lungs hurt and he was trying not to make any noise but he couldn’t stop the complete and utter panic crawling up his throat because it was one thing to see a zombie down the street and know you have time to run, to run as fast and as far as you can because where there’s one-

There’s two.  The second is crawling, fucking crawling because its legs are gone.

Zombies are terrifying, a mixture of human and horror that makes something twist in the gut at the complete wrongness of it all.  Kuroo had always hightailed it out of there whenever he spotted one, but he was tied to a fucking lamp post and he couldn’t move or breathe properly and-

Three.  Three zombies.  They hadn’t noticed him yet, eyes probably rotted out but it was only a matter of time.  Kuroo wanted to scream and fight and tear his restraints away but he couldn’t make any noise.  Some stupid part of him still believed he could escape this, still find his way out if he just stopped and thought and used his brain because he wass so fucking clever but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t think, and his brain felt as useless as a zombie brain.

Something crashed  around the corner and the zombies were suddenly gone, crawling and dragging dead broken limbs back where they came from to chase after the noise and Kuroo’s hung his head and felt, for the first time, the wetness on his own face.

Tears and snot and spit mix.  Kuroo felt his chest stutter as he tried to regulate his breathing, tried to gain some semblance of control but then something was sliding past his legs, the little gray-blue canister made a soft whistle sound before smoke was pouring out of it.

Kuroo fought harder against the restraints, eyes glancing fearfully at the corner where they zombies had disappeared. Someone had dropped a smoke bomb near him and it had made enough noise to echo down the silent street and the zombies couldn’t have gotten that far.  Smoke was filling up his vision, clogging up his throat and nose, tightening his lungs, but he refused to cough.  Refused to make any more noise as he struggled-

Something touched his hands and Kuroo had to fight back a sob, but before he could work himself up into a good panic, before he could think too much of zombies eating his fingers first and working their way to the rest of him, his hands are free.  Then his torso and Kuroo twisted around, looked down where a huddled black figure is quickly sawing away at the ropes tying his legs to the lamp post.

Kuroo heard shouts, from his captures, he’d know those voices anywhere.  There was a loud ear piercing screech that made Kuroo’s blood run cold as he stumbled out of the ropes as the knife cuts him free.  A hand around his wrist is pulling, tugging him and Kuroo was stumbling around as the screeching-yell is nearly upon them.

Every inch of Kuroo hurts, from the beating he had been given him to the constant struggle against the ropes to running on concrete with bare feet, but his fear keeps his legs pumping.  The dark figure, a man dressed all in black, is tugging him this way and that way, peering around corners quickly before leading him through a maze of streets and back alleys.

Sometimes when Kuroo’s adrenaline runs high and for too long, when there’s not enough food in his stomach and too many endorphins running through his system and lack of sleep plays a key factor in that too, when all those things happen something switches in his brain.  He goes on autopilot, survival mode- whatever the term is.  Things seem to happen in a cutscene sort of way.

Running down alleys.

Broken glass cutting his foot.

A strong, firm grip on his wrist.

Heart pounding, lungs throbbing.

A sharp turn to the left.

Crouching low and slipping into a dark, dark space through a basement window quickly boarded up behind him.

A finger against his lips, hand back on his wrist and pulling him down, low.

Sitting in pitch blackness for hours, muscles screaming, stomach pitching painfully, sweat drying on his skin, cold shivers running up his back.

Then everything snaps back into focus as a soft light comes on.  A small candle that barely illuminates the space around it.  A heavy backpack being placed next to the light, a wide figure searching through the contents, small noises that feel like gunshots in the enclosed space.

“Thank you,” Kuroo says, his voice low and raspy and he’s not even ashamed that there are tears on his face again.  He doesn’t know this person, doesn’t know why he risked his life to save him.  He obviously knew that Kuroo had been bait in a trap, that there were zombies close by, but he still saved him.  For what purpose?  Do nice, decent people still exist in this shit stain of a world?  Kuroo didn’t know any of those answers, but his mother's voice is telling him to be polite, always thank someone for doing something for you.  She probably never imagined her son being saved in some nightmare postapocalyptic world by a figure dressed in black from zombies and psychotic human-hunters, but that’s all semantics.

“Your welcome.”  Kuroo is shocked by the voice, a deep trembling bass and the ring of amusement in the tone.  The ski mask is pulled off, and Kuroo squints into the low lighting, thankful that the man is leaning into it, trying to see the contents of his backpack.  He’s amazingly plain, was Kuroo’s first thought.  Shorter than Kuroo with wide shoulders, black short hair that was sticking up every which way because of the ski mask,  brown eyes, and dark skin.  His features are arranged nicely but plainly, Kuroo imagines he’d be a businessman if the world hadn’t gone to shit.  Just another Japanese man in a suit in the streets of Tokyo.  Instead of this post apocalyptic hero, and Kuroo thinks he’s a hero now, dressed in a black threadbare sweater with a black coat over, dirty, stained dark jeans tucked into black boots.

“I’m sorry?”  Kuroo asked, keeping his voice low when the man turned brown eyes onto him, obviously having just asked him a question.

“Sawamura Daichi.”  Sawamura said, a smile breaking out onto his face like he wasn’t at all offended that Kuroo, the stupid half-naked man he’d just rescued, had zoned out on him.

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”  Kuroo found himself saying after an awkwardly long pause, realizing the man- Sawamura Daichi, had just said his name.  “Thank you.”  Kuroo said again and wanted to hit himself.

“It’s okay, you’re in shock, give yourself a minute.”  Sawamura is holding out something and Kuroo takes it hesitantly.  “It’s gatorade, haven’t been able to find actual water in a while.”  Kuroo wants to cry again as he twists off the top, not even caring a bit if it’s poisoned, and forces himself to take small sips.  His throat and stomach cry out in pain after being denied for so long.

“Fuck me,” Kuroo says softly, so softly because it was dark and he was still terrified and stuck with a strange man who rescued him, but was still- well, a stranger.  But the stranger is chuckling then pressing a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking as he bends over.  Kuroo doesn’t think it was weird for him to be laughing so hard, just thinks about how long Sawamura must have been alone, the only sound keeping him company is the screeching of the undead and the talks of human-hunters.

“Hungry?”  Kuroo gives Sawamura a look.

“You know, I’m actually quite stuffed from my caviar and- yes, fuck yes I am hungry.”  Kuroo can’t even finish his joke because his stomach is angry at him for denying food even the the 10 second joke.  Plus what if Sawamura takes offense?  He doesn’t have to share his food, he doesn’t have to do anything.  He saved Kuroo’s life, he can take off at any point, good deed of the day done and over with.

“It’s not much.”  Sawamura doesn’t get offended or put-off, he just chuckles and hands over a small pouch filled with dried fruit and different nuts.  “Uh- hopefully you aren’t allergic?”

“I don’t even care, bury me in them, this is the best thing I’ve tasted.”  Kuroo once again forces himself to go slow, even though his stomach clenches, wanting substinance now.

“Better than caviar?”  Sawamura asked, pulling a red box out of the bag and opening it.  Kuroo peers inside and isn’t exactly surprised at the makeshift first aid kit.

“Honestly, I bet anything would be better than caviar, sounds disgusting.”  Kuroo groans as his body protests loudly at moving in anyway, but Sawamura’s hands are firm and no-nonsense as he checks over all the cuts and bruises on Kuroo’s mostly exposed skin.  Kuroo is stunned into silence as he eats his little bag of treats and lets Sawamura patch and prod him.

“I think you have a cut- here?”  Sawamura is near his face and Kuroo had been trying to studiously ignore it.  Kuroo tries to think back on the punches and kicks and slaps he had received.

“Right temple?”  Kuroo remembers a kick there, blacking out for a moment, waking with something sticky and wet on the side of his face.  Kuroo’s hair is nearly shoulder length, too long and mostly knotted.  “Do you have some scissors in your magic bag?”

“No, but I have this.”  Sawamura pulls out a knife, long and sharp and Kuroo is flinching back at the close proximity.  Kuroo tries to reason that no one gives up their rations to another person just to kill them.

“Have at it.”  Kuroo deadpans, trying to control his rapidly beating heart that spikes in fear every time the knife comes close to him.  Sawamura tries his best to be gentle, Kuroo can tell that much but cutting hair with a knife, no matter how sharp, is not ideal.  There’s pulling and tugging and Kuroo’s got half a headache by the time Sawamura calls it quits.

“I cut my own hair but I never had to look at the end results.”  Sawamura’s lips are pressed together.  Kuroo gives him a dead eyed stare as he shoves more dried fruit into his mouth.  Sawamura lasts a whole 15 seconds before he’s bent over, chuckling again, hand pressed tightly against his mouth to muffle the sound.

“Rude.”  Kuroo said, but it’s hard to work up any sense of indignity towards the other man.  “How are you even real?”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”  Sawamura asked as he cleaned off the now revealed cut on Kuroo’s temple before moving back to his backpack.

“You risked your life for a stranger, you knew it was a trap- you probably made the noise that drove the zombies away.”  Now that his stomach actually had something in it, and he’d finally quenched his thirst, his mind seemed to be working properly.  Mostly he just wanted to curl up and sleep for the next decade or so until someone figured out how to knock some order back into the world or someone finally decides to just bomb the place.

“Yeah?”  Sawamura looks a little awkward for the first time, unsure as he squints over at Kuroo.

“People don’t do that, not now, not in this world.”  Kuroo stretched his legs, cringing as they protested the movement.

“I don’t know about that.”  Sawamura looked away, probably not seeing the basement they were in but something farther away, maybe something in his past.  “I saw you needed help, what other option was there?”  He shrugged, like it was that easy.  You see a half naked man tied to a lamp post, surrounding by zombies and human-hunters and obviously the only choice is to go save him.

“You could have left me, you risked a lot.”  Sawamura met Kuroo’s eyes, intense and focused and Kuroo swallowed suddenly because he saw a lot, he always had, and he saw how for Sawamura Daichi, there wasn’t any other option.  Sawamura would never walk away from someone who needed help, Kuroo wondered how the hell the man could be alone, or even alive in this world that chewed good people up and spat them out.

“Do you have anywhere to go?”  Sawamura asked before handing Kuroo a bundle of fabric.  Kuroo unrolled it to reveal a pair of black joggers and a blue henley, and he almost cried.  “I don’t have any spare shoes.”  Which was a big problem, both of them knew it.

“Thank you.”  Kuroo said as he slid on the clothes, his body clenching in protest once again at movement, but it was worth it as the warm fabric covered his battered body.  Sawamura was shorter than him, but wider, so the clothes fit well.  “No, I- there was a group I was part of, we were scavenging, I was on lookout.  They snuck- no, I was just exhausted and hungry and I let them get close.”

“I’m sorry.”  Sawamura said, and Kuroo felt like he meant it but he was getting the wrong impression.

“They got away, I created a distraction, the trap was probably meant for them.”  Kuroo explained, long fingers picking at the fabric covering his thighs.  “We never really had a destination, we’ve been- safe havens haven’t really been all that safe for us.  We were looking for supplies so we could get away from the city.”  The city had its numerous problems, but so did the country.  They had decided the take their shot at the country in the south.

“So you have a direction?”  Sawamura asked, settling back into a seated position.

“South.”  Kuroo shrugs, a self-deprecating smirk on his face.  Sawamura nods, looking up.

“That’s where I was heading, I was getting out of the city when I saw you.”  Sawamura sighed, rolling his neck until it cracked.  “I had to find a good place for us to hide, that’s why it took me so long to get to you.  We should hide out here for at least a day.”  Too many zombies attracted by the noise and gas, the hunters roaming the streets looking for them.  The basement is crowded and damp and smelly, but Kuroo relaxed against a stack of sagging boxes.

“You want me to come with you?”  Kuroo asked because he had to be sure, because he couldn’t get his hopes up.

“If you want, I know a place that’s safe if we can get to it.”  Sawamura rolled his shoulders.  Kuroo knew it was stupid to trust someone so quickly, to put all his hope and faith into someone he’d just met, but this was a new world.  Sawamura could have just left the city, travelled and gone south without risking life and limb to rescue a stranger.  He didn’t have to share his rations with him, didn’t have to use precious first aid equipment on him, but he did.  Sawamura did it all unthinkingly, as if there was no other choice, and Kuroo might be a fool for believing him, but he did.

“Where is it?”  Kuroo asked, even though his eyes were drooping and his body was demanding rest.

“Shizouka.”  Kuroo let out a disgruntled noise.  “I know, it’s going to be a long walk so rest up.  I’ll figure out how to get you some shoes.”  Kuroo curled onto his side.  He had grown use to sleeping on hard surfaces so a basement floor was really nothing, except it was cold and damp, but it still wasn’t the worst place he had slept.  Mostly Kuroo was thankful having someone else take the leadership reigns, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and he made a small promise to himself not to make Sawamura shoulder all the responsibility.

A day and a half later Kuroo had learned a lot about one Sawamura Daichi.  It’s hard not to learn a lot about another person when you’re stuck in a small enclosed space with them, fearing that any moment a zombie or a hunter will find you and you’ll die in a horrible, gruesome way.  Maybe it was that reason, that need for someone else to know you, to remember you when you ultimately die in the messed up nightmare land the world had become that made them open up in ways they normally wouldn’t have.

Sawamura was around 27 years old, it’s hard to keep the days or months or years straight, but he’s about the same age as Kuroo.  He went to high school and college near home because he lived with his grandparents and wanted to remain close to them.  The way he talked about them makes Kuroo believe they are no longer around, he partially hoped they had died of old age before the world went to shit.  He was exactly the Superman Kuroo believed he was at first, except maybe even better because Sawamura is a little introverted, a little cautious and shy and kind of a huge dork who enjoys Kuroo’s sarcastic, sometimes inappropriate sense of humor.

Sawamura was an only child, something him and Kuroo have in common.  He played volleyball in high school, another thing they share, and he thought his athletic reflexes have saved his life more than once.  He was kind and warm and deeply scarred, but somehow the horrible things that must have happened to him, that have happened to everyone, have just made him kinder instead of twisting him in horrible ways.

Kuroo also learned that the reason he was all the way in Tokyo was to gather much needed medical supplies.  Sawamura was with a small group, and they wanted to try to hit one of the hospitals in Tokyo.  It seemed like pure lunacy to Kuroo, the hospital they were aiming for were practically ground zero, but Sawamura had reasoned it meant most people wouldn’t try to gather the supplies there.  Their group had gotten attacked, split up, and Sawamura had been injured.  He didn’t want his group to risk themselves, so he had told them he had been bitten and they needed to go.

“My- the injury, it was bad.  Even if they somehow did manage to get to me-” Sawamura shrugged, head tilted back as he stared up at the dark ceiling.  “There’s no way I could have made it back home.  I turned off the walkie talkie and I guess- I waited to die?  Except I didn’t.”  Sawamura’s brow furrowed, his gaze meeting Kuroo’s for a moment before sliding away and Kuroo was sure there is more to the story, but he let it drop.  

“Lucky for me.”  Kuroo said to break the tension.  Sawamura smiles appreciatively.

“Lucky for you.”  Sawamura agreed.

Sawamura said he had seen a small outdoors store that should have boots, that it was better if he went alone because it was dangerous for Kuroo to be walking around without shoes on.  Everything he said made perfect sense to Kuroo, he agreed but also, his heart clenched tightly in his chest.  He wasn’t not a child anymore, he was well into his 20s and he shouldn’t feel this unearthly need to grab onto Sawamura and beg him not to go, or beg him to take him too.

“Here.”  Sawamura was pushing his backpack, full of his supplies and food and everything, into Kuroo’s side.  Kuroo’s fingers twist in the canvas fabric, his brows furrowing.  “Can’t go far without it, right?”  And Kuroo realizes the amount of trust he’s putting into Kuroo, and it was his way of saying he’ll be back.

Kuroo waited until Sawamura’s gone before he let himself cry.  He does it a lot, and he doesn’t even give a shit anymore.  He use to hide it, hold it in until he was in the safety of his room or the shower because it wasn’t okay for people to be overly emotional.  Kuroo’s always been an emotional bastard, and he had hidden it for years behind sarcastic smirks and pestering and jokes.  Then he became the leader of his little group of misfits, mostly by default, and he had to put on some stupid ass tough guy role.

Kuroo knew he was tough, he didn’t think crying lessened a person in anyway.  Anyone who had survived in this apocalyptic hellhole deserved to be able to cry whenever they damn well choose to.  So Kuroo buried his head against Sawamura’s backpack, resisting the urge to go through it and find out more things about his new companion.

What if he had a collection of ears strung together?

“There’s no collection of ears.”  Kuroo mumbled to himself, more so to hear something, anything than to really convince himself of anything.

Now that Kuroo was alone he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering.  He thought about his group, thinned out over the years with a few surprises and newcomers.  There were the two left over from the early days, Kenma and Yaku.  Shy, quiet, observant Kenma and strong, determined, and surly Yaku.  They had lost a lot together, and Kuroo is fiercely glad that Kenma still had Yaku, and the other way around.  Yaku could remind Kenma to eat properly, and Kenma was the only one left that Yaku would actually listen to when he says he needs to take a break.

Kuroo hoped Lev, the giant half-Russian mess of a man, isn’t giving those two too many problems.  He caused more issues than he solved, but he also took a knife for Yaku and that sort of action breeds loyalty.  Speaking of loyalty they still have Yamamoto, strong and fierce, willing to do the unspeakable to save others from guilt and shame.

Kuroo had just managed to stumble upon Bokuto too.  Their group had been even smaller.  Loud and obnoxious Bokuto, hardened slightly by the horrors he had to face.  Kuroo hadn’t seen him since their college days, before the world went to hell.  There was the dark haired Akaashi, quiet and observant who seemed to know just the right words to pull Bokuto out of one of his moods.  The last was quiet and mature Yukie, who had obviously played a big part in keeping the two men alive.

Kuroo did not let himself think about all those he had lost.  Except the more he didn’t think about it, the more his brain forced him too.  His mother, their apartment bloodied and torn apart with no sign of her trying to pack up.  Big, dependable Kai who had faced the worst death, surrounded by zombies and had died alone.  Almost completely silent Fukunaga, who had died of an infection, a smile on his face as he gripped Yamamoto’s hand, before asking him to make sure he didn’t come back as one of those things.  Energetic Inuoka, who had gone off with Shibayama to use the bathroom, whose screams Kuroo still heard in the dead of night.

“Kuroo?”  Sawamura’s voice was quiet in the darkness.  Kuroo pushed himself up off the backpack, not realizing when he had fallen asleep but his body ached so it must have been a while.

“Shoes?”  Kuroo asked instead of thanking Sawamura for coming back, for not leaving him behind and alone.  Sawamura produced not only a pair of boots that fit well, but also a cameo jacket that was a bit big but was comfortable and more importantly warm.  Kuroo doesn’t know which god to thank for creating Sawamura, let alone putting him in Kuroo’s path, but he silently thanks the ones he knows.

“We should rest up tonight, we’ll move out at first light.”  Kuroo makes fun of Sawamura for sounding so military, then asks him if he’s in the military.

“No, the place we’re going to is kind of run like the military.”  Sawamura settles next to Kuroo, legs stretched out.  “I know that sounds scary but it’s- it’s good, it’s safe.”  Kuroo wonders if it’s full of people like Sawamura, warm and kind and a little rough around the edges.

Kuroo puts on the boots, slowly ties them up as he considers where they are going before ultimately shrugging off any concerns.  He knew his own people were safe, he did all he could for them and he hoped they would come across each other.  Safe Havens have never been too safe for Kuroo but he thought he’d probably follow Sawamura anywhere.

[invisaboy-millardnullings]

FAHC AU

so.. I may or may not have written a little something. It’s not finished but this is the start, I don’t know if I should continue...

CHAPTER ONE || THE CREW

 The streets of Los Santos, California were never quiet, even at night when people should be in their homes and asleep. It didn’t take a careful listener to hear the things that take place in the darkened streets or alleyways; the sounds audible from the confines of whatever four walls shielded you. A gunshot here, a piercing car alarm there, shouts and screams, even the heavy footsteps of someone running as fast their legs could carry them. Their dealings and crimes shadowed by the dimmed half burned out street lamps. No one cared enough to stop them, not even the Los Santos Police paid much mind to them, their attentions preoccupied with larger crimes that have bigger consequences. These days all the cops worried about was taking out the Fake AH crew; the largest heist crew since the AkA crew. The Fake AH crew pulled in some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, their big names hitting the Top Ten Most Wanted List. No one knew who they really were, all anyone knew were the names they gave themselves - because who was going to tell them no?

Ramsey was the leader of the Fakes; the very first of the six. He first began generating attention when he blew up a seven eleven, which had been the third one that month. Slowly, he built up his reputation until all the major crews knew his name. He became the infamous Ramsey, the solo crime artist you never wanted to encounter. After a few good years by himself he began scouting the world for a crew. The best of the best, the monsters in nightmares, the unnoticeable bug in your “safe” devices, the tick of a time bomb ready to blow, the fastest the human race has to offer. All the people that could put Ramsey over the the top, and most importantly above the Aka. It took him half a year to find Jack, and when he did she gave him a run for his money. 

Jack, also know as the bearded lady, was the world’s best pilot. Her skills, however, reached beyond just the sky, and down to the deepest depths of the oceans. Ramsey found her hiding out in an abandoned air base in the outskirts of Arizona with a collection of small aircrafts, a few dozen racing cars, and a rumored submarine. After her last heist as a get away driver, she packed up for something a bit more quiet. She never lost the need for crime, but the life she attempted to live was a challange of its own. It took a lot of bargaining from Ramsey to finally get Jack to budge. She settled for a shared penthouse and a garage to store all of her favorite cars. It was agreed that leaving the sky flyers behind was a good idea, them still being accessable if needed. They got comfortable with the penthouse in Los Santos and completed a few heists, word spreading quick that Ramsey was building a team. It ended up being Jack who brought Mogar to Ramsey’s attention. 

  Mogar was a kid fresh out of college in Texas, his short temper considered a weakness to others but an advantage according to Jack. She convinced Ramsey how his explosive anger fuelled his explosive tendencies in which could be beneficial. No doubt Mogar was good with anything fire related. He could create a bomb out of scratch in under ten minutes while being distracted. Throughout his life he was forced to move from school to school, but not because of grades. He was a very intelligent kid, the only trouble was the accidental bombs that would discharge in lockers or in bathrooms. The scorching destruction originated from his childhood. When he was eight, the house his parents owned caught fire. Mogar’s father was able to get him out safely and as soon as he turned to charge back inside the gas from the oven caused an explosion of great height that engulfed the skies. Mogar’s mother did not survive - they lost everything. His wide eyes gawked at the orange light show the flames created. From then on he had an unhealthy obsession with fire and it’s machanics. The only thing that really pushed him and kept his rage ablaze were the constant beatings from his alcoholic father. Ramsey could see Jack’s thought process. They could take the kid in, give him a home and an appropriate outlet. It didn’t take much for Mogar to accept the offer. Still on his search, Ramsey looked high and low for his list of candidates which led him and his growing team to Puerto Rico. With a focused eye up, they found Brownman. 

Brownman was a man of great conviction. He believed that all the bad people in the world would eventually get what they deserved, that everything they dished out would come back to haunt them. He was rarely wrong. In a village like his, one would assume that the crime would be enough to influence anyone, and in a way that’s exactly what happened to Brownman. When he was sixteen, he watched his mother and father get shot in their heads while he was tied to a chair so he could watch. The men who did it were wearing masks, but that did little to protect their identities. Brownman knew exactly who they were and he swore to them he’d find them and kill them. They thought it was cute that this small dumb kid really believed he could kill them. So he trained and he learned. He quickly gravitated towards the sniper rifle that once belonged to his father. He practiced nearly every day until he was good enough to wipe them from the earth like they did to his parents. All of four them were sat at a table in an old barn with various weapons slewed around. Brownman climbed the pillars and hid in the rafters. The first bullet hit one of them in the back of the head. The others reacted quickly, but not quick enough. He picked them of in a swift motion like he’d done this a million times. The thrill he got from killing would send chills down anyone’s spine. Soon he joined a small gang that was supposed to give back to the community. Ramsey found Brownman on a flat roof behind the scope of the same sniper rifle. He was doing some recon for a robbery his “friends” were planning. He didn’t like the way this one was playing out and he realised a few robberies back that they were doing it for different reasons. He shot them so quick, no one was the wiser. Ramsey approached without weapon and threw the offer on the table. Brownman picked it up once he realised who Ramsey actually was, the news from Los Santos hitting all the way in Puerto Rico. They travelled back to California but not for long before they packed up to recruit Free in England. 

Free was the almost polar opposite of Mogar. He had an open heart and was always happy. Once they got to England and found Free’s location, Ramsey set up a decoy file that had been highly encrypted, specifically created to attract Free’s attention. He was only a year or two younger than Mogar, but his attitude was drastically different and he didn’t bore easily. He loved a good challenge and has even hacked into the NSA four times, just to see if he could. His level of expertise has been on the FBI’s radar for a long time. Although quick with a keyboard and always itching for a good cyber fight, Free was never good at hand to hand combat. Most of his fights were won from behind a screen, and if it had ever come physical confrontation, he could weasel his way free though talking. Free had a silver tongue that could cut through just about anything and anyone. It got him in trouble just as much as it got him out. It took Free two minutes to unlock the decoy file planted by Ramsey which caused an impressed whistle to sound from Mogar’s mouth. He was perfect for the team, and Ramsey was ready to go pick him up. Free was hesitant to join before he saw that were to other kids just like him. He found solace in Mogar quickly and the two became nearly inseparable. Ramsey was in the midst of scouting out their last guy, but it was Free who ended up reeling him in. 

The Vagabond was actually the one to find Ramsey and his crew. Free had a growing interest in the fellow criminal and wanted to hack into his files. The Vagabond was the absolute hardest and Free could never get through, his efforts always stopped short as the man locked him out. His persistence led to The Vagabond getting annoyed and put a target on his back. He showed up at the crews door with his skull mask and leather jacket. He sought out Free quickly but was firmly blocked by Mogar who stood defensively in front of his friend. Jack had her gun pointed at The Vagabond’s back and Brownman had his feet planted and sniper aimed. The situation had looked hostile and grim until Ramsey spoke up. He proposed the deal and waited for an answer. He received a slight nod, and The Vagabond backed down. He was the scariest of them all. He was famous around the world and nicknamed The Reaper. Everything he did was out of joy, a stone cold killer that was trigger happy. He kills anything and everything, blowing through gangs leaving nothing but dead bodies in his wake. Ramsey thought that kind of crazy could give the crew an edge.