#usually on doorways because i am so good at moving through gaps

[halfbit]

some brief advice for characters with small scars from a head injury (from my specific experience) since i do see people give these types of scars to characters sometimes

mine is like this for reference:

specific info:

i didn't receive in-hospital treatment for it even though i lost consciousness i was kicked by a horse, the metal horseshoe is what did it it was a long time ago (over a decade now)

it doesn't effect me much day to day, it is always visible but it has become less prominent over time. certain expressions (anything eyebrow raising especially) make it very obvious.

it is physically raised and lacks pigment.

sensation wise, it used to itch but i haven't felt that for awhile now. if i pay attention when touching it, there's a slight difference in temperature from the rest of my skin. if i scrape it (even just lightly, like scratching with a fingernail) it feels like its bleeding even when its not.

if i accidentally hit it (i dont like doorways), it is extremely painful, it burns, my vision flashes white and i see stars, and it feels like its bleeding all over again of course. it feels like the irl equivalent of being stunned by an electric arrow. if your character has a scar like this, having them get hit on it in a fight is a good way to make them go down for a bit. the sensation also lingers for a decent amount of time afterwards, depending on how hard the hit was. the lingering feels like a heavy pulsing/throbbing, similar to a strong headache but localized on the scar. personally, it feels like even minor impacts can have a really strong effect still as long as its a pretty direct hit.

so yeah just my personal experience having a scar like this! i like seeing characters with similar scars but it often feels like it was just a cosmetic choice to show that they're tough. it's not something that is super high-impact for me, but it still has its effects, and when you aggravate them you can't really focus on anything else until it goes away.

[angstywaifu]

Just One Date - Garrick Tavis x Reader One Shot

So this one came into my asks and I knew I had to do this one first. Thank you for the anonymous that sent this in with some other amazing ideas. I'd say I am sorry for picking Garrick first, but I am not. Hope you guys enjoy it! If you guys have any more one shot ideas feel free to send them through! There will be more of these :)

“Come on Y/N, it’s just one date!” Garrick calls after me as he follows me through the crowd, turning heads as he calls after me.

”As I’ve told you for the tenth time this week, no!” I call back as I weave my way through a small gap in the crowd.

I hear Garrick mumble some swear words as he struggle to get through the crowd as he follows behind me. Yet again Garrick had cornered me between classes, asking me out on a date for Valentines Day. Which was tomorrow. I will give the boy one thing, he was persistent. But nothing about our friendship indicated more than friends. Did I find him attractive as hell? Gods yes. But we weren’t exactly close. I only knew him because of my friendship with Imogen.

”Why won’t you say yes?” He asks. He’s getting closer.

I turn around and he nearly slams into me, stopping himself at the last second.

”Because I won’t” The worst excuse ever. I mentally slap myself for it.

He cocks his eyebrow at me as he looks down at me. “That has got to be the worst excuse ever.”

I roll my eyes and start walking through the crowd trying to get to lunch. We’d all had battle brief so the hallway was more packed than usual. He swears again as he tries to follow me. Unfortunately our interaction has caused on lookers and they easily move out of his way to let him through, obviously wanting to see what happens. He reaches out and grasps my shoulder, spinning around as I lightly smack into his chest.

”Please Y/N, I’m just asking for one date.” He asks, his eyes pleading at me to say yes. “You might even want more than one by the end of it.”

I roll my eyes at the cockiness in his voice at the last part. Behind him I see our friends watching anxiously at the interaction.

”You really think one date is all it’s gonna take to win me over Tavis?” I reply sassily earning a smirk from him.

He steps back and leans down to look at me, still smirking at me. “I won’t even need to finish the date to win you over.”

I close my eyes and sigh. One date. It was just a date. There was no way Tavis was that good. I’d never even seen him go out with a girl here before. All I had to do was go on one date, and then he would leave me alone. It was probably just some dare from Bodhi or Xaden anyway.

”Fine.” I tell him, opening my eyes to look up at him. “Just. One. Date.” Emphasising each word clearly.

”You wont regret it.” And before I can respond he turns and runs back down the hallway.

What the hell did that boy have planned.

The next day comes quickly, and every time I catch Garrick’s eyes he smiles at me, clearly excited for whatever he had planned. We hadn’t spoken since I had said yes to the one date, so I had no idea when or where he wanted to meet me. My questions were answered not long after classes ended. A loud knock on my dorm door signalling someone's arrival. But I already knew who it was. I open the door to Garrick standing there holding a bouquet of flowers. And not any flowers. My favourites. White Orchids. I try to rack my brain of any time I would have mentioned this, but come up blank. How the hell did he know?

”Already left you speechless have I?” Garrick teases as I stare wide eyed at the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

I roll my eyes at him and take the flowers. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself Tavis.” I turn and place the flowers on my desk.

I turn back around to him leaning his arm on top of the doorway as he looks down at me. I swear my jaw nearly hits the floor at the sight. The pose perfectly shows off his arm that is braced on the doorway.

He smirks, clearly aware of the effect he's having on me. "Ready for our date, Y/N?" he asks, his voice laced with confidence.

I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. "I guess so," I reply, trying not to let his charm get to me. "But don't think this changes anything between us. It’s just one date."

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "We'll see about that," he says, extending his hand towards me. "Shall we?"

As I take his hand, a mix of excitement and nervousness washes over me. I can't deny that there's a part of me that's curious to see where this one date will lead. Maybe, just maybe, there's more to Garrick than meets the eye. But I won't let myself get too carried away. After all, it's just one date.

As he leads me our of the dorms I catch our friends off to the side watching us. Smiles all plastered on their faces. I go to let go of Garrick’s hand but he tightens his grip as he leads me towards the flight field. As we take the last steps into the flight field I see his dragon waiting for us. He leads me over to him and motions with his head towards him.

”Up you get Y/N.”

I look at him wide eyed. No way did he expect me to mount his dragon. Riders only rode on their own dragons.

“No way. Not happening. My dragon will chuck a fit if I go up there.”

Garrick’s dragon chuckles at us, hot air blowing over the both of us.

”I’ve already sorted it. Chradh is happy to let you up there, and your dragon has agreed as long as she can be nearby. Now up you get.” He playfully shoves me towards Chradh.

I huff but begin my climb up Chradh’s leg, Garrick close behind me. I settle into the spot on Chradh’s back, and freeze as Garrick sits right behind me. His legs either side of mine, his chest pressed up against my back. He rests one of his hands on my thigh, his breath tickling my neck.

”Breathe Y/N.” He whispers.

I let out the breath I had unintentionally been holding, but I yet again freeze as Garrick places a blindfold over my eyes. I go to take it off but Garrick quickly captures my hands in his.

”You will take it off when I tell you to.” He whispers harshly in my ear.

I can feel my heart racing as the blindfold cuts off my vision. The sound of the wind rushing past us lets me know we have taken off. Garrick wraps an arm around my waist, holding me close to him so I don’t fall. I was an experienced rider, but I had never been on a dragon blindfolded, let alone a dragon that wasn’t my own. A mix of excitement and uncertainty fills me, wondering what Garrick has planned for our date. I don’t have to wait long before we land. I feel Chradh lower himself down to a ground. Garrick keeps his arm firmly around my waist as he removes the blind fold with the other. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the light, but for the second time today my jaw nearly hits the floor.

In front of me is a clearing that overlooks the valley. The view is gorgeous as the sun starts setting, casting a yellow glow across it. Next to the edge of the cliff is a blanket with pillows set up and what I swear are all my favourite foods, and a neatly wrapped package.

“You sure it won’t take me one date to win you over?” Garrick whispers in my ear, startling me and sending a shiver up my spine.

I glare at him over my shoulder. “I’m sure.” I say sarcastically as I remove myself from his grip and dismount from Chradh.

Shortly after Garrick lands next to me, grabbing my hand and leading me over to the blanket and pillows. My thoughts on the food are confirmed as I see all of them are foods I love. Strawberries that I have every morning at breakfast, the cupcakes that Quinn makes when she can find the time, my favourite chocolate from the town near the college, and the sandwiches I make if the kitchen serves the right things. I let Garrick pull me down to the blanket with him, kneeling on my knees as I take it all in.

I look at him and raise my eye brow. “How the hell do you know all my favourite things? Imogen helped you didn’t she?”

I already know she didn’t. And Garrick’s shake of his head isn’t needed to confirm.

”I know you better than you think Y/N.” He starts as he leans forward, arm resting on his knee as he looks at me, “You have those strawberries every morning with breakfast. Everytime Quinn makes those cupcakes you practically jump up and down in your seat. Everytime you go to town you always go and buy that chocolate straight away, and you’re always sad the day after you finish the last piece. And every weekend when they put stuff out to make sandwiches, you always make the same one.”

I stare at him wide eyed. He was right. Down to the very last detail. But how did that explain the flowers?

”What about the flowers? I’ve never told anyone.” I ask, barely above the whisper.

”When we did our RSC training and they stuck us in the woods with the other quadrants, we made camp the first night near a clearing with flowers. I remember you wandering over the the flowers as we set up camp and picked a few. You took them back to the Quadrant with you when we were extracted.” He tells me, not skipping a beat.

But my heart does. He remembered a detail so small from our first RSC mission nearly two years ago. Clearly Garrick has paid more attention to me than I had thought. He reaches out and grabs the package I had noted earlier and hands it to me. The small nod he gives me, signalling me to open it. I open the package carefully, almost scared as to what is inside. I know it is going to be something I love. Theres no denying that after everything he’s done so far. I tear away the brown paper to reveal a jewellery box. I look up at him confused and he motions for me to keep going. I don’t miss the nervous look in his eyes as he watches me. I open the box and my heart skips a beat again. Inside is the ruin stone Liam’s mum had given me. Given to all of us marked ones. Mine had been one of the smaller ones, and I always kept it on my desk. And as I rack my brain, I hadn’t noticed it on my desk for the last week. Ever since Garrick had started asking me to go on a date with him. I pick it up and notice and black leather cord it is now attached to. A Necklace.

“Garrick.. I-” The words get caught in my throat as I look between the necklace and him.

He smiles before he takes the necklace from my hands, leaning forward to fasten it around my neck. As it necklace settles on my chest, his hands move to cup my cheeks, angling my head to look up at his. I feel like my heart is about to burst out of my chest as he leans forward and brings his lips to mine. The kiss starts of slow and delicate as I recover from the shock of the moment. But I quickly wrap my arms around his neck, pulling me closer to him. His arms grab me by the waist as he pulls me into his lap, deepening the kiss. After a long time he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily as we stare into each others eyes.

”Told you I wouldn’t even need one date.”

[bugichor]

“self righteous”

pairing: joel miller x reader; joel miller x you.

genre: smut.

wc: 2k+

cw/tags: hate/angry sex, anal/from behind, marking, table sex, cream pie/breeding, age gap. NO y/n and gender neutral reader.

summary: your patrol with joel goes wrong and you find yourselves trapped in one of the safe houses along your route. things get heated. set between tlou 1 and 2.

an: i’ve never written hate sex before so bare with me. if anything in the cw is not for you, please skip it. i would hate to upset anyone but even more so, i would hate to hear about how awful i am for writing it. also this is part of my kinktober stuff!

“Move it!” You hear Joel yell from ahead.

He’s at the doorway to one of the safe houses along your usual patrol route. You sprint toward him, embarrassed that you lagged behind in the first place. You’re not even sure they’re following anymore but you don’t waste time looking around. Rather, you barrel past Joel and into the safe house, flinching a little as the door slams hard behind you.

Gasping for breath, you lean back against one of the few pieces of furniture in this room. It’s fairly empty here, but that can be expected. There’s a few cluttered bookcases lining the graffitied walls and a few tables, one of which you find yourself resting on, in the middle of the room with a few chairs tucked in beneath them. It reads as an old youth centre but you can’t be sure. These rooms have seen so many lives in the past few decades, they never really represent what they were once supposed to be. This room has no purpose now, just a hole to wait out the storm in, and the only furnishings that matter are the boards along the windows and heavy bolted doors to keep the clickers out.

You take a moment to find your lungs as Joel traipses around the room almost silently, performing a quick sweep to ensure there’s nothing in here with you both. Joel is a professional at this stuff, so you leave it to him and take a few deep breaths of stale air to get your body working again. You must’ve run a mile in three minutes getting away from that horde, and on sopping wet ground too. And yet, the old man still made it here first.

You’d known Joel for a while now, a year or two at least, but he was still an enigma to you. He was a quiet man, a real grump at times, someone that most people couldn’t get along with - and you felt he might prefer it that way. But he got along with you. You weren’t sure why, but he did. You’d spent time considering the possibilities before - maybe it was the times you’d been kind to that kid he cared about; maybe it was the few conversations about coffee you’d had; maybe it was because you simply didn’t get into his business - but it only led to a spiral of momentary memories and feelings you didn’t want to address.

You didn’t know why you cared so much, or perhaps you did. You knew you were attracted to him - he may have been twenty years older than you, but you knew a good-looking man when you saw one - but it wasn’t something you’d ever address sober. There had been a few times, drunken nights in the bar, that you’d flirted a little; using some of your most eloquent and sophisticated lines like “I just know you’re a good fuck, old man”. But, as expected, he didn’t give you any sort of response you could work with. In usual Joel fashion, he had given you a barely-there chuckle and told you to go easy on your liquor. You knew he didn’t take you seriously, and that was okay. But you always wondered what would happen if he did.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear, feel, a slam on the surface you’re leant against. The vibration sends shockwaves through you and you look around to see Joel stood at the other side of the table, his hands firmly placed and head down between his shoulders. He’s not looking at you, but the hairs on your arms stand on end regardless.

“Jesus, Joel.” You complain loudly. But you shrink a little when he looks at you. He’s angry. Oh, he’s very angry.

“What was that?” He asks seriously, the low grumble of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Huh? Are you gonna explain yourself?”

Feeling defensive, your brow furrows and you glare at him. “They came out of nowhere, Joel. You saw for yourself.”

“No.” He grunts, slamming his hands on the table once more. The veins are visible in his forehead and his shoulder muscle is twitching beneath his plaid shirt. You’ve never seen him like this. “Those things don’t just come out of nowhere. You weren’t paying attention.”

“I did my checks just fine.” You spit.

“Oh, you did your checks just fine. I’m sure you did. Did you get a close enough look at that stalker when it jumped you?” Joel interrogates, spittle flying from his lips as he yells. “Or should I have let it get a little closer and kill you? You wanna go back and check it again?”

And, as much as you hated it, he was right. You hadn’t noticed the stalker. You hadn’t been careful enough. And the shout you let out when it sent you flying across the room had attracted a whole horde of those things. But that didn’t mean you were going to admit complete blame. No, no - you were far too stubborn for that.

“And you’re perfect, are you?” You chide. You turn your back to him and lean your arse against the rim of the table, folding your arms more casually than defensively.

You can feel him burning up behind you, feel his anger bubbling over like a newly active volcano. There’s a sick sense of enjoyment prickling the hairs on the back of your neck; knowing how much he probably wants to kill you right now just for saying that, and knowing that he would never do it.

“I seem to remember a time I saved your life too.” You remind him. You hear him traipsing around the table towards you, but don’t dare to look at him. “But you know what? I don’t think I’ve ever brought that up - to you, to anyone. It’s almost like saving someone’s life is just a common courtesy out here.”

He’s in front of you now, close, but you still don’t meet his eye, instead looking off toward the boarded up window. It’s almost palpable, the heat radiating from his body and seething rage expelling from his breath. You find yourself excited by it, desperate to push him just a little further. Would he hit you? You doubt it. But he might shout again, and the thought of that sends butterflies fervently fluttering in the pit of your stomach. The thought of his attention being on you, good or bad, sends an electricity through your veins that you’ve never felt before, but you don’t have time to consider what that means. You’re too focused on pushing his buttons for existential thought right now.

“But your self righteous attitude really grinds on me sometimes, y’know. You’re always right, aren’t you, old man?” You provoke him, turning your face to look him in the eye now. “You’ve never made a mistake in-”

Your sentence is cut short when he seizes your jaw in his hand, his calloused fingers pressing harshly into your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout. The fear you should be experiencing is wholly overpowered by the intense feeling of lust and sexual intimacy. His face is so close to yours, the strong smell of his stale coffee breath is imprinting on your tongue, your skin, your psyche.

“You don’t know me.” Joel seethes. “You’re just some kid. Some kid whose bark is gonna get them bit one day.”

Your gaze flicks between his eyes and the movement of his lips as he speaks. And there’s a moment - just one fleeting moment - where he notices. And he pauses. His grip on your jaw weakens, but holds. His free hand moves to the surface behind you, shutting you in, and his stare shifts from intense to understanding.

“You’re enjoying this.” His voice is gravelly, earthy, sultry even. But you can’t read his tone, his feelings, his body language. And yet, it doesn’t matter to you.

You shift your thigh between his and press against his crotch, the hard shape of his cock evident through his tight blue jeans. “So are you.” You smirk.

It’s then that he kisses you, his hand still firmly grasping your face, his lips smashing against yours with a force. You’re taken aback at first, your breath hitched in your throat, but soon find his pace, your mouth moving in tandem with his. The taste of his tongue is intoxicating and you move to wrap your arms around his neck, but are stopped short when he seizes you by the wrists. He uses the momentum to turn your body to face the table, your hips digging painfully into the edge as he presses his weight close against your back.

“This is what you want.” Joel spits like you’re disgusting, like you’re sick, sending lightning through your body. His cock is rock hard against the small of your back. “Isn’t it?”

You struggle to answer, all the words (yes, absolutely and more than anything) erased from your brain, but words aren’t required here. He releases your wrists to unbutton his jeans and you follow suit, roughly tugging your pants down and letting them settle at your feet.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The old man chuckles at your eagerness, a kind of comfortable confidence exuding from his demeanour. And that power, the power he’s holding over you right now, fills your stomach with wet cement, leaving you deliciously helpless to his will.

You hear him spit on his hand and a rumble of pleasure flows through you in anticipation of what follows. Joel holds the shaft of his cock in one hand, his free hand guiding your hips into the correct position, as your body bends over the table instinctually. He enters you slowly and a string of pained and pleasured moans leave your lips. And you begin to realise just how desperately you’d wanted this, how long you’d wanted this, how badly you needed this.

Joel grunts and, holding your hips with both hands, begins to thrust into you, slowly at first but growing in pace with every swing of his hips. Your breath quickens as he reaches his desired tempo and you move with him, tightening and relaxing your muscles in time with his stride. He feels your movement and offers up praise in the form of a string of whispered curse words. One hand moves from your hip bone to your front to please you in tandem and it’s then that you begin to see stars, your cheek resting against the hard, cold table as your moans become whinier and whinier.

His hand is touching you, feeling you, groping you in the most wonderful way and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on. Joel’s body begins to sweat, the burning sensation of the heat beneath his skin evident against your thighs, and he lurches forward to place his mouth on your shoulder blade, biting and sucking at the skin. You jerk away instinctively, a symptom of living through the apocalypse, but soon relax into him, enjoying the sensation of his teeth and tongue.

He pushes into you hard and you can feel his cock already leaking, cum dripping out of you and down your thighs, the cool liquid sensation sending shivers through you. It’s then that you can’t hold on any longer, the feeling of his hands, his cock, his teeth all too much, and you reach orgasm, your pleasure manifesting in one desperate, shuddering moan. A few more thrusts and Joel finishes, his cock still buried inside you as he does, leaving you shivering as his cum fills your walls. His sweating form collapses atop you in an exhausted mess, his muscular arms limp at your sides and forehead resting hard against your shoulder blade, his stubble irritating the large red mark he’d just moments ago left there for you.

There’s a moment of quiet as the two of you catch your breath. But before you have a moment to talk about it, to say anything, to say thank you, you hear it. That familiar clicking sound coming from just a few yards away. The two of you tense at the noise and you realise what you’ve done, your eyes trained on the light between the gaps in the boarded up window slowly turning into shadow as a horde approaches.

[p-antomime]

just so fine.

— minors don’t interact

— wc: 4,7K

content + warnings: 18+, including: dilf!toji, manhandle, spitting, daddy kink, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of school girl!reader maybe, breeding kink, overstimulation, squirting, degradation, age gap, a bit of size kink, thigh riding

pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

— note: this is a bit inspired by: Love Without Tragedy by Rihanna. — jjk masterlist.

Red lipstick and a broken heart trying to be concerted by the petals of your conscience and your friends who said that "he didn't deserve you anyway". And honestly, you didn't know where exactly you were getting the strength from to get out of bed that Monday and go take a shower before heading painfully to your first class in the morning.

He used to be the boy you loved with every cell of your body and soul, he stole the best years of your freshman life at the university, and now you were a senior who had neither the animation nor the patience to welcome the incoming freshmen that year. Despite having Kugisaki and Megumi fervently cheering you on while Itadori was too busy still dealing with the problem of sending documents to the college, your heart was still fatally wounded and your dignity no longer existed as your tears had wiped it off the face of the earth during that morning shower and you couldn't help but be tempted to put on makeup good enough to mask your dark circles under your eyes and downcast face.

"Are you coming today?", Nobara asked excitedly on the other end of the line as you were already leaving the house and taking the long way to college.

— Do I have the option of not going?

"No, of course not.", Nobara replied with a slight laugh that was well intended to cheer you up a bit, "We can have a movie night tonight, to cheer you up."

— At whose house? At mine that won't be, it's a mess. — You grumbled.

"At Megumi's or Itadori's, of course. During lunch I'll buy soda and food with Yuuji and you convince Megumi to let us break into his house today.”

— Why do I have to convince Megumi? You came up with the idea.

"Because I'll be busy, simple. And Fushiguro doesn't take me seriously.", and then you sighed heavily, already noticing that you were less than a block away from entering the college grounds.

— Okay, I see what I can do.

Kugisaki told you that she was waiting for you in the classroom, and you replied that you were already there. And then something distinctive caught your attention. It was strangely easy to spot something different in the landscape of the university entrance because usually it was always the same: university students rushing to settle personal matters or to classes they are late for, or also students who came to see what the college was like before the university application period.

But today was different. There was a tall man fully dressed in black and gray leaning against a motorcycle that looked as if it had been taken from an action movie because it was so well equipped and large. He looked relaxed, and yet he still possessed an aura that could kill you with a single punch. Attractive and devilishly dangerous with that leather jacket highlighting his strong arms and broad shoulders. Forcing your eyes a little, you could notice a scar close to one of the corners of his lips.

— What's the matter, little girl? — His deep voice reaches your ears, but your mind whispers to you that he probably wasn't talking to you at the same time that your heart starts to beat out of control and your head turns from side to side trying to check if there is someone behind you. — Yeah, I'm talking to you. — He smiled sideways.

— Uh... hmm... none, sorry. — Your cheeks started to heat up and you wanted to punch yourself in the stomach because usually a simple man couldn't disconcert you like that, and then your eyes fell on his collarbones, well marked by the black shirt he wore under his jacket, and your mouth suddenly felt too dry.

— What exactly are you apologizing for? — The man asked as he placed one of the helmets on the motorcycle seat, if there were two helmets maybe he brought some college girl? — For eating me with your eyes or staring at me? — And then you choked on your saliva and coughed desperately for air trying not to drop the folders in your hands and he seemed amused by your reaction.

— I-I... — Your fingers squeezed the folders and you had to look away to think straight. — I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to.

— I am not, it's great to be lusted after by younger girls. — He replied, but before he had a chance to continue his onslaught someone approached from the diagonal.

— Dad! — And then you choked again seeing that the one who was referring to the man in front of you as "dad" was Megumi. — Oh, Y/N? — He looked confused looking from you to his own father. — Anyway, they didn't have what you wanted at the pharmacy, next time you'll buy it yourself. — The young Fushiguro spoke to the older man, but seconds later, noticing the mortifying silence that settled over the place as you stared at his father, he spoke up: — And we are almost late already, let’s go, Y/N. — Megumi took one of your arms and started to guide you away from the motorcycle and closer to the interior of the college.

— You never told me you were interested in girls. — His father shouted more to embarrass his son than you, but the effect was the opposite, since you were the one with the burning cheeks.

— Shut up, Toji. — Megumi shouted back as he continued walking. — Did he say shit to you? — He asked you when the two of you were already walking down the halls to your classroom for the first class of the morning.

— Not really, no. He seems... fine. — You tried to talk as if you didn't have dirty thoughts running through your mind especially after remembering the older man's collarbones and scar, and still Megumi gave you an accusing look.

— Don't try to fuck my father, that's disgusting. - Your eyes widened.

— I wasn't thinking that, you idiot. — And then Megumi let out a loud laugh.

— I know, I was just trying to amuse you. — He shrugged and left you standing in front of the door. — See you at lunch?

— Yes, of course. — You answered, and then suddenly remembered Nobara's request on the phone earlier. Your hand held one of his arms so that he wouldn't walk away without listening to you. — Megumi, can we have a movie night at your place tonight? Nobara came up with the idea of doing this to cheer me up a bit. — He seemed to become suddenly tense.

— I'll have to at least let Toji know that there will be people coming home today. — Megumi answered vaguely and shrugged. — I'll send a message to Kugisaki and let her know if it's on or off.

Nodding your head positively, you gave your friend a slight smile, and then for the rest of the day your mind concentrated on paying attention to your classes, your scheduled seminars and the pile of work you still had to do. There was no time for your heart to pound with grief over the loss of your now ex-boyfriend, but there were several minutes when you had to chase away persistent thoughts of Megumi's dad. But looking at him wasn't enough, your hands wanted to explore his body and leave marks everywhere, that's what you thought until you felt ashamed, pushed the thoughts away for a few brief minutes and then thought about it again. In a vicious loop.

When you were having lunch with Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki, your head tried to focus on their conversation as much as possible, but looking at the man with black hair and beautiful eyelashes reminded you of Toji and your hands started to break into a cold sweat. It had been a frustrating, tiring day, but secretly you were a little excited to see your friend's father again.

— Don't take too long, okay? — Nobara spoke after dropping you off and leaning against the hallway wall, and you nodded positively before going to your room to pack a backpack with some pajamas and an outfit in case you and the other two friends ended up falling asleep while you were at Megumi's house.

It didn't take long before you two were ringing the doorbell of the Fushiguro’s house and from the loud sound from inside the house you both could tell Yuuji had already arrived. Suddenly, Y/N felt nervous not knowing who would answer the door. Would it be Toji? "Damn", you thought as you saw exactly him calmly opening the door. This time he wasn't wearing very dark clothes, it was just gray sweatpants and a white v-neck shirt that still highlighted his beautiful collarbones.

— Is that them? — Itadori shouted from another room in the house.

— Yes. — Megumi, who was looking at the two girls standing in the doorway over Toji's shoulder, answered. — You may come in.

Toji moved to the side letting you two into the house and, using the personal excuse of being embarrassed, Y/N walked in with her head down. And partly, in fact, it was true that you were embarrassed, but your mind knew that your eyes wanted to take a good look at the older Fushiguro's thighs and cock. It was impossible not to look at those parts of his body, especially with that kind of pants.

But then Toji gave himself the right to go up the stairs to the upper floor of the house and out of your field of vision when Megumi asked you and Nobara which movie you wanted to watch and she answered that a drama movie. And then the four of you started to watch the movie comfortably, until you started to feel the straps of your own bra start to press painfully against the skin of your shoulders.

— Can I go to the bathroom? — Y/N asked Megumi, who pointed to the steps of the staircase diagonally across from the sofa.

— First door on the left. — You nodded and walked up the stairs carrying your backpack, intending to get rid of your bra and also put on the comfortable pajama top that had been brought.

From the hallway you could hear the low sound of another TV escaping through the gap in a tall door. It was probably Toji's room, such a thought raced through your mind, and you shrugged as you entered the bathroom, leaned against the door, and began to remove your bra and change into your shirt. It was inevitable to sigh in relief as you felt your shoulders less tense and sore and your hands groped your breasts just for the personal pleasure of feeling them free now.

— Hmm, may I come in? — A muffled voice was heard behind the door and instinctively you quickly removed your hands from your breasts.

— Just a minute. — Y/N answered, shoving the previously worn blouse into her backpack and almost running toward the door, slowly opening it.

You looked forward and found yourself facing a bare hard chest as you waited to see a long hallway with four different doors. Toji was now shirtless in front of you and your cheeks burned a little, which got a little worse when your brain short-circuited, your hand rested two fingers against the warm, somewhat soft skin of his chest, and you pulled away slightly so that you could look him in the eye.

— I'm sorry. — Your hand finished opening the door and there was again a sideways smile on Toji's lips

— Are you going to sleep here? — He asked, sliding his gaze over her shoulders, breasts and abdomen freely, without any embarrassment.

— No, actually. I just changed my shirt to be more comfortable.

— Got it. — Toji looked you straight in the eyes again, but yours were already gliding across his face until you found the scar close to his lips.

— How did you get this scar? — You felt the need to prolong the conversation just to get a better record of his face.

— You're pretty curious for someone apparently shy. — He remarked, his eyes sparkling with a gleam that you couldn't quite identify what it was. — When I was younger, we could say I wasn't the friendliest person in the whole world, so I got into a few fights. — Toji shrugged, as if this was not relevant information

How old are you? — A mischievous smile slowly drew on his lips.

— Old enough to be your dad.

"Then maybe I can call you Daddy", was the first thing you thought, but there wasn't enough courage in you to flirt shamelessly, especially with Megumi or the other two able to eavesdrop from downstairs.

— I think I've been here with you long enough. — Y/N answered, putting the backpack on her back and walking past Toji, but just as her feet were about to start down the steps, the older Fushiguro called her out.

— I think you forgot something, little girl. — You turned back in confusion, and in his hands was your bra. Toji threw the piece of clothing toward you through the air without much force to fall gently onto your palms that had opened toward him. — The next time you forget something like that inside my house, I'll keep it for myself. — You frowned, assuming that he was implying that there was possibly something between you and his son.

— Me and Megumi, we don't... — Your shoulders shook without your mouth finishing the sentence.

— I wasn't talking about him exactly, you're very naive, not that that's a problem for me. — He went into the bathroom and eventually you were alone again.

Feeling more embarrassed than the first time you had seen Toji earlier at the university entrance, you joined your friends again in the middle of the movie and were grateful that none of them had bothered to ask if anything had happened in the bathroom because of your delay. Eventually Nobara fell asleep on your shoulder after eating two pieces of the pizza Megumi had asked his father to buy, and Yuuji began to yawn almost pushing the son of the owner of the house off the couch.

— I knew they would both end up sleeping. — Megumi grumbled, pushing Itadori aside and getting up from the sofa. — There are two guest bedrooms upstairs, you and Nobara can use both of them and Yuuji sleeps with me, or one of you can sleep with me and the other and Itadori in the other bedrooms.

— I think it's better that Yuuji better sleep with you. — Y/N replied looking at Kugisaki, who was starting to fall off her shoulder.

And then Fushiguro woke the almost sleeping Itadori to go upstairs while he carried Nobara up the stairs and you accompanied him carrying both your and your friend's backpack. After tidying Kugisaki up in bed and getting Yuuji changed, Megumi spoke to you before leaving you alone in the guest room:

— If you feel hungry, you can go in the kitchen and get something to eat during the night. And, well, you already know where the bathroom is, and so does my room. If anything happens during the night, you can call me or him. — Megumi pointed to the door of Toji's bedroom, and you nodded positively.

And then you laid lazily on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the room and tried to relax. Almost, almost, sleep caught up with you, but your evil brain began to make you think about the fact that Toji was only a few miserable doors away, and the anxiety began to corrupt you rapidly, like a corrosive acid. But even though you wanted to go knock on his door, you forced yourself to sleep, especially since the day had been exhausting.

The next day, just like the rest of the week, Y/N didn't get to see Megumi's dad, and he didn't make much of a point of talking about his father either, after all, why would his friends be interested in him, right? All the other days of the week, her mind focused more on trying not to think about her ex-boyfriend and also not to think about Toji, just college business.... And then came the next Thursday of the successive week.

And there was Toji Fushiguro, leaning against his big motorcycle, but this time with only one helmet and different clothes. Honestly? You didn't know if you should go talk to him or not, if you should just walk right by or not. But, in the end, your mind tricked you into choosing the second option, and your feet awkwardly made their way to the college with your eyes struggling not to check the man's reactions.

— Can I have your number, little girl? — Toji asked in a tone loud enough for you to hear.

— What? — You looked away, wringing your hands nervously.

— I asked if I could have your number. — One of his hands swung his cell phone toward you.

The first thought that crossed your mind was, "What if someone sees us together and tells Megumi?", but honestly, Megumi probably wouldn't be interested in your sex or love life, even if it was with his father.

— Maybe, if you take me for a motorcycle ride today.

— You're wearing a skirt, are you sure you'd want to do that? — Toji suppressed a playful laugh. — You could have a ride somewhere more comfortable than my motorcycle today.

You narrowed your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek, realizing that you were entering dangerous territory in a game of seduction that Toji knew and played better than you.

— Will Megumi be at home?

— He has an internship today. — Toji replied, drumming his fingers on his helmet.

— Wait for me after four o'clock then. — You replied and walked back toward the college as you felt his eyes fixed on your ass.

Throughout the day you felt uncomfortably nervous and Nobara even asked you if everything was okay several times at different times. The only answer your mind formulated was a simple positive head movement, because honestly you felt embarrassed to be interested in a friend's dod, even though this father was extremely attractive and did not reject your shy and restrained advances. He was just so nice, fine.

Fine enough to make you press your thighs together to try to relieve the sexual tension as your legs walked towards the Fushiguro house. And when you got there, it didn't take long to see Toji opening the door wearing only black sweatpants. You went inside and closed the door, nervously watching the older man, who sat comfortably on the sofa in the living room and called out to you with his index finger. As you stopped in front of him, one hand patted his lap and the other was placed on your thigh covered by your skirt. Slowly, Y/N took her seat sitting on his covered cock.

— Why do you look so tense, hm? — Toji asked, squeezing your thigh without too much force and you moved slightly against his hip. — Are you a virgin by any chance? — Your cheeks heated up.

— N-No, you just make me nervous. — Y/N replied, shrugging slightly.

— Do I? — He pretended to be surprised as he slid his hand up her skirt and pushed his fingertips against her covered pussy. — Do I make you get your panties wet too? — Toji pressed his hips against hers and her hands rested on his shoulders for a few brief seconds.

— Fuck, yes. — You groaned, taking your fingers to the buttons of your shirt to undo them. — I've been thinking about you more than I should, I've been thinking about everything about you.

— So, why don't you show me how much you've been thinking about me, huh? — Fushiguro pulled her panties aside and stroked her pussy in slow circular motions while he brought his other hand to her face and pulled her closer to his. — Show me how much you want me and cum on my fingers like the dirty slut I know you can be. — His thumb slowly brushed over your lips and you opened them, your mouth filled by long fingers.

You grabbed his wrist close to your intimacy and guided two of his digits into your interior. And, fuck, they filled you so well. Toji's fingers were thicker and longer than yours, so the times he repeatedly curved them inside your cunt, their tips easily brushed and pressed that spot that made you roll your eyes having your body spasm with pleasure. "What a beautiful vision", the man would be thinking as he watched his beautiful college girl choking on his fingers while being fucked by the others.

However, he didn't move his hand against you much, meaning that he let you choose the pace and intensity, until you whimpered against his neck in a silent request for his fingers to move against you:

— Please, Toji, move your fingers. — Y/N said as she pulled away from Toji's digits that were preventing her from speaking and forced her hips against his hand.

— Can't you cum on your own? — He asked squeezing your chin to make you keep your mouth open. — Pathetic. — Toji spat on your tongue and closed your mouth to force you to swallow. — Pathetic slut. — And then he began to finger you in a relentless rhythm.

If Fushiguro wanted to make you cum in his hand, that's exactly what he got, and he even got a great view of your trembling body, your breasts rising and falling rapidly because of your rapid breathing and your head falling back in an intense pleasure you didn't know your body could achieve. While you were still clouded by ecstasy, his fingers snuck up to finish removing your panties and getting rid of your clothes covering your upper body. He wanted you only in your skirt.

— Look at my pet slut with her beautiful cunt leaking. — His fingers spread the folds of your pussy to see you twitching around just at his obscene words. — Just so nice. — Toji pressed the thumb against your sensitive clit and gave you a smirk before he sat you down on one of his thighs, began to move you there and also slowly stimulated your clit.

His body leaned down and his lips latched onto your breasts, sucking and licking them more intensely as your hips moved faster against his thigh. And occasionally Fushiguro would pull up her skirt and slap her ass hard enough to leave several finger marks across her skin; and it was on one of his slaps that a short, gasping, "Daddy" sneaked out from between your lips and hit Toji's mind as a twinge of intense pleasure coursed through his entire body.

— Say that again. — He ordered, grabbing her neck with the hand that had been slapping her ass before.

— Daddy... — Y/N groaned breathlessly as she continued to move her hips against Toji's thigh in a desperate attempt to cum again.

— Keep calling me that, be a good little whore for me. — His other hand continued to stimulate your clit, now at a more intense pace that managed to push you straight into the abyss of a orgasmic pleasure that you so desperately needed.

After that, Fushiguro held you still in place as he continued to press his fingers against your clit. He definitely wanted to bring you close to the level of almost passing out from so much lust running freely through your body, and so your legs instinctively closed around his hand. At the same time that you desperately needed to breathe because you felt like your lungs were burning from your intense panting, every fiber of your body was still clamoring for the stimulation that only Toji could give you at the moment, so it wasn't hard for him to force your legs open again with a sly smile on his lips:

— Come on, my pretty girl, give me everything you've got. — He made scissor-like movements against her walls and her hips automatically forced themselves against Toji's palm, even though her intimacy was already quite sensitive.

— Daddy, please... please, more, daddy... — Y/N sank her face into the curve of Toji's neck trying to stifle her own moans.

— What a great fuck toy you are. — His fingers curved and you gasped, feeling again that same pressure as before against your bottom that indicated that your third orgasm was approaching. — No matter how much I make you cum you keep asking for more.

And the more he moved his fingers frantically against your pussy, the more you felt your thoughts disappear completely and all that was left was only Toji Fushiguro, and his fingers, and the cocky smile he had no matter what the situation was. Those same fingers that made you squirt for the first time against his abdomen in a third, overwhelming orgasm and your cheeks heat up violently, especially after seeing Toji bring them to his lips looking more than just satisfied with his work with you. Fuck, you could fuck him several times, you could pass out from pleasure, and you still wouldn't ask him to stop or slow down with you.

— Think you can handle one more, pretty girl? — He asked, his hands reaching for his pants and underwear.

— Yes, Daddy. — Y/N tried to speak as firmly as possible with her heavy breathing.

Toji put one hand on your waist and the other on your chin and took the opportunity to pull you in for a kiss as he entered you slowly, which made you lose some focus on the kiss and moan against his mouth as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. He didn't let you get too used to the recent intrusion and started thrusting himself against you hard.

After leaving yours, his mouth slid down your neck and shoulders to leave sucking and biting the area before placing the hand that was on your chin on your neck. Eventually yours moans went from simple gasps and sighs to little "Daddy" that made Fushiguro's dick twitch against yours insides several times and grunts escape his lips.

— I will breed you like the desperate little whore that you are. — Toji stroked hard against you while squeezing your neck a little harder. — I bet you're going to love this, aren't you?

— Y-Yes, daddy, breed me, please. — Y/N moved her hips against his while maintaining eye contact with the older man's predatory eyes. — Fill me up completely, until I'm leaking.

Toji squeezed your waist tightly, tilted your body slightly until your hips arched a bit, and started a rhythm of thrusts against you that as a result made your mind go blank and your nails leave scratches on his shoulders. And your fourth orgasm didn't even take long to hit you almost as hard as the third because your whole body had been extremely sensitive for a long time; after fucking that man incessantly you would definitely be addicted to him, to his touch, to his dick, to his lips. Everything about him was addictive.

After making you cum for the fourth time, Fushiguro kept thrusting inside you until his cock forcefully contracted against you and filled you full of cum. By that point you had definitely become just a bunch of holes for him to fuck, and if your body wasn't already so sensitive you might want him to actually fill every possible place in your body with cum. When he withdrew his dick from inside your pussy, Toji pulled your hips up to watch the white liquid escape your entrance and used his fingers to push it into you again.

— Come here. — He patted his chest lightly, and you leaned your sweaty body against his as you lifted your head to look at him. His hands caressed your body and soon you found yourself being carried up the stairs. — I'm going to give you a long shower, and then I'll take you home. — Toji left a gentle kiss against your forehead, and you felt more comfortable than you really should have in his arms.

— Thank you, daddy. — You replied, and he couldn't suppress a satisfied smile.

And maybe from then on you continued to take advantage of the times when Megumi wasn't home or you weren't so busy with college to spend hours together.

[y0ung-4ever]

Different

Pairing: Johnny Depp x reader

Description: You are a piano instructor in the city of LA, the day was slow but then he showed up.

Warnings: -

Rating: -

Notes: I think I wrote this well, but I also wish I had more ideas for more romance with this one.

I was cleaning the grand piano that sat in the middle of the spacious, open room. The sunlight came through the window as I swept the dust off the keys that weren’t used as much.

“Hello, I was wondering if you were still doing lessons?”

The deep voice brought me out of my daze. I snapped my head up and looked at the man standing in the doorway. He stood tall with black shoes, navy blue dress pants and a white button up that brought out his tanned skin as he undone two of the buttons around his collar. His hair was a bit longer and he had on glasses.

“Oh! Yes I am! Um, I’m y/n!”

I went closer to him and stuck out my hand. He looked at me and smiled as he shook it.

“I’m Johnny.”

We just stayed like that for a while. His hand grasping mine and mine his. Looking into each other's eyes and the smiles we had still on our faces.

“A-anyway..when would you like to start, Johnny?”

He shook his head and fixed his hair.

“Um, right now would be a better time than ever!”

He walked over to the piano and admired the glossiness of the wood in the sunlight.

“Great! So first of all I have to ask- can you read sheet music?”

He looked up at me and smiled.

“I can! That’s a good thing right?”

I giggled and shook my head.

“That is good, because, Johnny, we can start playing right away! Now if you would take a seat on the bench..”

He complied with my request and he already had a nice posture.

“I can see that your posture is already really good, and that’s important when playing an instrument like the piano. So, now that I have you seated, I want you to play your right hand at middle c.”

He looked up at me confused. I laughed and took his hand.

“Right here. This is the key that everything revolves around. It’s important to know where it is. And that key will be played by your thumb as your other fingers have their own key.”

He pressed his thumb down and repeated it.

“Do you want to play classical music? Or do you have your own piece that you prefer to learn first?”

He thought for a moment and rested his hands on his thighs.

“I want to play classical music, but I want to play ‘The Maiden's Prayer’.”

I smiled and got all excited. ‘The Maiden’s Prayer’ was absolutely one of my favorite pieces.

“Ah, you have good taste! I would be honored to teach you such an elegant piece.”

I dug around in the room to find the sheet music for the song, but all I could find was Beethoven and Mozart sheet music.

“Aish, I told them to put their sheet music back in the right order. I already organized these once..”

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I swung around to be met with big brown eyes.

“H-Hi, Johnny..I’m sorry it will only be a few minutes. My other colleagues must have mixed it in with their sheet music.”

I stepped to the side and ran past him to the other side of the room. I looked on the shelf and I couldn’t find it anywhere. I normally have the music alphabetically organized, but I couldn’t find ‘The Maiden’s Prayer’ under the T’s.

“Hey, y/n- it’s okay! I can choose a different song to play. It’s no big deal.”

I stood away from him but I could sense the disappointment. I looked at him and frowned.

“No, Johnny, I’m going to teach you this song and nothing is going to stop us from succeeding!”

An hour later..

*Dun- Dun- Dun——-DUN*

“Ah- okay okay, so maybe you just aren’t finding a comfortable way to move your hand without your other fingers hitting keys that aren’t right. I mean you have pretty big hands compared to me, but I guess you just don’t have the strength to only use a select few of your fingers at a time..”

I took Johnny’s hand and massaged it to get him to loosen up. I sat on the bench with him as I did so.

“So, y/n! Are you from California?”

“Eh, no. I’m from h/s. But I’ve been here most of my life..so it’s like I’m from here. What about you?”

I switched hands now. He stretched out his right hand from the massage.

“Nope, I’m from Kentucky. Born and raised.”

I giggled and continued loosening his joints.

“How old are you if you don’t mind me asking? And what made you want to work as a piano teacher?”

I smiled and looked into his eyes.

“I’m 25. I started working here when I graduated university. When I was a teenager I was obsessed with playing the piano and I loved teaching my cousins and friends how to play. Of course none of them got very far..but I enjoyed it while it lasted. So I decided, what better job than to be a piano instructor!”

He laughed and looked over at the black and white keys.

“What do you do?”

He turned his head and looked back at me.

“I’m an actor. I’m surprised you haven’t recognized me by now, I am pretty big in the acting industry.”

He fixed his collar and ran a hand through his hair.

I laughed and nodded my head.

“I kinda thought you were familiar, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He looked at me with sympathy.

“Well, that’s very kind of you Ms. Y/n.”

I smiled at him and got up from the bench. I touched Johnny’s shoulders and forced them to face the piano.

“I’m going to show you a few exercises that you can practice while I search for that sheet music. These exercises will help you earn more muscle in your fingers and dexterity in your left hand as well as your right. Do you play any other instruments?”

He sat up straight and looked up and over at me as I asked the question.

“Yes, I actually do. I usually play guitar, though.”

He looked down at the tiny scars on his fingertips, probably from the guitar strings.

“Oh, that’s good! So it will be pretty easy for you to build up dexterity, since you probably have strong muscles in your hands already from playing guitar. But I would rather you do both exercises because your hands still need to learn the keys and the distance between them. Your hands will feel tired and stretched, but that’s what we want!”

He nodded and turned back towards the keys.

I slowly introduced him to two of my favorite exercises that mainly specialized in helping muscle build and dexterity. After he got the hang of both of them I finally started to look around for ‘The Maiden’s Prayer’.

“You are doing great, Johnny! One of the easiest students I’ve had!”

He smiled and continued to practice the keys I told him to press.

I stood up from looking in the lower shelves of the bookcase that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and caught a glance of outside through the window.

“Oh my, it’s that time already?”

Johnny abruptly stopped and looked my way.

“Oh wow, time really does pass when you are having fun!”

I giggled and walked over to Johnny.

“It was so nice to meet you, Johnny. I hope that you will be consistent with your lessons.”

I smiled and winked.

He smiled back and reached his hand out. He brushed back my stray hair and let his hand linger on my cheek for a few seconds.

“The pleasure was all mine, really, Ms. Y/n. Thank you for being so considerate and passionate.”

I felt as if my legs were going to buckle beneath me.

“O-of course! Come back soon, please”

He handed me a card and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“My number is on there, you know, in case there’s a mishap. Or since it’s you, call me anytime.”

I blushed and held his card with my hands. Treasuring it.

“I’ll see you soon, Ms. Y/n.”

“I hope to see you soon, as well, Johnny.”

He couldn’t help himself and closed the gap between us. He had his arms wrapped around me as I too had my arms wrapped around him. His words would sound muffled and incoherent to most, but to me, they were as clear as the sky was blue.

“Thank you. For being different.”

[writingtoforgetreality]

Stockholm Syndrome (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: During the fight with the Dora Milaje in his safe-house, Zemo made an exit. But not alone. For inexplicable reasons, he dragged you along. Probably because he wanted to mess with Sam & Bucky. Would the Baron kill you? Or worse?

Words: 4,083

Warnings: language, angst, fluff (?), kidnapping, spoilers for TFATWS, (Let’s put the angsty shit in this part & the fun stuff in the second one.), (Y/E/C) = your eye color, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The fight in front of you held your entire attention. Eyes focused on moving bodies, kicking, punching their way through. While you were not inexperienced when it came to battling, you preferred holding back. Bruises were not necessarily your favorite. Not these kind of bruises at least. All your ears could make out was the grunting radiating from the combat. Hence why the movements behind you stayed inconspicuous. Only when a cloth pressed against your nose & you had no choice but to breathe in, did you notice the jeopardy of the situation. Darkness enveloped you. The last thing you perceived was a dark silhouette picking you up. As much as you wanted to fight back, to defend yourself, it was impossible. All strength had dissipated. Whatever was happening, you hoped you would wake up again. This could not be how you died. You would not die.

Pain woke you up. But you were not hurt. At least that was what you remembered. Then it came to you. Someone had kidnapped you. If your eyes did not open soon, you would regret it later. Heavy eyelids slowly opened. Though it took many attempts to keep them that way. You scanned the room. There were no windows, no light which would have made that task easier. It took a few minutes to adjust to the obscureness. And once you did, you found yourself as perplexed as before. No restraints were obstructing your motions. Technically, you could up & leave. But it was never that simple, was it? The door was opposite of you. Your muscles were still sore. The act of standing up & waltzing over seemed like too much effort for you. The bleakness of the wall your back rested against was a more welcomed sensation. Your knees scooted closer to your chest. Arms raking around them, you hugged yourself. Hoping it would bring you a bit of comfort. Your brain failed to work properly. Because you were stumped. Who could have possibly seized you? Walker was busy getting his ass kicked. Lemar imitated his partner, pretty much. Sam ordered Bucky to help out & went into the battle right after. And Zemo was… Yeah, where the hell was Zemo during all of that? If you recalled correctly, he held a drink in his hand. Like you, he kept away from the fight. And then? You were aware that the Baron was not a saint. Neither were you. But you did not believe he would pull something like that. Then again, it was Zemo. Nobody knew his next step. Nobody but himself. Your foot tapped a rhythm on the cold, grey pavement. Usually, when your anxiety acted up, you distracted yourself. Fiddling with your hands or bouncing your legs. Something you could focus on that was not life threatening to your mind. The unknown beat managed to calm you down the slightest. Whoever held you hostage would be back soon. Your gut feeling told you so much.

Maybe you dosed off again. Because your body flinched when a creak reached your ears. Quickly, you looked around for possible threats. The only thing that had changed was the door sitting ajar. Only a diminutive gap. It was noticeable due to the light illuminating the room. There was no piece of furniture which meant that nobody lived here. It resembled a cell. But even cells had a bed, a chair. Something. The room turned dim again but only for a second. A shadow, you figured. Your captivator was here. So close, in fact, goosebumps erupted. A chill ran down your spine. This single interaction could modify your imprisonment. You still needed time to consider a successful escape plan. Which meant that you needed to observe the person keeping you here. Movies displayed such situations more than once. It was manageable. If they decided to show themselves & reveal their identity. Your eyes fell to the boots first. Black or a dark brown that was not detectable due to the lack of brightness. Next were the pants. Black again. The end of a coat came into view. Dark grey, almost anthracite. Your thoughts instantly went to one person. You could be mistaken. He was not the only one with a coat like that. Your gaze flickered up to his hands. The leather gloves were proof enough. Your (Y/E/C) eyes locked onto his brown ones. There was no shock written over your features. After all, deep down, you awaited this sight to be met with. As much as you wanted to withhold it, your eyes rolled & the sigh that left your lips was one of pure exhaustion. Zemo never made a secret out of it. His dislike for you started off the moment he first laid his eyes on you. From then on, it only seemed to increase steadily. You were a simple person. If someone treated you like shit, you returned that favor with pleasure & ten times worse.

“You are awake.” he stated the obvious after his frame entered through the doorway.

“Pretty sure I’m still dreaming.” you replied sarcastically, your elbows propping onto your knees. A smirk formed at the corners of his mouth. Whatever you said, it was the wrong thing.

“You dream about being locked inside a small cell? And I make an appearance as well? This does sound problematic, (Y/N). Nothing I would not be able to help you with.” he enjoyed this. Disgust made itself shown onto your face.

“Yeah? How could you possibly help me with that?” it took you a second to fully realize what you said. Immediately, you corrected yourself. “You know what? I don’t even wanna know.” your head rested in your hands, slightly embarrassed by turning this conversation awkward. Maybe it would have been more convenient if you just kept quiet. Zemo chuckled shortly but did not comment on it again.

“I assume you wonder why you are here.” the Baron observed your small frame on the floor. It was easy to recognize how uncomfortable you were.

“Your assumption might be correct.” your head tilted upwards, trying to hide the fear. Burying it deep down. You needed to think clearly so you could escape him.

“Would you like me to declare your purpose?” he questioned, eyebrows raising.

“Enlighten me, Baron.” you wasted no time with your reply. Maybe you imagined it but you could have sworn that his muscles tensed up when you called him by his title. You were the weaker one here so you kept your jokes at bay.

“I have no desire to get involved with the Wakandans. A getaway is more enjoyable with a suitable associate.” his hands gestured & you fathomed the seriousness behind his words.

“Oh, so that’s what I am now? An associate? Could’ve sworn I was your enemy. Improvement, I guess.” you focused on a lighter spot that interrupted the evenly dark color of the cement wall.

“I never declared you my enemy. That is solely your imagination.” Zemo stared at you but you would not give him the satisfaction of holding eye contact with him. He did not deserve it.

“I prefer my imagination then.” you stated & earned another chuckle from the Baron.

“Our departure is soon.” he let you know & left you alone once again. Great, so he did have a plan for you. But it did not seem like he wanted to murder you brutally. Basically, you could do nothing. The lock of the door clicked. No way out of this room. And your cellphone was no longer with you. He probably removed it from you while you were unconscious.

The drug Zemo had you breathe in really affected you. Tiredness rushed through you still. Falling asleep once again was inevitable. A steady, loud noise stirred you from your slumber. When your eyes opened, the chair you were seated in felt familiar. Your surroundings were not new to you. It was Zemo’s private jet. No sight of him. No sight of Sam & Bucky. The only company was the engine of the small plane, creating a ringing in your ears. Surprisingly, you were well rested. Your sleep schedule was messed up. On a good day, you slept for three hours. On a normal day, though, you were lucky if the dreamland even invited you in. Did that mean that you should thank Zemo? For drugging you? Your gratitude could stay inside, for now. It was kind of embarrassing to admit that you had enough rest because of him stunning you. All it would do was feeding his ego. He had enough of that already. Would it be clever to hop out of a plane that was thousands of feet in the air? A clever suicide mission, maybe. Zemo would not harm you. If he truly wanted to, you would be a ghost already. Where was he anyway? Certainly, he would not leave your side after kidnapping you. A look down your lap confirmed what you had feared. The trembling of your hands was noticeable. Almost worse than usual. If push came to shove, you could defend yourself perfectly fine. The Baron did not strike you as a fighter type of guy. Sure, he could handle a gun. In reality, the one thing he could really handle was his alcohol. If you had been in a cell for almost ten years, you would not be able to cope with this world either. Now that you were thinking about it...when was Zemo not drinking? Ever since you guys had teamed up, he had taken every chance to get some liquor into his system.

“How are you feeling?” a voice startled you. The cause of it was your dear captivator. His strut brought him over to you, taking a seat right opposite of you. Plopping down onto the soft cushion with a sigh, he intertwined his fingers in front of his chest. His chin rested on the back of them. The intensity with which he eyed you was unsettling. Your body curled together, shifting away from his rigid glance. The man in front of you frowned. Never before had you behaved that way. Usually, you were sarcastic, humorous. Your current state was uncommon. The fight or flight instinct kicked in. If you played by his rules, the cards were on your side. So the only natural thing was to answer him.

“Okay.” it was short but the tone held much meaning.

“Okay is not good.” he mumbled quietly, though you could still make out his words. The clouds outside of the window you were sitting next to looked like cotton. Smooth, soft. Perfect if you wanted to jump in. The sunset colored the sky in various, bright hues. A phenomenon. That was something that had always fascinated you. “Astonishing, is it not?” the silence broke when he spoke up yet again. You nodded, still gazing outside.

“We will arrive soon.” another voice joined you. The startle from your side could not be stopped. You hated how jumpy you were. Especially during such a situation. The strong, independent woman you usually were was gone. Right now, you were like a little girl, awaiting punishment for misbehavior. Apparently, the Baron was a mind reader because he soothed your worries immediately.

“You did nothing wrong, if that is one of your concerns.” he started. His eyes then flickered to the other man on the private jet. “Thank you, Oeznik.” small smiles were exchanged between the two of them. The assistant disappeared through a door again. Zemo being the only company left.

“Where are we going?” you had to know.

“Somewhere safe. Where nobody can locate me.” as his eyes met yours, he finished. “Us.” your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His explanation was not helpful at all. You were still left in the dark. Your destination was unknown but he assured you that you would be safe. Zemo would never lie about something so significant. This bugging feeling was still present. If he did not tell you more about the location, maybe he could elucidate this.

“Why me? Why, out of everyone, did you kidnap me?” slight anger was behind your eyes but one could only notice if they looked precisely. The Baron’s head tilted. In amusement, you guessed. His forming smile held a hint of another emotion you could not quite identify.

“Kidnapping is such a harsh word, don’t you think?” was it mockery you could hear? “I believe there is no need for us to repeat our previous conversation. I told you why you’re here.” he stood up from his seat, dragging his body to the very end of the plane. There, he picked up two small glasses. The liquid of the half empty bottle of scotch poured a good amount in both of them. Evidently, one for him & one for you. His hand stretched out towards you & he offered you the drink. You eyed it suspiciously. While you were not one for drinking alcohol, maybe it would assist to calm your nerves. In the end, you reached for it, touching his hand in the process. The skin contact sent an unintended chill down your spine. Goosebumps were forming. The pit of your stomach felt odd. Never before had you experienced such a sensation. Though, & you had to admit that, it was everything but unpleasant. Your body language spoke louder than you would have liked. And it did not go unnoticed by the man in front of you. To avoid an awkward tension, he decided against commenting on your body’s reaction.

The first sip made you wince. A burning sensation washed down your throat. The Baron handled his alcohol way better than you did, that much was obvious. Unfortunately, the liquor did not numb your anxiety right away. The effect was awaited but luck was not on your side. Would it be rude to ask for another drink? The downside was not realizing how strong it was. If you got wasted then Zemo could take advantage of your state. Depended on how he defined taking advantage of you. The conversation that had died down for a while was resurrected. This time, it was you. This shocked not only you but also him.

“I don’t like you.” you stated monotonously.

“I am aware.” he chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

“You don’t like me either.” one of your eyebrows raised.

“An incorrect assumption.” his hands gestured to emphasize his words. You rolled your eyes, throwing your arms up in frustration.

“A freaking obvious fact.” you breathed out, falling back into your chair. The softness caressed you tenderly. A hum left you & your previous desperation was replaced by some sort of relaxation. Why did your emotions change so quickly? One moment, you were scared. The next, you were furious. Then, you untightened. All in the presence of the man who had kidnapped you.

“What is going through your mind right now?” seemed like he was eager to talk to you. Comfortable silence with Baron Zemo was not possible. It was either awkward or not quiet at all. Your head snapped into his direction. He was deep in thought. Occupied with whatever his mind came up with.

“I-I don’t know.” you were being honest. Spending more time with him meant no lies. At least not about such things. The next question came naturally. “What about you?” one corner of his lips lifted slightly. The first step in the right direction. Deep down, Zemo was aware that you did not exactly hate him. Liking him would be too far but at least, you tolerated him. Accepted his presence.

“I am quite fond of bringing you with me. Sam & James are irritating. Helpful but irritating. You are a delight to be around.” he confessed & you had the urge to call him out on his ridiculous behavior.

“Sounds fake but alright…” your annoyance was audible.

“I beg your pardon?” he abandoned his glass, placing it on the small table nearby. Elbows propped onto his knees & his upper body leaned forward, closer to you. But not close enough to make you feel uncomfortable.

“Ever since we met, we’ve been arguing non-stop. This is the first normal conversation between us.” your fingers pointed to him & then to you, signaling what you were talking about.

“Arguments are not an indicator for antipathy.” Zemo explained.

“Oh, they’re not?” the sarcasm was more than obvious. “What then?”

“They are concealing true emotions, burying your urges deep within.” casually spoken, as if he had prepared this exact speech multiple times before.

“My urges?” you questioned, making fun of his statement.

“Indeed.” he wore a winning smile & you hated the effect it had on you.

“Sure.” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. “My only urge is to punch yo-“ both of your heads turned into the direction of Oeznik who unknowingly interrupted your conversation.

“We’re here.” he claimed, nodding briefly, & left you alone again. By the way his face changed, he looked like he was sorry for bothering the two of you. Truthfully, you were glad that he joined you because without him, you would have said something regrettable.

Paris. He dragged you to France. If your situation were any different, you would have felt excited to be here. Before you exited the private jet, Zemo threatened you. If you had the glorious idea to speak up before you arrived at your destination, you would regret it later. Basically, you thought he would kill you. Of course you had no clue that the Baron would never hurt you in any way. After all, you were a victim of his kidnapping. Whether he called it that or not. The small alleyways were decorated with narrow buildings sitting next to each other. The cobblestone street underlined the atmosphere perfectly. Eyes wide, you were overwhelmed by the impression of the beauty of the sweet town. When one of his hands reached for yours, you did not even flinch back. Because, if you were honest, it felt good. Your intertwined fingers brought you warmth. A feeling that spread out through your entire body. Sparks, almost like the beginning of a firework, started forming. The sun shone brightly. Your eyes closed contently. Hence why you did not notice Zemo watching your every move. He reminisced your features closely. The sunlight brought out the beauty of you in a way that was worth remembering. Your body sensed something. It was in your nature when someone stared at you. Carefully, your eyes opened, showing the (Y/E/C) colors that glowed almost mysteriously in the light. Warm brown ones locked onto yours. The two of you exchanged an honest, almost shy smile.

“What?” your head tilted to the side, observing his face. Looking for a sign. Any sign. But Zemo was a clandestine guy. It was almost impossible to look through him. Something inside you took that as a challenge. Maybe you could make his walls come crashing down. Maybe you were the one to change him. Wait. Why were your thoughts running down that road? He was the person to take you away from your friends. The sympathy that started building up was wrong. That much you knew. Resisting felt like a tough task. What did he say during the flight? Something about pushing down your urges. This was the first time you understood the meaning.

If you thought the town was pretty then the apartment you entered was stunning. It was on the top floor. Spacious, furnished in a minimalist way. Overly white, accentuated with colorful artwork. Special pieces to complete the look of it. It screamed expensive. The process of taking everything in took a few minutes. It was overstraining. In the best way possible. You should screw down your excitement. After all, you were part of an incredibly dangerous situation. But you let his touch linger on your skin. Just for a fraction longer. If you really wanted to, you could have retreated. Something told you that Zemo would not have forced you to hold onto him. That thought alone calmed you down a little further. Technically, he was not a stranger. Throughout the missions you had performed together, with Sam & Bucky, you two had become acquainted with. You were associates, apparently. And associates were not supposed to fear one another. Then again, associates would not kidnap each other. Your body was overthrown with mixed signals. Unknown what was wrong & what was right. Your friends would probably describe you as insane, reckless. Maybe you were. Maybe the last few weeks had formed you into a different type of person. That type who sympathized with a criminal. With a criminal who broke out of a high security jail. Since when had criminals become your type? And why were you starting to think in a very friendly, almost amorous way? Looked like you really were insane.

Who would have thought the Baron to be an excellent chef? Definitely not you. But here he was, preparing a meal for you. This was actually pretty sweet of him. His body behind the stove & his eyes focused on the task. It was a sight for sore eyes. Only, of course, if he were not Zemo you were referring to. While he cooked, you set the table. He assured you that you did not have to but it felt like the right thing to do. It was the least you could do. What were you even saying? He kidnapped you, for God’s sake. Your body, your emotions, should be damned.

“Is this something you do often?” Zemo’s question caught you off guard. For a moment, you halted in your tracks. Cutlery was being put down. A deep breath left your mouth.

“What?” your bewildered expression made him chuckle. Funny to watch your perplexity.

“Living in your head more than in the present.” his proclamation cut through the tension.

“I…um, haven’t realized that, actually.” you answered awkwardly. Your hand raised to the back of your head, resting behind your ear.

“You do. When spending time with Sam & James. And now. It is quite entertaining.” he eyed you closely. It made you slightly uncomfortable.

“Why?” your curiosity got the best of you. That was nothing new. Even before he brought you here, your nosiness was on of your more obvious characteristics.

“Because the light in your eyes shifts. You are more at ease. Not to forget your smile…” Zemo trailed off at the end of his sentence, voice a little softer than usual.

“What about my smile?” you really were curious. Would it be in your favor or not? There was only one way to figure that out.

“It differs from when you are actively engaged in a conversation. The corners of your mouth lift in a softer way. No hesitation or restriction.” he finished, his sparkling brown eyes meeting yours. Due to the embarrassment, you could not keep eye contact. So you averted your gaze, facing the almost empty plate in front of you.

“You talk like you’ve known me forever.” your whispers were almost missed. The tone so quiet, even your racing heart was louder.

“I am simply skilled at reading people. You facilitate that process, actually.” every single word he spoke made so much sense that it almost did not make sense anymore. There was no other way to describe it.

“I do? How?” your constant short questions were amusing to him. On one hand, you wanted to distance yourself from him as much as possible. On the other hand, you inquired every single time he finished talking.

“I assume it is because you do not fear opening up to me & letting me in.” people who did not know your history would have believed you two had been friends for years. By the way he discerned the small, almost unnoticeable details about you. Details you did not even know existed in the first place.

“You assume an awful lot, Baron.” you teased, eyes moving to his face gingerly.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” but you could not. Because it would have been a lie. A smirk made its way onto his face when you did not give him a reply. Unintentionally, you mimicked his expression. He had you. Right here, he had you. And he was not the only one aware of the shift in the situation. You were just as deep in it as he was. It was a game with fire. Who would get burned in the end?

~to be continued~

Published (04/28/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @yallgotkik, @noavengers, @lieutenantn, @birdieofloxley, @aisling1985, @trelaney, @hiddlestoner-cumberbitch, @msmarvelsmain, @friday18eo, @crackerjackharkness, @waiting-for-motivation, @obsessedwithfandomsx, @friday18eo, @bibliophilewednesday, @princess-yuna, @trenton007, @pedropascallovebot, @your-lovers-heart, @stressedoutsteph (thanks for your support <3)

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love Pt. 2 (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T? Maybe? Almost the exact opposite of the first one. Language, minor violence Genre: Fluff, mainly, with admittedly a little bit of humor? I blame my lack of sleep. And my adhd. Warnings: Implied cannibalism adjacent activities because guess what honey, this is a fucked up family, what do you expect of me??? Sure, they have breakfast in this, there's cute stuff, but c'mon, they don't eat flowers and oatmeal! Notes: Doubt it needs to be said, but this is a sequel to the good ending of part one. Also Cass has one line in this that might be OOC, or seem oddly placed, but admittedly this chapter is also loosely based on a dream I had, and I couldn't not include the few direct quotations I remembered, and she seemed the most likely to say the line. And yes, there will be a part 3, because I am weak and also kind of maybe made this one less plot-moving than intended.

{Wounded Love: The re-woundening}

Every step ached more than the last, even with Alcina supporting you. She had wanted to carry you down the stairs, of course, but you had insisted that you would be fine. Now you were just determined not to complain out loud. One yelp or cry and you’d be scooped up in her arms, surely to be carried for the rest of the day. As much as you appreciated your girlfriend’s assistance, you hated feeling useless, and hated putting a burden on others. So here you were, one arm wrapped around Alcina’s waist, limping ever-so-slowly towards the dining room.

Further ahead (unburdened by your injury) the three Dimitrescu daughters talk among themselves, voices hushed as they too headed for breakfast. It was odd to see them all awake, and socializing, as there was usually at least one who came to meals late. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with your condition… or the circumstances that had caused it.

Less than eighteen hours had passed since your fight with a stray lycan, and tension had been high since. While you hadn’t yet spoken to the sisters, you had spoken to Alcina, who had briefly mentioned their concern for you. Whether they actually cared about you as a person or just cared because you are dating their mother is unclear. Based on how they had acted while treating your wounds, though, you were inclined to think that they were fond of you. And seeing as Alcina had already vowed to get revenge on your behalf… well, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that her daughters intended to assist.

“Careful on the last step, dear,” Alcina says, positioned as to catch you if you fell. It takes a little willpower to resist the urge to hop down the rest of the way. As long as you landed on your uninjured leg, it wouldn’t even be that bad. Still, irritating your girlfriend first thing in the morning felt like a pretty stupid thing to do. Instead you just nodded, slowing down even more, and took visible care not to trip. “Good girl.”

Well, you certainly couldn’t say that being careful didn’t have its rewards.

“I have my moments,” you replied, blush rising to your cheeks. Suddenly your pain didn’t feel so bad (at least until you took another step and winced). “Damn, who woulda thought that cutting a chunk out of my leg would make it hurt more?” The leg in question throbbed in pain, as if to prove your point, protesting the weight you put on it. Changing the angle at which you stood helped some, allowing the lower half of the limb to bear more of the burden.

“Dearest…” Alcina starts to say, looking like she was going to readdress her desire to carry you. For a moment you try to avoid her gaze, but she moves in front of you, making sure that you could still hold onto her for support. “I know how you feel, how you want, desperately, to be independent. When I was first… granted this gift, it took a long time to adjust. There was so much I had to relearn how to do, so much that I suddenly needed done for me.” A pause, a deep breath. At last you look up at your girlfriend, warmth in your heart, reaching out to hold her hand. “You have time, my dear, and plenty of it. More than that… this will not last forever. The more you push yourself, the longer your recovery will take. Now, please, allow me to assist. You have already proven how strong you are.”

“Oh, you drive a hard bargain… but if you insist, who am I to decline? Or, well, who am I to decline twice in a row?” You answer, somewhat begrudgingly. It wasn’t much farther to the dining room, you figured, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss to accept help. Or at least that was what you told yourself. Even with Alcina’s encouragement it was so hard for you to accept her help. After all, you were the one that worked for her. Never mind the fact that she was somewhat responsible for your injury- really, you were actively avoiding thinking about that.

It’s much easier to forget once Alcina carefully picks you up. One arm goes under your legs, the other under your chest, lifting you without any effort. You might as well have been a kitten or a child’s toy. The movement does, however, shift your injured leg in such a way that it aches. At this point you can hardly move the limb at all without it hurting, and even the slightest friction against the bandage makes your eyes water.

Apparently someone would be delivering some painkillers later in the day. You assumed it would be The Duke (whose name is apparently not Doug, as you had thought), seeing as he knew some special way to get to and fro without risking the same fate that had befallen you. Which, of course, made you feel a lot better. Getting someone else hurt would weigh on your mind forever.

Regardless, you were safe now, as was your strange, bloody little family. Before long you would even be enjoying a pleasant meal together. Certainly that would help get your mind off of your wound? For now, though, you were met with an unexpected impasse. The sort of impasse that really, really should have been expected.

“Why… is the doorway… so small?” You asked, jokingly, as you stare into the mildly embarrassed face of your girlfriend. It’s already hard enough for her to crouch through the gap normally. When she’s carrying you? Impossible. “Can we ask Mother Miranda for bigger doors? She gave you eternal life and also three kids, she’s gotta be capable of making bigger doors. Put me down, I’ll go call her and-”

“That won’t be necessary, dear,” Alcina cuts you off, not fully appreciating this part of your humor. Or maybe she had already asked for bigger doors, only to be told no?... Okay, yeah, it was probably the first option. With a sigh she sets you down, as gently as she can manage. Ready and raring to go, you start to hobble forward, only to find all three of the daughters waiting for you, just beyond the door. They’re grinning as they watch you, and Bela extended her arm to offer her help. “What appears to be the matter?” Alcina asks from behind you. Accepting your fate and Bela’s arm, you let the sisters guide you to the table, Cassandra holding your other side, and Daniela pulls your chair out for you. Honestly it’s pretty adorable. Evidently your girlfriend agrees, from the way she smiles as she follows.

“Thank you,” you say, more out of reflex than genuine gratitude. Again, you weren’t thrilled about needing this assistance. If the girls notice they’re at least polite enough not to mention it. They simply move to their own seats at the large table, eager to dig in. It feels… strange, to be here, on this side of things. Stranger still to realize you’re the only one intending to eat actual food. There’s wine in your glass, but it’s a much fainter red than those you’ve previously served to your girlfriend. Thank goodness, you think, after how raw my throat was yesterday, I really don’t need to taste any more blood.

Once Lady Dimitrescu sits down, the meal formally begins, with several maidens appearing from the kitchen. Several seem relieved to see you, although surprised, and one even gave you a brief smile. The smile did not last, however. It wasn’t unexpected, considering the nature of her job, the pressures that it put upon her. No one smiled at mealtimes. Well, no maidens, that is. They simply moved around, wordlessly, faces blank, doing exactly as instructed. Only a few days ago you had been among them, fear keeping you in line. Was it wrong of you to care for Alcina, knowing what she was capable of doing to others? Knowing what she might have, in another life, done to you?

A maiden places a plate of warm food, as well as a bowl of fresh fruit, in front of you. For a moment your eyes meet, but she looks away instinctively. Your heart threatens to break.

“This looks wonderful, thank you for your hard work, all of you,” you speak up, glancing at each of the women working so hard. There’s more you want to say that dries in your throat; you are valued, you are deserving, someday I will join your ranks again.

“You don’t need to thank them, they’re just doing their jobs,” Cassandra chimes from the other side of the table. Hearing her say that damn near makes you drop your fork. It’s not an uncommon settlement, particularly among older generations and the rich, but one that irks you nonetheless.

“They’re doing my job. They are taking on extra work, for no pay, because I am injured. Why would I be so cruel as to ignore them? Have I not toiled alongside them enough to call them my kin?” You ask, struggling to keep your voice even. Next to you Alcina is slowly cutting into her meat, watching the scene unfold out of the corner of her eyes, perhaps considering when to step in. On the other end of the table, Bela looks increasingly uncomfortable, as if silently willing her sister into silence. None of the maidens have reacted to what you said, likely too afraid of Cassandra to even consider speaking.

“Ooooh, this is much more fun than our usual breakfasts,” Daniela says, stifling a giggle. “Do you have any other thoughts you’d like to share? Preferably ones that aren’t about me.” At this, Alcina sets her utensils down, clearly intending to put an end to the discussion. Unfortunately for her, you were a bit… impulsive, especially considering the previous night’s activities had left your mind struggling to cope.

“Dead lycans smell terrible. Literally the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, easily, no question about it,” you answer, shrugging a little as you do. It’s such a simple thought that you almost don’t realize how the others at the table react. Until the clatter of silverware on the table catches your attention, that is. All three sisters are eying you with different expressions (Bela is confused, Cass is impressed, and Daniela looks shocked). But it’s Alcina’s wide-eyed stare that gets you to elaborate. “Should I have said ‘a dead lycan’? I only got one, so I guess I shouldn’t say they all smell bad. C’mon, though, they have to all smell bad, right?”

Suddenly Daniela shifts from shock to pure amusement, a fit of giggles overtaking her. You’re still confused, not sure what the matter was, so you just sip your wine and hope someone asks the right questions.

“You… killed the lycan that attacked you?” Bela finally says, after a few moments of her sister laughing, expression still incredulous. When you nod she sort of shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “May I ask how you managed that?”

“Oh, you know, I just meh meh-” you mime a stabbing motion with your fork- “until the stupid thing stopped moving. I had to use a tree branch as a weapon, but then it broke after a few whacks, which actually helped because then I had two stabbing implements to, you know, stab with. That’s right around when it got my leg, and it tried to bite me. Thankfully it wasn’t very smart, so when it leapt at me I just hyah-” this time an upwards strike- “right into its neck. That didn’t kill it, but it was enough to slow it down, which allowed me to stab the other half of the branch into its skull. Made this horrible, horrible sound as it died. Seeing as we are eating, I will not imitate the sound. Not that I could, now that I think about it…”

Once again there’s silence. Even Daniela has quieted now, and is watching you with rapt interest, likely hoping that you’re hiding another story up your sleeves.

“So… did you guys actually think that I managed to run away from the lycan? Or were you under the impression that it simply got bored of me and left?” You ask, casually returning to your breakfast afterwards. No one says anything, at first, taking in your words as best as they can. A few moments later both Daniela and Bela resume their meal, as nonchalant as one could be in the current situation. Alcina, however, rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze with a loving look.

“You will never cease to amaze me, my dear. But let us ensure you never have to… smell, or see, one of those wretched things again, yes?” She says, softly squeezing you as she does. You can’t help but agree, and nod eagerly, mouth too full of hashbrowns to speak. Still, there’s been a shift in the atmosphere of the room. It’s not that the family didn’t respect you before, as far as you can tell, but they evidently hadn’t expected you to prove as capable as you had. It brings a sense of pride to the forefront of your mind, making you completely forget about your injury for the remainder of the meal.

Unable to stop yourself, you insist on helping the other maidens clean up, and Alcina eventually agrees to let you wash a few dishes- as long as you stay sitting the entire time. The last thing you hear before you shuffle off to the kitchen is the start of a conversation between Cassandra and her mother.

“You picked quite a feisty one, didn’t you?”

“That I did, that I did…”

[viking-raider]

Quarantine: Early Bird *Cotton Candy Goodness*

Summary: After nursing a hamstring injury, Henry gets ready for returning to work on the second season of the Witcher.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1,276

Rating: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Fluff

Inspiration: A special request from @wondersofdreaming​ and a belated birthday present for her!

Author’s Note: This is from a conversation with @wondersofdreaming​!

Henry moaned as the alarm on his phone went off on the nightstand behind him, announcing it was four thirty am, you softly moan back in a sleepy and unconscious reply.

After several seconds of his alarm screaming its head off, Henry grunted and uncurled himself from around you, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm out in the phone's direction, picking it up and shutting it off, before it woke you. He laid there for a few more minutes, then sat up, shivering since he slept in his birthday suit, as he got out of the warm cocoon you and he had created throughout the night. He leaned over you, brushing his fingers through your hair and kissed your temple, before tucking the toasty blankets in around you, not wanting the wintry chill of the bedroom to disturb and wake you from your beautiful slumber.

Henry made the choice to wake up this early in the mornings, usually to get his work outs in, but recently also for the rehab of his hamstring, before going into work, and this morning was the first time in two weeks since said injury, he would be returning to work. But, just because he made that choice, to be an early bird, didn't mean he wanted to wake you up before the first light of dawn. One of you needed to have the luxury of sleeping the mornings away, and Henry was more than willing to make the sacrifice so it could be you.

He stifled a yawn and another shiver as he turned the heat on in the bedroom, then stepped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him, so the sound of his hot shower coming to life wouldn't bother you either. Showered, Henry stepped out of the steamy bathroom and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers from the dresser and put them on, with the bedroom being nice and toasty now, before going back into the bathroom and wiped the fog off the mirror. In the two weeks he'd been recovering from his injury, Henry hadn't bothered shaving and had a good beard growing, but since he was due back on set of the second season of the Witcher, he had to shave it.

Which he didn't mind at all.

Taking out his shaving cream and lathered up his cheeks and jawline, before taking up his razor and leaning slightly over the sink, carefully touching the sharp blades to his skin and concentrating on his task.

You moaned softly and shifted, unconsciously recognizing that the bed wasn't as warm as it had been, and sleepily sought out Henry's furnace-like body, but only found more blankets and an empty pillow. Sighing as you started to wake, you heard the bathroom door open, the sound of the floorboard creaking under Henry's weight as he went into the walk-in closet and him rummaging around for a pair of clean underwear, then his trek back into the bathroom. There was the soft sound of drawers opening in the sink vanity, followed by the soft flow of warm sink water as Henry got his face wet and soaped it up. You hummed, rolling onto your side to face the half open bathroom door, just as Henry squeezed an almond-sized dab of his shaving cream into his fingers, then worked it into a foamy lather on his scruffy cheeks.

You loved watching Henry shave, how his brow creased and he slightly narrowed his eyes as he stared at himself through his reflection in the mirror, so absorbed and focused on the delicate task of applying the razor to the warm and soapy hair of his face, uncovering strips of smooth and sensitive skin beneath it, so practiced and careful. You moaned loudly as the sage and citrus scent of his shaving cream wafted towards you in a fragrant and warm mist, closing your eyes with a happy and pleased smile.

But, your eyes snapped open again, hearing Henry's hiss.

“Fuck.” He snapped, bringing the fingers of his free hand to his cheek as a thin trail of bright, crimson blood trickled down it, dripping off his damp jawline and onto the edge of the counter. “I'm sorry, babe.” He said, looking over at you, the crease between his brows deepening as your eyes met. “I didn't mean to wake you.” He cooed, setting his razor down and tore a square of toilet paper off the roll, and wiped the blood off his cheek and the counter.

“You didn't.” You replied, sitting up. “I didn't mean to make you nick yourself.” You added, frowning at the fresh bead of blood from the cut, just below the apple of his cheekbone.

Henry smiled at you sweetly. “I was the clumsy one.” He told you, getting the blood to stop and picking his razor back up, to finish his task, still having the whole other side of his face to do.

You rested back against your pillow and the headboard as you continued to watch him shave, smiling as he spied you from the corner of his eyes and gave you his adorable attempt at a wink. Once he was finished, Henry washed the remaining shaving cream from his face and applied a bit of after shave, hissing and biting his bottom lip as it burned the cut on his cheek, then turned his attention to you. He crossed the gap between you, sitting down on the edge of the bed and cupped your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him and rubbed his nose playfully against yours, before kissing you tenderly on the lips. You moaned into the kiss, his warmth and the scent of his shaving cream and body wash enveloped you in a pleasant bubble.

“Why don't you go back to sleep.” He cooed, pressing his forehead to yours and stared deeply into your eyes. “I'll wake you before I leave for work.” He said, soothing his hands up and down your arms.

“Promise?” You sighed, staring back at him, you were still sleepy.

“Don't I always?” Henry chuckled, kissing you again and moved away from you, so you could lay back down.

Kissing your hair, Henry tucked you back into the blankets and moved away from you, going back into the closet to get dressed, then went downstairs, turning on the coffee maker you sweetly set up for him every night before bed, so his mornings ran smoother and he had one less thing to worry about, when he started his day. He got his morning coffee in and went out for his careful morning jog, feeling the stiffness in his leg, with slight pain, as he started to run, groaning and gritting his teeth through it. An hour later, with the sun peeking over the top of the snowy trees, Henry returned to the house and got his things together, before going back upstairs, tenderly kissing you awake.

“I'm off to the studio, dove.” He whispered against your cheek, when you moaned and blinked up at him. “I'll see you this afternoon, when I get off.” He told you, brushing your hair out of your face. “I love you.” He said, leaning in to kiss you again.

“I love you too, Puppy.” You moaned back in a sleepy voice, turning your head to meet his slightly chilled lips. “Be careful.” You added as he pulled back.

“I promise.” Henry chuckled, pausing in the doorway for a moment, watching you as you pulled his pillow to your face and fell back to sleep, then set off for work.

[wroteclassicaly]

Waves of Blue (Andy Dolan x Reader)

Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, rough sex, hair pulling, face slapping, slight choking, mentions of drug usage, & angst.

A/N : AAAAAAHHHHH! I have found the post that teaches you how to add a read more on mobile! Shoutout to the person who told me about that! You know who you are! ^_^ Anyways, I am so gonna be posting more, even if it’s harder because I have to write the fics on my phone, versus my laptop, lol. I stumbled across the song Waves of Blue by Majid Jordan, and my ass was emotional af (I have included some of the lyrics here in blue!) I obviously don’t own the song/lyrics!

The song was the kick one of my drafts needed for extra inspiration! And so, I bring you the start of this mini fic! It won’t be very many chapters. And I will probably re-visit for a prequel, to write out how the reader and Andy first hooked up. But I wanted to try something different and start my fic with their relationship already ongoing. Hopefully it doesn’t suck, haha.?

I haven’t felt this inspired for a Cody character since Michael Langdon! I adore Andy’s traumatic, cocky, angsty, hot mess ass! And I really wanna explore the creativity he’s bringing me! Lemme know what y’all think? And give the song a listen - I’m in in love with it!

Forgive me if there’s some mistakes, loves! I’m nervous about how I’ve written Andy, and how the smut is. Hope y’all enjoy anyways!

:)

~*~

The rain is a glittering array of shimmering moisture as its presence is pouring down on the roof of your apartment. Your knees are knocked tightly together, jean fabric digging into flesh. Your phone is perched face down atop your legs, vibrating messages you don’t care to read. They’re not the ones that you want to see. You tilt your head back, the tears redirecting themselves down the sides of your cheeks. You turn your gazing direction to that silk robe atop your bed - a reminder.

“It’s just a fling, love.”

But it can’t be, can it?

You have to laugh at yourself. Isn’t this what every girl asks themselves when they’re dumped? Rare is an exception who steals the other person’s heart and changes that exterior they carry. Your phone vibrates again and that raging anger to match the ruby red color on his robe that rests on your bedroom sheets - it charges your energy like a violent strike of lightening! Your hand launches your phone into the hallway outside your bedroom door before you can stop yourself.

“There’s your fucking fling, dumbass Andy Dolan!”

You try to hum to fight off the incoming intrusive thoughts, to ignore your ringing phone in the distance, but it’s to no avail. You’re getting more overwhelmed with the pain by every agonizing second. Your fists clench into the leather armrests below. It’s too much, you can’t bear another second of this shit. It doesn’t matter that it’s raining, it doesn’t matter that you have over fifteen unanswered recent calls from Andy since you threw your phone - unbeknownst to you.

You snatch the stupid silk robe from its place and begin your knowing journey with the excruciatingly expensive item, having already made up your mind. A quick removal of your keys from the hooks beside your front room door and your bare feet seem to lead you - heart first - into the downpour. Your clothing is soaked the instant you step outside. Mumbling all the way to your SUV and clutching Andy’s silk garment becomes your saving grace to help anchor your focus. If one can be focused in bare feet during a thunderstorm, erratically throwing her car into reverse.

The drive to his place of privacy - his sanctuary - the cold place you once used to help him warm. It doesn’t take you long. With your tires grinding against soaking asphalt, country beach roads whipping past you, and your angry windshield wipers struggling to keep up with your car’s pace - Andy’s gates come into your sights. You’re trembling, too upset and geared to go for a turn around now. Andy didn’t change the security, so you let yourself in, abandoning your car just inside, doors open and interior carelessly being soaked.

It doesn’t matter. I just have to tell him this.

That’s your mantra for continuous approach. You round the long expanse of beautiful greenery, waves crashing violently in the distance, a love affair to collide with this storm. Your simple outfit of blue jeans and a baby blue tank top are beyond recognition, weighted down by the sopping wet summer. The shivering begins to thrum along to an invisible, but very present humming inside you. It’s that feeling, the one you know all too well.

Andy Dolan.

Like when you first met, you begin to tremble, letting your limbs move you accordingly. Making sense is last on the priority list. Normally, you would have a thousand conversational scenarios laid out, but that’s not the case. Rushed on purely raw need to tell him - no - inform him, that is what is in charge here. The soft grass is squishy between your toes, a tickle from each freshly mowed blade, water in the distance smelling like salt and flowing freedom.

Every sense is heightened for you right now. Your limbs are heavy, yet your footfalls are light, carrying you with a quick grace. You don’t bother with the front door, opting for his usual back door hang out. It’s a few more minutes before your destination is reached. That’s when you hear him screaming, his voice in high distress, hard and rough against the accent. Your chest heaves to cage hammering heartbeats that you can’t keep up with.

“Motherfucking ANSWER ME!” He shouts, ripping the phone from his ear to redial.

You rolls your eyes, assuming it’s a dealer, or whomever he would rather be with than you. After all, he’s the one who said he just needed an ideal situation, not a relationship.

“Y/N... come on, don’t be a fucking cunt! I need to tell you something, please!”

Almost on cue the song drops loud on his fancy speakers in the house, freezing you to your spot.

I wanna hold you close

Don't wanna let you go

Be with you night and day

'Cause I've been feeling so low

Don't have to ask me twice

You really take me there

I wanna touch your light

I wanna breathe in your air

Andy angrily taps at his phone again, almost growling, reminding you of a wild animal. That’s when you’re snapped into your remaining senses, moving up and onto his deck, standing just feet from him. It takes him a few seconds to look up and see you through the rain. You can’t bring yourself to go any closer, afraid to let go right away. That’s how it is with Andy, you always give in.

You cut him off before he even gets a chance.

“Fuck you, Andy.”

Damn, was that really what you worked up the courage to dangerously drive yourself here to confess?

His lips purse a popping a noise, eyes widening in surprise at your word choices.

“I really fucking hate you.” Is what you give him, finding it easier to take steps now.

He still doesn’t speak as you approach, almost as if he’s recoiling. That wild animal within Andy Dolan. He’s not used to this. You can barely see through the rain, feeling like a moron. The movies make it look so dramatic, but you feel like you’re a wet dog on the verge of catching a cold.

It does good at numbing you though, almost shielding you from those haunting blue eyes. You swipe a hand across your face to clear your vision, and take that final step onto the deck with him, now just on the other side of where he stands in the doorway. That’s when he decides to speak, his voice softer than you’ve heard. It echoes his exhaustion, his surprise.

“You’re not the only one that feels that way, Y/N.”

You shake your head in disbelief, both of you not daring to make that closing gap. You would douse his body with yours; wet and cold. You’d be lying if you denied the shiver that attacked you, drawing your body in like a magnet - helpless to its every move.

“Don’t give me this kicked puppy front. We’re all human beings, Andy. And I didn’t fucking deserve you cutting your baggage open and just... dumping out whatever you felt like on me and then letting me go.”

Fuck.

He inhales sharply, head tilting in this sadness you seem to understand within the moment. It steals your breath, a pain punching your ribcage, causing your heartbeat to skip a few. Your jaw twitches as you turn away to gather your bearings, starting back down into the yard.

Why the fuck did I come here?

I'll be holding you tight

When the night is through

Andy takes a deep inhalation behind you and that catches you, dragging you right back. Before you know which end is up you’re turning back around and striding across the pool deck and right into your former lover. Andy meets you in the harsh rains, his hands cupping your neck so possessively, that you can’t remember a time where this hot mess of a man wasn’t bull dozing your life apart. You grasp his face in your palms, that unshaven stubble prickling your flesh. Your mouth meets his, his phone becoming ruined and forgotten as he lets it fall to the ground beside him.

His strong arms path down to encircle your waist, pulling you in from the weather, bunching your t-shirt up until it’s pooling around your tattered bra. You raise your arms to help him discard it, the heavy wet noise it makes when it collides with a nearby pool chair is enough to make Andy gain his surroundings.

“Stop, stop. Are you fucking high?” He asks you, a cautious pause.

You shake your head. “Aren’t you?”

This is when he scares you with a solemn silence you weren’t aware he could possess.

“Andy...” You push your fingers through his damp curls.

“No, I’m not. I was just about to... when you didn’t answer.”

Almost as if he can’t take revealing that bit of truth, he thumbs a bra strap down your shoulder - deliberately slow. Your skin stings with the line of goosebumps that it brings, your own hands struggling to push that stupid ass identical robe off his broad chest.

“I should fucking rip this.” You say, causing a smile to come from him.

“Rip it and I’ll put you on your knees.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” A challenging look presses your features, but Andy intercepts, wrapping your hair around his fist and pulling your hair back. You feel the ache crack from the tips of your toes, hot wired into your cunt - direct express.

“You need more marks from me.” His mouth caresses your jawline, stubble catching the underside when his lips find your neck, a stimulation that you have become accustomed to craving.

His teeth bite down, a few seconds more where you feel him cleaning his evidence with a light set of kisses.

“There we go.” He scrapes his milky white teeth across your ear with a whisper so hot that you bow into him; knees weak.

Your bra is the next thing to fall somewhere, your jeans following. Andy doesn’t wait for you to even kick them off, his fingers sliding into your lace panties to see how much you still need him. He licks his lips, eyes closing in pleasure, a familiar stroking rhythm unraveling from the tips of his fingers.

“Shit, that’s a good girl. Even when you hate me you still need me, don’t you?”

The cockiness makes your wrist snap and palm collide with his cheek. You’re riled up, he’s riled up. Something you know he likes. “Like you fucking needed that?” Is your retort.

He groans out, a honey wet dip in his tone. “Only you can fucking touch me like that, Y/N.”

Lightening flashes through the darkened midnight skies, rain pounding across the surface of the pool to create a special beat. Andy finds your mouth in desperation once more, working your underwear down in a frustrated jerk. His fingers part your slick folds and ease into you without any warning. You look down to watch his strong forearm flex in its working marathon, back and forth between your thighs.

We'll be riding the tide in the sky so alive

On waves of blue (waves of blue)

I'm in love with the thought of being in love

In love with you (love with you)

You can bring me along for the rest of your life

If you wanted to (wanted to)

You let go and give into him, not daring to question why you came here in the first place. You know why. Andy has stopped his touches, watching you with that lowered stare he gives. His body is glowing from the neon lighting his home harbors, his creamy skin glistening with rain water. He’s hard through those silk pants, nothing left to the imagination.

“Take them off. Now.” You command him.

He can’t hide the greedy smirk that appears on his lips, not taking his eyes off you as his pants and boxers disappear in one go. He is gloriously hard and thick. You almost want to laugh at your cliche salivating tongue. Andy brushes your wet hair off your temple, his hands moving down your body in a tapping massage - reaching their target to hook behind your thighs.

He lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. He’s panting rapidly, nosing your neck. He grips himself, teasingly stroking your cunt to gather your arousal. You stutter on an exhale, unable to breathe out properly. It’s jagged and broken, much like your rationality.

You stop him when he attempts to press inside you. “Tell me again,” You plead. He looks at you in confusion. “Say I’m just a fling.” You finish.

“Y/N...” He struggles.

“Before you fuck me, I want you to tell me what I mean to you, Andy.”

It’s hard not to just fucking forget this and let go, let him take you, both of you get what you want and not have to deal with anything else. But you need to hear it. You want to know how much you’re not worth anything to him. You need to hear it more than you need to find out how much you mean to him. That’s what you came here for...

His enriching ocean eyes are glossy with desire, with something else you can’t place. They pin you into a set of shakes. You grip the hair at his neck’s nape.

“Everything.” He says it all at once, bringing your hand down atop his to help him line up, as he fucks himself into your cunt, stretching you with that delicious drowning burn.

You're no good for me

You got what I need

I just wanna be with you

You cry out, vision sprinkled with an array of floating shapes. Andy drives you against the door, hips slamming so hard you know you’ll be bruised before the night is through. You keep one arm around his neck, lowering the other to encourage him to hurt you deeper, nails clawing at his lower back, shredding the skin. His face stays buried in your neck, stubble adding to each motion he makes inside. You cling tight, using all your strength.

It’s slippery, it’s unstable, you can barely hold onto one another, but you manage. And that moment when you finally can’t keep yourself up, Andy lets you slide down, bringing you into the floor of the doorway, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, pressing in so hard you can’t contain the tears that roll from the corner of your eyes, coasting. He’s familiarized himself with how you come undone, even before you knew.

“You’re drenching my cock, baby. You need to let it go?”

You don’t answer, causing him to grip your throat.

“When I ask you something I expect an answer. You remember how this works, don’t you?”

“Fuck, yes! Please, Andy!” You don’t pride yourself now.

He guides a hand across you, as if he’s tuning a fine instrument. Your stomach quivers with a passing of his fingertips, engaging in a butterfly filled stomach clench. You’re tensing up, anticipating. Desiring.

“Fucking do it! Show me how much you still need this...” He trails off, dropping to rest his chest against your breasts.

“Even if you don’t need me.” It’s a counter thought to your need to hear him say he doesn’t want you.

“I’ll always need you.” You push him onto his back with newfound strength, and pin his hands above his head, your hips bouncing so hard that you can feel his firm structure beneath. That’s right, this is exactly what you have to have.

He’s damn near whining now, squeezing your fingers tightly. “Y/N.”

It’s a warning you don’t need. You lean down to steal a kiss, leaving him further winded, nudging his nose with your own, breasts smashed to between you two. Andy gives a silent agreement, dropping a hand down to quickly rub your clit. Your heartbeat is so out of control that you can’t hear anything but your own cries as you cum all over Andy’s cock. He follows with you, holding himself, keeping you there.

He’s shaking when it’s over. You can’t find coherent speech capabilities.

I'll be holding you tight

I'll wait this through

You stay resting on top of him, still keeping him inside. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but you know that there’s no going back now.

This is just another beginning...

~*~

Tagging: @dark-mei-rose @confettucini @lovelylangdonx

Lemme know if y’all wanna be added to the tag list?!!!!

[masonscig]

antidote

pairing | mason x sofía

word count | 2.4k

warnings | mention of rook’s death and breaking her wrist when she was a kid, so you know. a little angst. some suggestive language towards the end!

author’s note | so this is my late entry for day one of warm in wayhaven, cooking – as usual when i’m writing these two i can’t shut up for the life of me

•─────────────────•

He wakes up from his first nap in a week to the smell of chicken.

There’s only one person in the entire warehouse that could be cooking at 2 in the morning without burning the place down.

He trods barefoot down the dark hallway, his sweatpants hung low off his hips.

Putting on pants was a formality, really. But he had roommates that’d have aneurysms over anything less, so he’s usually at least half clothed when he ventures outside of his room.

The smell gets a lot stronger, mixes with other scents the closer he gets.

Her heartbeat’s stronger in his ears, though, so he keeps going, despite the way his nose is crinkled and his fists are clenched.

When he makes his way to the kitchen, he stops at the doorway, perching his hip against the frame.

She’s pulled a chair up to the stove, chin balanced on her knees that are up against her chest.

Her eyes are glued to the big silver pot that sits there, steam leaking out from the ventilation tiny holes in the lid.

Her hair’s tossed up in a messy bun, and from the glimmer of light from the overhead light above the stove, he can see that a few strands are plastered to the back of her neck and forehead.

She reaches out to twist the knob all the way to the left, then struggles to pick the pot up.

Despite him not announcing himself, he’s next to her in a flash, moving the pot to the other burner in a flash.

“Oh, hey,” she murmurs distractedly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nah.”

She nods, barely even giving him a second glance, grabbing the lid and placing it on the counter.

The steam threatens to curl higher and higher, but with a quick flip of a switch, the stove’s fan is pulling it into its vents.

There’s something definitely wrong with her – she’ll bake cupcakes for an elementary school bake sale at 2 a.m., but never soup. Who the fuck makes soup in the dead of night?

“I’m not an expert on human food by any means,” he starts, grimacing at the way the scent wafts towards him when she swirls the wooden spoon through the broth. “But why the hell are you making soup when it’s hot as fuck outside?”

She shrugs, dipping the spoon flat against the surface of the hot broth, filling it to the brim. “I was hungry.”

She brings it to her mouth, lips pursed, and blows on it, thin tendrils of steam floating towards him.

He’s still trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with her when she sips it, a small tired smile blooming across her features.

The soft breathy hum that buzzes from her throat is low enough for both of them to hear, nearly matching the pitch of the whirring fan.

He doesn’t wanna press his luck with her, considering they're being civil.

It’d been a week since they were ambushed and she came face to face with her attempted kidnapper.

Things between Mason and Sofía were already… complicated, to say the least.

Different attitudes, different wants, different needs. He’d managed to fail in all three of those categories, disappointing her over and over without really trying to.

There was a certain level of avoidance from the both of them for the days following the ambushing. It’s not that he wanted to get her alone nor he did he care if she was avoiding him, but this was the first time he’d been alone with her all week, so he wasn’t going to actively try to fuck this up.

“That’s it?” he asked, keeping it simple.

She ignores him, instead flitting around the kitchen to grab a bowl and a spoon.

Well, she’d be amicable if she kept quiet – she wasn’t wrong with that one.

He watches as she fishes out sliced vegetables, an ear of corn, and chicken, then fills the bowl to the brim with broth.

Setting it on the table, she grabs a stained tortilla warmer from the microwave and scoots up to her bowl, digging in with one hand, a tortilla rolled in the other.

She’s still sweating under the heat, her chest glistening, the seams of her tattered tank damp underneath her armpits.

He sinks into the chair across from her, arms crossed. 

“You gonna keep ignoring me?”

“Maybe,” she says from behind her hand (and around a mouthful of veggies).

“Tell me to leave, then, and I’ll go. Just say the word, sweetheart.”

He knows she won’t.

She lifts her eyes from the bowl to meet his own lazy gaze. Without saying another word, she dunks her rolled tortilla in the broth and takes a bite.

“That’s what I thought. You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“You’re not that invested in my life outside of work, are you?” She challenges, mashing the back of her spoon against a vegetable until it’s smooth, scooping it up with a little broth and popping it into her mouth.

He shrugs. “I just know you’re lying, that’s all.”

“You lie all the time,” she counters immediately, pointing the tip of the spoon at him.

“When?” He knows she’s right, but she hasn’t brought it up since she stormed away from him outside of the warehouse, drenched and shivering.

“You lied at the bakery.”

Bingo.

He leans forward till his elbows are on the table, resting his chin on the back of his interlaced fingers.

“So that’s what you’re upset about.”

He’s a foot away from her, the temptation of closing the gap between them nearly tugging his shoulders forward.

Her face contorts into a grimace, bordering on disgust. “That’s not at the forefront of my mind, no.”

She swirls her spoon around the bowl, eyes following the movements of her wrist.

“I hate the summer. I always have.”

He stifles a wince as he leans back until his bare back presses against the cool plastic.

“Bad things always happen to me in the summer, you know? Dad died during the summer. Mom forgot to pick me up at science camp for a full twenty-four hours when I was 9, and I had to spend a whole day alone with no friends after everyone had gone home. That’s also the same summer she took her first month-long assignment.

“The next summer, they extended it from a month to a full summer. I broke my wrist on my neighbor’s trampoline, and she didn’t even visit me until my cast was getting sawed off.

“Bobby dumped me for the first time during the summer before he studied abroad so he could sleep with whoever he wanted.”

She shakes her head, dropping the spoon and tortilla.

“Sorry, I, uh, I’m just happier in the fall and winter,” she smiles apologetically.

“And that’s why you’re makin’ soup at 2 a.m.?” He asks, eyeing her warily.

“Yeah, kinda. It sounds stupid when you put it like that, really,” she giggles, scooting the bowl forward so she can rest her elbows there too, her chin in her hands.

A sigh escapes her, low and grim. “This dish is really special to me.”

He waits for her to continue, but she just sinks her teeth into her bottom lip instead, chewing nervously at the skin there.

He kicks his toe against her slipper clad foot, a gentle nudge to get her to speak.

He’s gotten pretty good at reassuring her without words, he thinks. Better than when they first met, that’s for damn sure.

“My favorite picture of my dad and I is one where I’m sitting at my high chair and I barely have two teeth in my mouth and my dad is feeding me mashed zucchini and yucca root. He’s laughing and smiling like he wouldn’t rather be doing anything else in the entire world than eating soup with his daughter.”

Mason stiffens at the mention of her father, and even worse so, feels remorse start to trickle into his bones.

It’s stupid to think he could’ve done anything. He pushes those thoughts to the side, recognizing the remaining scrappy morsels of humanity in him clawing its way to the surface. Impulse has always been the most human part of him – maybe she’s changing that.

He doesn’t really know who he was before this, but what he does know is any inkling of humanity he has surfaces when he’s with her.

Yeah, he can’t feel what it’s like to lose a parent, but watching Sofía tear up over bittersweet memories was enough on its own.

“Your dad cooked?”

“Yeah, from what I can remember, yeah. All of our old cookbooks are in his and my abuela’s handwriting.”

She looks like she wanted to say something more, so he leans back, arms across his chest, waiting.

“When I was in high school, I tried making it on my own and it was so shitty. I wanted to surprise Rebecca, because I knew she was getting back from a stressful work trip, and I couldn’t do it like he did. She didn’t even notice that I’d tried,” she sighs, picking up her spoon again to sip the broth.

She hums again, chews, swallows.

“I don’t know why I was so naive back then, you know? I thought I could chop a couple veggies and toss them into seasoned water and it’d turn out just like Dad made it.

“In reality, I didn’t even know what it tasted like. My mom described the taste to me once before, but she never cooked, so I just went off of what she told me. I romanticized the whole thing right down to making up the flavor in my own head.”

“That’s probably why I made the soup tonight. I miss when I was happy, but even then, what the fuck did that even look like to me? I’m just telling myself I was happy because I saw photos of me being happy, but I can’t recall that feeling by memory at all.”

She darts a hand under her eyes to rub it away before he notices, but he can see her eyes glistening.

“How am I homesick for a life that was never really great to begin with, you know?”

He leans forward, brows furrowed. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember. Fuck those old memories. Make new ones.”

He’s speaking from the heart now, compelled to say something before his mind can stop him.

Chuckling with a quick sniffle, she gets up to grab a drink from the fridge. “I know you mean well, but it’s hard when you’ve got an active bounty on your head.”

“Things will get better.” He’s not a beacon of positivity in the slightest, but she’s too good to be feeling this bad, so he has to say something.

“Things can get better.”

“What?”

“It’s not guaranteed. Not for me, at least. Probability’s never worked out in my favor,” she smiles weakly, unscrewing the cap to the water and sipping it politely.

“You’ve got a team making sure things will get better, sweetheart. No matter what.”

“You’re all here by force, though. After you leave, I’m still gonna be stuck here, and –”

She waves her free hand, the other one gripping the damp water bottle.

“I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I’ll be less of a mess in the morning.”

“Not all of us,” he says, delayed, but hoping she gets it.

“Not all of us what?”

“Are here by force.”

She grips the bottle harder, the plastic crackling. She knows what he means now.

“That’s… uh, good to know,” she murmurs, a smile tugging at her features. “Thanks.”

“Didn’t do anything to warrant a thanks.”

She rolls her eyes, sitting back down at the table. “You’re gonna have to get used to my manners, Mason.”

“Never,” he smirks, leaning over the table, over the soup, running his thumb over her bottom lip before standing.

“You don’t like it because you don’t have any.”

He snorts, a hearty laugh ripping out of his vocal cords and echoing off the tile flooring. “Damn right.”

She smiles, too, this time though with her whole body. It’s dim in the kitchen, but she’s shining nonetheless.

The smell’s grown on him a little bit. The shit honestly reeks, but he doesn’t mind it.

He follows her when she makes her way to the cabinets underneath the countertops, retrieving a big glass bowl.

When she bends down, he tentatively steps behind her, leaving a hair’s width space between them. He’s hesitating to touch her, even as she glances back at him reassuringly and closes the gap between his stomach and her back.

The hum that leaves her this time as he hooks a lazy arm around her waist sounds just like the one she let out when she tasted the soup.

She gently guides his hands to grip the edges of the bowl while she pulls the pot closer.

“So what’s this shit called?” He asks, crinkling his nose as she ladles it in, grimacing when some splashes his hand.

He knows he’s there for something, but he can’t quite remember what for when she licks the stray drops from his thumb.

“Caldo de pollo,” she smiles, snapping the plastic top until it’s airtight, guiding him to the fridge.

He knows “pollo” is Spanish from the times Felix watched kids shows to pick up on English. (He could never quite shake the looping sound byte of Felix’s southern drawl saying “poy-yo” when he discovered Dora the Explorer.)

“You gotta make it for Nate sometime,” he suggests, wrapping his other arm around her waist when she closes the fridge door.

She turns in his grasp, splaying her hands on his bare chest, dragging her thumbs over the tuft of hair in the middle of it.

“Thank you, really,” she whispers, eyes trained on her moving hands. “I mean it.”

He’s shit at accepting thanks with words, so instead he kisses her. He fights the urge to deepen it, to open his mouth to taste her.

She’s not ready to let him in like that just yet. He thinks it’s enough that she’s letting him touch her at least.

The lingering taste of chicken is disgusting, but he’s enduring it, because Sofía’s humming like he’s the best thing she’s tasted in years.

[icedflames]

Can you possibly lay out the reasons why Lucien isn’t a viable option for Elain based on the text? I feel like there are some people that just don’t understand. I’m not trying to be mean, I’m asking because I know you’ll answer respectfully.

Hmm, I don’t think Lucien and Elain would be a bad couple... But I agree, I just don’t think it’s a viable option at this point. 

I think there’s really two reasons: (1) the way Elain and Lucien have been written up until this point and (2) the timing and structure of the last two books.

Elain and Lucien’s Relationship

Lucien is part of Elain’s trauma.

From the shadows near a side door, two figures emerged. I began shaking my head as if I could unsee it as Lucien and Tamlin stepped into the light. (ACOMAF, Chp. 63)

While Lucien does not anticipate that the sisters would be kidnapped, he still participated in Elain’s trauma and Elain is highly aware of that. 

But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” 

“Yes.” It was all he could say. 

“You betrayed us.” (ACOWAR, Chp. 24)

Back to the cauldron scene...

Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing. “Please,” I said to none of them. (ACOMAF, Chp. 65)

&

And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. (ACOMAF, Chp. 65)

&

Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered. (ACOMAF, Chp. 65)

Elain is the first to go into the Cauldron. Nobody knew if she would live. She’s kicking the cauldron, screaming, and it’s awful all around. She’s laid bare, completely stripping her of her own modesty. Her own sister can’t remember the last time she had seen her sister’s bare legs. The guards are laughing at her nudity. It’s so humiliating and traumatizing. 

Not only that, but Elain is unwillingly stripped of humanity.

Then Lucien comes into the picture. 

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him. (ACOMAF, Chp. 65)

&

Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.” (ACOMAF, Chp. 65)

Lucien does not have ill intent, but he laid a claim on her. Not only is Elain not human now, but now she has a mate. A stranger she has never met is now bonded to her forever. 

She has been stripped of her choice to stay human, her choice to choose who she wants to be with.

Lucien’s involvement in that trauma makes it very difficult for the two of them to overcome that. Possible, but difficult. I believe that if SJM wanted to go that route, it would have been sweet and believable.. But then we get the rest of ACOWAR, ACOFAS, and ACOSF...

In ACOWAR, Elain and Lucien have very little progression in their relationship. 

Lucien could not figure out what was wrong with Elain. 

He weighed my tone, and crossed his arms. “Let me do something. About Elain. I heard—from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally.”

I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?”

“I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.” (ACOWAR, Chp. 27)

Elain was... not herself after the Cauldron. She was withdrawn and depressed. Saying nonsensical things. 

The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.” (ACOWAR Chp. 28)

&

“Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly.

“We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” (ACOWAR Chp. 32)

This scene is telling. Majda says, if anybody can sense something is amiss, it’s a mate. Yet Lucien is not the one who makes the seer revelation - it’s Azriel. 

Lucien and Elain have never really... fit. It feels forced and there is a clear lack of progression:

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before. (ACOWAR, Chp. 33)

She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him. (ACOWAR, Chp. 24)

Lucien shrugged. “First—here. To help. Then …” Another glance at Elain. “Who knows?” I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.” (ACOWAR Chp. 79)

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle. (ACOFAS Chp. 5)

How Lucien withstood it, I didn’t know. Not that he’d shown any interest in bridging that gap between them. (ACOFAS, Chp. 5)

“But remember that they were engaged. Give her time to accept it.” “To accept a life shackled to me?” My nostrils flared. “That’s not what I meant.” “She wants nothing to do with me.” (ACOFAS, Chp. 18)

“I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.” His jaw worked as he studied the fire. (ACOFAS, Chp. 18)

“He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.” Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.” (ACOFAS, Chp. 18)

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.” (ACOFAS, Chp. 21)

And then we get into ACOSF where:

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort. (ACOSF, Chp. 41)

Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. (ACOSF, Chp. 58)

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get. Azriel remained in the doorway. (ACOSF, Chp. 58)

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen. (ACOSF, Chp. 58)

I really believe... That if Elain and Lucien were going to happen, we would have had some positive progression by this point in the series. Which leads me to my next point...

Elain’s Book is Next

Please see my post on that here! @psychee92 also wrote a great post on that here.

Because Elain’s book is next, this really leaves us with two options for Elain:

Elain accepts the bond

Elain rejects the bond

Elain’s bond is a central issue for her. It makes her uncomfortable and it’s a part of her trauma. Her book will involve a plotline surrounding it. Whether she accepts the bond or not. Whether she chooses Lucien or Azriel. The mating bond is important for Elain’s storyline.

Currently, Elain and Lucien cannot stand to be in the same room as each other. Elain shrinks away from him. I really think that if SJM wanted to go with Elain and Lucien as endgame, we would have some hint that there may be something there. 

If anything, Elain and Lucien are further apart than ever before, despite the bond tying them together. With Elain’s book being next, it’s difficult to picture a satisfying romantic arc between the two of them. It’s going to take a lot to bridge the gap between them and 800 pages is, quite frankly, not enough (especially because SJM has moved into adult book territory and wants to get on with the smut). 

And that’s why I think Elain and Lucien are not a viable option at this point in the series. 

[shootthemessenger]

i’m hoping at the gates they’ll tell me that you’re mine [c.g.]

cordelia goode x fem!reader

summary: the new Supreme meets an old flame

disclaimer: sexual nature, strong language, brief angst

author’s note: if i wrote for marie laveau would anyone read it? because i’m so in love with that character

gif belongs to @colleenwing

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The set of knocks drew the Supreme’s attention away from her place at the dining table. Her eyes landed on the front door as she waited for Kyle to attend to the door as he usually did.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Another set of urgent and persistent knocking coaxed her towards the door, after setting down her book and reading glasses. She stood and moved towards the hallway.

Before she could reach the door, the boy jetted down the stairs and mumbled a string of apologies to the blonde who simply smiled and excused him softly.

Still, she watched as he opened the door and softly asked, “How can I help you?” She listened.

The voice on the other side made Cordelia’s heart stop as she recognized the soft tone, “I’m looking for Delia.”

She shook her thoughts; it couldn’t be her, could it?

Kyle stepped aside for the visitor to step in, that’s when you came into Cordelia’s view.

You hadn’t changed in the months since she had last seen you. Your hair still fell gently at your shoulders, your eyelashes batted softly against your rose-colored cheeks. Her heart nearly skipped a beat.

“Y/n...?” She spoke it as a question, all though she could tell clearly that it was you stepping through the doorway.

You met her soft brown eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

As your reached out to her, her eyes began to harden and her lips tucked into a line. “Go away.” She huffed, her stare quickly becoming cold.

You blinked at her, treading carefully as you stepped closer. “I know I’ve been gone for a long time.” You spoke, clearing your throat softly.

She stepped back, shaking her head. “I want you to leave.” She added, turning on her heel and shuffling up the stairs.

You followed her, swiftly ducking into the room she disappeared into before she had time to slam the door in your face. “Darling-...”

She cut you off quickly, “Don’t ‘darling’ me, y/n.” Her words were harsh, they dripped with an anger that was rare coming from her.

“You don’t get to do that to me! You don’t get to leave for months with no explanation then come back and act like everything is fine!” She hissed, anger bubbling in her throat.

Her eyes were much darker now, her cheeks burning a bright red color. “Do you know how many times I tried to call you? How long I cried over y-you?” Her voice faultered as her eyes began to pool with angry tears.

You shook your head, “And I have an explanation. That’s why I came here today.” You defended, reaching out for her once again.

“Don’t touch me!” She attempted to yank her arm away from you, her own force causing her to stumble backwards and nearly fall.

You reached forward, without thinking, and pulled her into your arms. She fit perfectly in the space between them, her curves leaving a pathway for your arms to circle around her.

Your eyes locked, almost distracting you from the blush that burned her cheeks. She huffed softly, trying her best to fight the butterflies in her stomach.

She paused, briefly wondering how it was that she was so angry at you and already craving your touch at the same time.

“Listen to me.” You demanded in a soft tone, steadying her before carefully retracting your arms.

She nearly whined at the loss of feeling, the cold air replacing the warm feeling of your arms. But she caught herself quickly and swallowed the need for you.

She didn’t say anything and you took this as your chance to continue, “My father called me back to him. Because he knew a change was coming. Every time a member of our council dies, another arises.”

Her face did not change, confusion painted her features. You stepped back, leaving a prominent gap between the two of you.

Cordelia’s eyes wandered over your form. She had to admit, as angry as she may have been; you were still a sight to behold. She had missed you; your smell, your touch, your voice.

You met her eyes, yours soft and slightly anxious. She momentarily questioned why, moving forward as to comfort you.

And suddenly, a pair of two great wings extended from either side of your back. Her eyes widened, the sound that fell from her mouth was incoherent.

They were beautiful, the purest white color and shimmering under the sun coming in from the window. They extended like two great sails, nearly screaming out to her.

She paused before her eyes met yours once again, “Can I touch them?” The witch questioned, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable under their heavy presence.

You smiled softly, the worry evaporating from your face. You sent her a soft nod, an undeniable blush painting your cheeks.

She stepped closer and reached out for them, runnng her fingers delicately across the perimeter. There was a tension against her fingers, like running them along a slightly-stretched canvas except silkier and deliciously soft.

A soft moan fell from your lips and you shuddered, your eyes falling closed.

“Am I hurting you?” She panicked suddenly, retracting her hand. Your eyes opened to meet her and your face spread into a smile.

“No. It feels amazing. Nothing else compares.” Her smile began to match yours as she pressed her hand to your wings once again.

“What do they mean?” She asked curiously, her head tilting slightly like a puppy. You lifted your hand to rest on her cheek, “It means that I’m here forever. Watching over you the same way I always have.” You assured her.

Without warning, she reached up and tangled her lips in your own. She kissed you softly; slowly. Her lips held yours as if she was afraid you would drift away from her.

You pulled her closer, coaxing a moan to tumble from somewhere deep in her throat. She pushed you backwards, to sit on the bed and crawled into your lap.

She feeling was one you had missed, her pressed against you and her lips working against the soft skin of your neck. She licked and bit and kissed, claiming the skin with her mouth.

Moans fell from your lips, forcing a smile onto her face.

When she finally did pull away from your neck, her expression was soft and her hand moved to cup your face gently.

“You were gone for so long.” She whimpered softly, her lip trembling. “Time is different up there.” You reminded her, pushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Her eyes darkened, a different sort of dark, as she looked down at you. Her hand traveled down your face and circled around your throat, squeezing softly. “You’re not leaving me again. Do you understand me?”

You shook your head, pulling her impossibly closer to you, “I understand. Never again Delia.”

taglist: @kikaykimkim , @mssallymckenna

[one-boring-person]

i love your works sm!! do you still take terminator requests? if so, i had in mind one where the reader had like, a bad day and the T-800 comforts them c:

Thank you! I'm really glad you like my stuff!And I do take Terminator requests; you're my first!😅 I hope you like this!

No Problemo.

T-800 x reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist

The door slams loudly behind me as I enter the house, my bag colliding violently with the wall as I throw it there, a scowl etched into my features. My coat soon joins the bag, left behind as I stalk further into the house, heading towards the kitchen, intent on grabbing something to eat or drink before going upstairs to wallow in my room, shoulders aching from my tense posture, clenched jaw equally as painful from the hours of biting back sharp replies. There are low noises coming from the lounge, but I ignore them, not quite in the mood to interact with the other members of the household. 

Entering the kitchen, I flick on the light and go over to the fridge, yanking it open to check its contents. A groan of frustration leaves me as I realise we're low on food (again), the cool shelves deserted after a week of feeding the four of us living here. Mentally, I make a note in my head to go to the store tomorrow and pick up some more stuff, knowing full well neither Sarah nor John will go, and Bob is unlikely to take the initiative by himself. Sighing, I close the fridge again and go to the cupboard, opening it to find the shelves yet again void of any edible substance. In their place, I find a few loose scraps of metal and some empty containers, some old spices pushed to the back of the space, the sight of which makes me roll my eyes.

"You have returned." 

The monotone voice behind me makes me jump, the owner of said baritone having managed to sneak up on me despite his generally massive size. Spinning on my heel, I come to face Uncle Bob, the T-800 regarding me quietly, expression mostly blank. Swallowing to calm myself again, I reach for a cup and go to the tap, filling it with cool water as I go to reply.

"Yeah. Finally." I respond dryly, downing the glass of water with a sharp jerk of my head.

The cyborg's brow creases a little, the terminator still learning to express human emotion as others do, his head cocking to the side, evidently scanning me.

"Your stress levels are very high and your muscles are unnaturally tensed. What is wrong?" Bob questions, coming further into the room, watching as I refill the glass.

Pulling a face at his automated observance, I shoot him a look from my position by the sink.

"Bad day." I eventually answer, pushing off the counter and going to move past him, heading up to my room.

I frown as I hear him follow after me, his heavy boots thudding on the stairs behind me. Paying him no mind, I simply walk to my room, pushing open the door and going in, starting to pull at the smarter clothes I'm forced to wear for my job. My fingers fumble with the buttons of my shirt, frustration clouding my mind as I struggle to undo them. From the corner of my eye, I can see Bob loitering in the doorway, watching me carefully, before he suddenly pushes into the room, coming over to me. Confused, I stare at him, backing up a little until his eyes meet mine, somehow managing to reassure me with his carefully crafted mimicry of human reassurance.

Hesitantly, I let him come closer, tensing when he instantly goes to start unbuttoning my shirt, his passive gaze staying focused on the task, even as he starts to speak, his large frame hunched over me.

"What has solicited your negative assessment of the day?" The cyborg queries, easily loosening each button in turn.

Clenching my jaw again, I watch him work, feeling somewhat soothed by his calm actions, enjoying his closeness and unwavering stociness. 

"It's just been a long, difficult day. Nothing went right, my boss is making things harder for me, and none of the things I needed to get done actually got done." I sigh, trying to relax, "I have a ridiculous amount of work due tomorrow, and I've had no way of doing it today. I didn't eat lunch because I had no time, so now I'm hungry, and tired, and just want to go to bed."

Having told him these things, I start to feel a little better, but not by much, having been reminded of the exact reasons why I'm like this in the first place.

"I see." The T-800 recites one of his newly-learned phrases, glancing up at me, "It is recommended that you obtain food and take rest for optimum recovery."

His diagnostic advice comes quickly, a hard contrast to the more human way of speaking we've been trying to teach him, the sound of which almost brings a small smile to my face.

"I plan to do that." I mutter, batting his hands away as he finally finishes his task, turning away from him as I strip myself of my shirt and trousers, pulling on some more comfortable clothes.

"Good." He nods in approval, moving over to me again as I go to sit on my bed.

Quietly, he eyes me, seemingly running through some line of data on his HUD, before he leans down and easily scoops me into his arms. Squeaking in surprise, I wrap my arms around his neck, only to let go when he places me down against my pillows, taking care to make sure I'm comfortable, removing everything that may be considered uncomfortable from the bed.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, curiously, watching as he neatly folds a shirt and places it on my desk.

"Helping you recover." He states simply, glancing at me, "Stay where you are."

Frowning at his command, I stare after him as he leaves the room, unsure of what he is doing but not adverse to it. It feels nice to be looked after, for a change, instead of looking after others, even if it is by the surly cyborg sent to protect my best friend. He's always been stumped as to how John and I came to be friends, given the large age gap between us, somehow not quite understanding the concept that I had worked at the arcade the teen used to frequent and had come to know he and his friend very well. Eventually, I got roped into a situation that changed my life, and now here I am, living with the Connors, doing a terrible job to keep myself busy, trying to forget that the life I now lead is far from normal.

After a moment, the T-800 walks in again, a plate in one hand a mug in the other. As he comes closer, I realise there are a couple of slices of pizza on the plate, which confuses me.

"Where'd you get the pizza from? The fridge is empty." I ask him, sitting up to take the plate and mug from him as he offers them to me.

"Sarah and John ordered takeout. There was some spare." He fills me in, handing me the items.

Nodding, I place the plate in my lap, cupping the mug between my palms as I sniff it, glad to recognise a tea of some sorts, unaware that we had any. In doing so, I don't quite register that the T-800 has slipped onto the bed with me until his hands are suddenly on my waist, lifting me into his lap. Eyes widening in shock, I tense up, unused to the feeling of his huge, muscular body against mine, though he says nothing, only starting to rub my arms and legs gently.

"What're you doing?" I ask him again, still unsure, though I can slowly feel myself give in to his touch, the gentle sensations highly comforting to me.

"My files state that physical contact between two people can induce relaxation and a lessening of stress." Bob replies, pulling me back to lean against his chest, sitting back against the headboard as he does so.

"Right. Well, thank you." I say to him, hesitantly starting to relax into him, enjoying the feeling of his hands tracing my arms, the scent of motorcycle fuel, metal and the cheap cologne John bought him flooding my nostrils as I start to eat.

"No problemo." He replies, holding my mug still as I continue to eat.

Instantly, I feel my tensions starting to drain away, my hunger soon satiated, my exhaustion taking over as I settle back into Bob's chest, my eyelids starting to droop closed.

"It is recommended now that you sleep to regain your energy." The T-800 states, much quieter than usual, his arms wrapping around me properly after removing the plate and mug from the bed, keeping me against him as he gently manoeuvres himself to lie down with me on his chest.

Turning in his arms, I look up at him, smiling contentedly as I rest my head on his collarbone, nodding at the cyborg.

"Yeah, I will. Thank you." I murmur, closing my eyes properly, totally relaxed in his hold.

He doesn't reply, only tightening his grip on me, a kiss suddenly pressed to my forehead, leaving me smiling like an idiot in my sleep.

[wisteriashouse]

falling (ii). 

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: dark

word count: 6184

remarks: this was so un-fluffy and its probably what i’ve struggled most with writing to date skdfgd as usual, please like, comment or reblog if you like it <3 

ii. into your trap

One mistake is all it would take for everything to come crashing down.

That’s what had happened to the man before you, the man whose blood you’d spent hours scrubbing out of the carpet until every bit of crimson had been washed away. Because of a single moment of greed, he’d stolen a coat off a customer who’d ended up as the demon’s next meal - and that very coat had been a dead giveaway to the demon slayer investigating the disappearance of his relative. You wouldn’t be like that, you remind yourself, a tray in your hands as you make your way down the corridors of the brothel. You would never let a moment of emotion cloud your judgement and cause you to slip up. You can’t afford to.

It's all just for survival. That’s the reason why you’re the only one still alive today.

The rest before you have all been devoured. 

Shifting your tray to one hand, you take a deep, slow exhale and smile, curving the corners of your mouth up at just the right angle. The mask you’ve perfected over years of deception falls seamlessly into place. You raise your hand to the door.

“Rengoku-san?” You knock, raising your voice to a bright and energetic timbre. “Are you still asleep? May I come in?”

Rengoku Kyoujurou. The man with burning conviction in his eyes. The demon slayer here to destroy the only life you know. The person who you have to kill with your own hands.

The demon you serve isn’t a fool, in fact, far from that - it is more than aware of the power and skill a person would have to possess to earn the title of a Pillar, and it knows that it has no chance of winning in a direct confrontation with him. That’s why the task has been relegated to you. Demon slayers might know breathing techniques that allow their physical prowess to surpass even demons, but that’s the very flaw with their training - that they’ve been taught to battle demons, and only demons. 

You, on the other hand, are very much human, with the ability to slip between the gaps in their guard, the chink in their armour - the kindest ones have always the easiest to fool, after all.

Which is why you’re taken by surprise when there’s no answer from within. Wary at the lack of response, you rap your knuckles against the door once again, more urgent this time. Worry gnaws at your insides - what if he’s somehow already discovered the truth of this place, and has decided to flee before you can accomplish your task? The thought of the consequences you’d have to bear turns your stomach, and your knocking turns slightly more urgent. “Rengoku-san? Rengoku-san, are you inside?” 

“Is there something you need from me?”

You whirl around in surprise at the voice, heart leaping into your mouth. Behind you, Kyoujurou stands in the hallway, bathed in the early morning light streaming in through the open windows. When your eyes meet his, he smiles at you in greeting, lips curving up naturally in a radiant grin. “It’s a beautiful morning today, so I went for a walk to watch the sunrise!”

“That sounds lovely.” You tell him with a smile of your own, relief seeping into your bones - he’s none the wiser than he was when he first stepped into the brothel, and you intend to keep it that way until you slit his throat. Holding up the tray in your hands, you’re quick to observe the way his eyes fall first on the plate of roasted sweet potatoes cubes - so you were right about the scent you picked up on him when he saved you from falling yesterday. “I was about to bring breakfast up to your room, but I didn’t think you would be awake this early. I’ll get up earlier next time so you can eat before you start your day. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know!”

“There’s no need to force yourself to wake up early for my sake!” Kyoujurou laughs, stepping over to slide open the door to his room for you. “Please, come in!”

The bedding has already been kept away in the oshiire, his few belongings neatly arranged on the low table in the corner of the room. When Kyoujurou moves to clear them so that you can put the tray down, you catch a glimpse of several sheets of paper with scribbles all over them, a stray black feather peeping out from under the corner of the tatami. 

Your eyes narrow at the sight. The kasugai crow might turn out to be a problem, almost as bad as having unintended witnesses, but you have plenty of ways to ensure its message never gets back to the demon slayer corps, just as you had done with the previous one. 

For now, the crow is the least of your worries - it’s nothing compared to the danger the man before you poses.

Completely oblivious to the thoughts running through your mind, Kyoujurou gestures at the table with a hand. “Feel free to put it down here!”

Your smile is painted back onto your face the very instant he glances at you, as easily as a brush dancing across paper. “Please excuse how simple it is. The potatoes aren’t cut very well, so they might not be evenly cooked.” You say, dropping your voice to a more shy, apologetic tone, just like how the entertainers from last night had tuned their instruments. “It was a little difficult to use a knife, so forgive me for that.”

Your words seem to jolt Kyoujurou into remembering the events from yesterday, and his eyes instantly dart down to inspect your hands as you set the tray down before him. They’re bandaged lightly with white gauze, something that you’d gotten up early to do this morning, and yet even with them on, making the potatoes convincingly uneven had still taken you multiple attempts. “Don’t worry about the potatoes. I’m sure they’ll taste wonderful, if your cooking last night was anything to go by! Do your hands still hurt?” Kyoujurou’s gaze is soft and filled with concern as he looks up at you, and you glance away with an appropriate degree of shyness in response. 

“The scalding was a little more severe than I expected, but that was my fault. You don’t have to worry about it!” You reassure him, and as expected, he only gets more concerned when you try to brush off his kindness. “It’s just a minor inconvenience, and the worst that’ll happen is Masako-san’s nagging.” You sigh wistfully, the words murmured softly under your breath. “Ahh… I wish we had more hands in the kitchen here. It would be a lot easier to handle the cooking.”

From the way Kyoujurou’s eyes glance up at you, he’s heard every word you said.

You’ve set your trap.

“Well, I suppose that’s just how it is! It’s totally alright, though, I’ll just make do with what I have!” You smile energetically at the man sitting before you, although from the troubled expression on his face, there’s still more that he wants to say. “What I am sorry about is that you might have to wait for a while to have the meal I promised to make for you. I want to be in a good condition when I cook for you, so that you eat only my best!” 

He seems taken aback by your enthusiasm for a moment, before his smile widens. “Take all the time you need!” Kyoujurou says kindly. “I’m sure that I can wait.”

From the way he beams at you, you’re confident that he knows nothing of your true intentions - relieved with how you’ve been doing so far, a silent sigh of relief leaves your mouth. Rising to your feet, you give him a small wave. “Well then, I’ll be going first. You can just leave the dishes here, I’ll come back for them later-”

“Have you eaten?” Kyoujurou asks.

The sudden question takes you by surprise. Preparing the sweet potatoes had taken longer than you’d thought it would, so you had quite forgotten about your own food in your rush to bring Kyoujurou’s food to his room. “Well, no, but I’m sure I can find something in the kitchen-”

“If you are available, then please eat with me!” He gestures opposite him at the table. You clutch the tray tightly in your hands while your mind races. Offering to let you sit with him at the table, to share his meal with you, does he perhaps suspect that you’ve tampered with his food?

Cold sweat prickles at the nape of your neck, but you fight to keep your voice light. “Oh? Did I make too much food for you to finish, Rengoku-san?” 

Rengoku Kyoujurou, the man who holds your very life in his hands, only smiles warmly in response to your question.

“Food always tastes better when shared!” He explains to you jovially. There is no sign of any hidden intention or agenda in his gaze, his eyes clear and honest. His smile turns a hint amused as he regards you. “And was it not you who said that breakfast was the most important meal of the day? You should take care of yourself too!”

You take a seat in front of him, glad to have a reason to hide your shaky knees. Calm down, calm down, you repeat to yourself in an attempt to slow your racing heart. He hasn’t noticed a thing. Don’t panic and give yourself away. “I suppose I did,” you say, smiling at the man opposite you as you raise your chopsticks to take some natto for yourself. Kyoujurou grins and immediately reaches for the sweet potatoes, popping them into his mouth. This time, when he begins to exclaim ‘delicious!’ once more, you let yourself breathe, chewing slowly on the food in your mouth.

Everything, you think, as you watch Kyoujurou compliment your cooking with vigour, is going smoothly.

 On the second day, just as you’d planned, Kyoujurou joins you in the kitchen after breakfast.

At the sight of him grinning at you in the doorway, you feign pleasant surprise and gratitude by clasping your bandaged hands over your mouth, eagerly welcoming him into your kitchen. Behind you, the door to the meat storage is locked tight with a padlock, hidden from view with several crates of spices to mask the smell. 

He doesn’t have a clue that his fellow slayer’s head sat on your kitchen table last night.

By your estimates, you have roughly a week to kill Rengoku Kyoujurou, probably less. You’ve stayed up for the entirety of last night after your meeting with it, wracking your mind for reasons and excuses to get him to stay - but regardless of how many lies you might be able to manipulate him into believing, he will eventually figure out that Yugou Fukuzashi isn’t coming back, and when he does, you know his suspicion of this place will increase hundredfold.

That would make your job a whole lot harder, so with the deadline of a week hanging over your head, you set the first part of your plan to lower his guard around you into motion.

While you’ve heard of the near supernatural strength of the demon slayers, you’ve never actually met one in person aside from Yugou Fukuzashi (who by the time of your encounter had already been dying from blunt force to the head, courtesy of the man whose mistake had gotten you into this mess in the first place). However, you have no doubt that any of them, much less Kyoujurou, would be able to overpower you with ease. All you have on your side is your identity as a human and your cunning.

You’ll just have to make the best of what you have.

Hence, you think it’s more prudent to take things slow - like a spider approaching the prey wandering onto its web, you cannot allow yourself to move recklessly, or you’ll get caught in your own threads and fall to a demise of your own creation.

Kyoujurou fumbles with the knife at first, when you set him to work scraping the scales off some tuna, and part of you almost hesitates if you’ve gotten the wrong man - surely no Pillar trained in swordsmanship would be so awkward holding a blade. Still, you correct and guide him patiently, and he progresses under your tutelage faster than you expect. With his help, you finish lunch preparations slightly earlier than you expected to, leaving both of you with a small window of free time to sit down for a bit of a break.

“You learn fast, Rengoku-san.” You comment brightly as he sits at your kitchen table, his fingers drumming idly next to a dark stain in the tabletop. At your compliment, he pauses to grin, clearly pleased.

“Well, I had a good teacher.” He says and you laugh, picking up the knife you’d be using to put it aside. On the surface of the cold steel, the reflection of your smile is twisted, distorted. Casually, you lean forward. “Well then, how about letting your teacher give you a little test?”

Kyoujurou blinks, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “Sure!” He agrees, amicably. “What test would you have me participate in?”

You rise to your feet. “Close your eyes, it’s a surprise.” You urge. For a moment, Kyoujurou holds your gaze, before his eyes slip shut slowly, his breathing slow and even. “Yes?”

Your hand drifts along the shelves, your fingers coming to rest against the lid of a tightly sealed jar, tucked out of sight in a corner. There’s no label on it, but you’re more than familiar with the substance that lies inside. You’ve used it plenty of times now, after all.

Cyanide.

Should you try it now? With Total Concentration Breathing, a demon slayer should be able to slow the spread of poison by slowing their circulation, but you have no idea how effective it will be on a man of Kyoujurou’s caliber. Chewing on your bottom lip, you hesitate, torn between wanting to get your job done as fast as possible and worrying that you might fail.

If you do fail, you’ll be as good as dead. He wouldn’t even need his sword, with the strength in his arms alone, he could probably tear your head clean off your shoulders.

The thought makes cold sweat slide down the back of your neck.

“Are you going to make me taste test something?” Kyoujurou asks curiously, and your hand jerks off the jar in an instant, so quickly you almost knock the bowl adjacent to it onto the ground. “Should I continue to keep my eyes closed?”

“Of course! Patience, Rengoku-san.” You say, trying to hide the tremble of your hands, even though you can see his eyes are still firmly shut. The demon had warned you about the demon slayers’ strong survival instinct, but this should be just coincidence… mere coincidence, that must be it. Still, because you’re wary now, you turn away from the jar on your shelf. Not now.

 Reaching for the fruit basket instead, your shaking fingers close around a fruit and you turn back to hold it to Kyoujurou’s nose. A guileless smile still sits on his lips, as if he has no idea about the internal turmoil churning deep in you at the very moment. You take a deep breath and swallow, eyes fixed intently on his face.

“Guess what this is.” Kyoujurou’s nose twitches slightly for a moment, brows furrowing as he attempts to place the scent. Barely a second later, a triumphant grin passes his lips and he states his answer with full confidence. “Peach.”

“Wow, you’re good at this.” You say, exchanging the peach in your hands for something else. Kyoujurou beams excitedly at the praise. “Here, what about this?”

“Sweet potato!”

“Right again. What about this one?”

You hold up a mushroom under his nose, and instantly you see his lips pull into a frown. “It… doesn’t smell good. I seem to remember Kochou telling me something about this scent before…”

All of the hairs at the nape of your neck prick at once and you press your lips, trying your best to subdue the feeling of terror churning in the pit of your belly. “Of course it doesn’t.” You say, forcing your voice to take on a light, innocent tone. “Open your eyes.”

Kyoujurou opens his eyes slowly, staring down curiously at the mushroom you have in your hands before his eyes widen in shock. “[name], put that down, that’s poisonous!”

You lick your lips, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. “Of course it’s poisonous.” You hum lightly, waving the mushroom at him. “The first rule of cooking that my student should learn is to never eat things you don’t recognise, especially when it comes to mushrooms and berries. This is the death cap, probably one of the most poisonous mushrooms in the country! I’m surprised you could recognise it by its scent.”

He nods, listening intently. “Most people wouldn’t, but I have a… friend who is a pharmaceuticals expert! She deals with all manner of poisons and their cures, so I have some knowledge about them.” He tells you, and you have to contain your sigh of frustration. This new tidbit of information makes your job a whole lot harder.

“You have a lot of… interesting friends.” You make sure he sees you toss it into the bin before he can ask you what lethally poisonous mushrooms are doing in your kitchen.

Kyoujurou only grins. “They’re all very honourable people! I am blessed to have met each and every one of them!” His smile widens as he looks at you. “It is my fortune to have met someone like you here as well!”

You stare at him in the middle of taking a seat opposite him, taken completely off guard for a moment. “What?”

“When I first got here, looking for my friend, I was actually rather concerned about him! He’s investigating something dangerous, you see, so I was sent to provide him with some support.” Kyoujurou explains, and your hands fist the cloth of your hakama under the table. “Since there is nothing for me to do but wait, I thought that I might spend the next few days in worry! However, cooking with you makes time fly by, so thank you for that!”

You bite your lip at his words, before you smile at him, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that has suddenly lodged itself in the back of your throat.

“It’s my pleasure, Rengoku-san.”

That night, after Kyoujurou has long gone to bed, you stand over the table the two of you had sat at together this morning, knife in hand as you slice carefully at the fish on your cutting board. The fugu meat falls away in clean chunks, but the meat isn’t what you’re after - reaching inside, you pull out its inner organs with a pair of tweezers, putting them in a bowl next to you, careful not to get any on your gloves.

It takes much longer than cyanide to extract, but it’s over a thousand times more potent. Only twenty five milligrams of it is needed to kill an adult man, according to your experience. The victim first experiences paralysis of the muscles, before the poison moves to the diaphragm and the muscles of that move the ribs, ultimately leading to failure of the lungs. The victim then dies from asphyxiation.

Without his lungs, all his Total Concentration Breathing will be rendered useless.

Tetrodotoxin is a water soluble toxin, it is odourless and tasteless, and most importantly, there is no known antidote to it.

You set down the knife. One of the eyeballs you’d removed stares at you from the bowl, accusation in its shiny, bloody depths, but you swallow and pick up the bowl anyway, moving towards the distiller to extract what you need from its contents.

“It’s nothing personal, Rengoku-san.” You mutter to yourself.

It’s just a matter of survival here, after all.

On the second day, the robbery happens.

Or rather, well, it attempts to happen.

You had planned to collect some ingredients from your usual vendor outside the gate, dropping slight hints to Kyoujurou here and there when he’d been helping you with dinner preparation the day before. The moment you stepped out of the back door of the brothel, you had found Kyoujurou already waiting there with his usual bright grin, the early rays of the breaking dawn setting him alight in a blaze of red and gold.

This time, you could not bring yourself to feign surprise, instead smiling and telling him of your gratitude as the two of you began walking down the street. Due to the early hour, the red light district is oddly quiet, empty streets almost peaceful except for the occasional drunkard reeking of alcohol stumbling from one tavern to another.

The third time you see Kyoujurou wrinkle his nose at the smell, you turn to him, head tilted.

“Are you not fond of alcohol?”

He shakes his head, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that his usual smile has dimmed. “Alcohol muddles the mind and dulls the reflexes! It would compromise my capabilities.” Kyoujurou tells you, as the two of you walk side by side. You steer him into a narrow side alley, your shoulders brushing against each others. “I prefer not to drink unless the occasion calls for it, since I must always be at my peak physical condition at any given time.”

You let your mouth pull into a confused frown. “Why would you need to be-”

Something steps into the alley in front of you, blocking out the sunlight and casting long shadows across the ground. You glance up to see two ruffians standing in your path, leering grins on their faces. Your footsteps falter, before coming to a stop completely. Next to you, Kyoujurou does the same.

“Oi.” One of the men call, his sneer only growing. “Pay up! Don’t you know that you’re stepping on our territory?”

Kyoujurou frowns at their words, turning to whisper into your ear. “Are we intruding on their territory?” He asks, and you shake your head, stepping forward to confront them.

“This is a back alley behind Momoshizu.” You say, your voice level as you point at the brothel right next to them. “Unless you’re a dog guarding the back entrance to a brothel or a stray cat chasing rats for a living, you don’t have territory here. If you want to extort money from someone, do it outside the walls of the pleasure district.” Your eyes narrow. “Penniless trash like you don’t belong here.”

“[name]!” Kyoujurou sounds aghast at your barbed words, but you lean back to whisper to him. “If you give in even a little, they’ll start harassing you for more. It’s better to turn them down from the start.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyoujurou says, brows furrowed in worry as he regards the two men before you, “but this could turn out dangerous, wouldn’t it be better to call the law enforcement instead?”

“Well, yes, if there was any law enforcement in the first place-”

A low chuckle interrupts the two of you, and you turn around to see one of the men pulling something from his pocket. Silver glints in the early morning light and you take a step back, eyes widening. “Rengoku-san, they have a knife!”

Kyoujurou’s face is impassive, and for a moment you wonder what he’s thinking about when he suddenly smiles again, his usual grin returning to his face as he rests a hand on your shoulder. Its weight and warmth brings with it a certain peace that leaves you stunned. “It’s alright, there’s no need to worry!” He booms, almost radiant in the shadowed alley. Gently, he nudges you behind him and steps forward protectively, shielding you completely from their sight with his large frame. “You have me! I promise I won’t let any harm come to you!”

Come with me, a soft, poisonous voice echoes from the edges of your memory. It’s a cold, frostbitten night, but the blood on your hands is so, so hot. I won’t let any harm come to you. Come with me, little human. I’ll fill your stomach and give you a place to sleep. You just want to live…

Don’t you?

Bile rises in your throat, but luckily for you, Kyoujurou isn’t looking at you, his eyes trained on the men before you instead, his back straight and head raised. Bitter resentment at the fates gnaws at you, your hands clenching tightly into fists.

On that cold night, why couldn’t you have met someone like Rengoku instead?

“Kindly move out of the way.” You hear Kyoujurou say. His hands remain calmly by his sides, neither in a defensive nor offensive stance. “The alley is not large enough for the two of us to pass at the same time.”

“Hah?” The ruffian holding the knife steps closer so that he’s in Kyoujurou’s face, their noses almost touching. Still, Kyoujurou does not make a move to remove the knife from him. “Do you need your ears cleaned, idiot? I said, this is our territory. You’re the one who needs to pay up, scum!”

“I repeat, please move aside, or I will have to use force.�� In spite of the insults being thrown in his face, Kyoujurou’s tone is still firmly polite, but now his words are edged with steel. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Hurt us? You’re making me laugh here, man.” The ruffian spits in his face, pressing the point of his blade to Kyoujurou’s throat. 

“Rengoku-san!” You exclaim, in shock, yet Kyoujurou still doesn’t move, hands pressed solidly to his sides as he looks at the man in the eye, dead calm. 

“Get the other one, too. That fucking mouth needs some payback. If we sell her, we might be able to get some money out of that too.”

Your eyes widen. The man’s partner turns his gaze on you, and he grins, pulling out a knife as well. Biting on your lower lip, you take a step back.

“Rengoku-san?” You reach out to tug at his sleeve. “We should probably run-”

Your fingers close around empty air.

Hours later, you’ll sit in your room, playing back your memories of this moment and yet still have no idea what you’ve just witnessed. All you see if a blur of orange, and then suddenly the man who was holding his knife to Kyoujurou’s throat is flat on his back, hands empty of any weapons. You’ve barely begun to shift your gaze when you see that the second man has already met with much the same fate, and for a moment, you can only stand there and stare in horror when you realise just what you’ve been tasked with killing.

He’s a monster.

Kyoujurou stands over them, not a strand of hair disheveled or out of place, the rise and fall of his shoulders still even and calm - he doesn’t look like he’s moved an inch. 

You have to kill him? Someone like him? Impossible. Your hand clasps over your mouth to contain your voice before it can flee your throat, eyes wide. No, no, no. You’ll die if you try to take him on. But if you don’t, you’ll...

Rows of jagged teeth fill your vision, crimson blood splattering over the carpet, a looming grin on the walls-

“It’s alright now!” A gentle voice cuts through your panic, and you look up to see Kyoujurou standing over you. You didn’t even realise when your legs had lost their ability to keep you standing, your behind planted in the dirt and your knees weak. With a reassuring grin, he holds out his hand to you. “Come, stand!”

You stare at his outstretched hand for a moment before tentatively placing your own hand in his. He pulls you to your feet, his other hand supporting you gently. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” The words are wooden in your mouth. “You protected me, after all.”

Kyoujurou grins at you. “That’s good to know!” Turning back to the two men still groaning on the ground, Kyoujurou holds up the two knives. “I’ll be taking these now.” His voice is stern. “I don’t want to see the two of you threatening innocent people again. Understood?”

Nodding frantically, the two men pick themselves up and scramble away, almost falling over their own feet in their bid to escape. As he watches them go, Kyoujurou lets out a sigh and pockets the knives in his sleeves, shaking his head. “Truly terrible, that people would try to hurt others this way for their own benefit.”

You swallow at his comment.

“Unbelievable.” Compose yourself. Taking a deep breath, you affix a smile onto your face once more. “Well, now I see what you mean by needing to stay at the peak of your physical abilities. You’re very strong!” You say, trying to lighten the mood. It works, because Kyoujurou lets out a laugh at your words, his eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“I’m flattered!” He says cheerfully. “Now, shall we get going? There’s still lunch to prepare, after all!”

The sun is steadily climbing up the sky when you look up at it, and you yelp, tugging at his sleeve. “Oh no! Hurry, Rengoku-san! We’re late!”

The two of you run through the streets of the red light district together.

“You didn’t warn us about him!”

You hold your breath at the sound of the door being thrown wide open, exhaling in an attempt to stay calm. Turning around, you pick up a ceramic jar of sake from next to you. “It’s a nice night out, isn’t it?” From the open window, you can see the full moon hanging in the sky outside.

“I don’t have time for your nonsense.” One of the two ruffians from this morning snarls. You pause in opening the jar to compose yourself, before you invite him into the room with a wave of your hand.  

“Sit down and we’ll talk.” You say, pouring out three cups of alcohol. Both of them glare at you from opposite the room before they stomp up to you, unceremoniously sitting themselves onto the ground and scowls still painted on their faces. “Here, have a drink. I make the alcohol at this brothel myself.”

They don’t touch their cups, eyes full of mistrust as they stare at you. With a sigh, you shake your head.

“I’ll take the first drink, then.”

They watch you warily as you pick up a cup on your own, taking a long sip to enjoy its taste before placing the cup back down on the table. So different from Kyoujurou, you wonder to yourself, remembering the time you’d offered him wagashi during your first meeting and he had downed all of them without a second thought. Now that you think about it, you probably should have struck at that very moment. Evil truly expects evil from others.

“I want out of this job.” The first man snaps the second you put down the cup, grabbing a cup of sake from the table and taking a gulp. His partner, in contrast, downs the entire cup in an instant. “And I want compensation.”

You pour both of them another cup. “I can agree with the first one.” You say, trying to keep your voice even. “Not with the second.”

“You didn’t tell us that your target was going to be a fuckin’ monster!”

The two of you eye each other for a moment, neither willing to budge. Behind him, his partner picks up his refilled cup and downs it once again

“You never asked.” You answer. Your voice only wavers once. “Furthermore, you didn’t even manage to kill him. The only thing the two of you were good for was your acting, and even then kabuki dancers would have done a better job.”

“What the fuck was the point of the entire staged robbery anyway?” He snaps, knocking back another cup of alcohol. “If you meant for us to kill him, you wouldn’t have…” 

The man’s eyes darken in realisation as he says it, his arm reaching across the table to grip at the collar of your clothes, yanking you forward hard so that the two of you are face to face. Your ribs knock painfully against the edge of the low table, but you don’t let your gaze leave his, forcing your expression to stay neutral.

“You were playing us the entire time.” His voice is a low, raspy snarl. “You knew we weren’t going to be able to kill him.”

You don’t reply, but your lack of denial is more than confirmation enough for him.

He hurls the cup at you. You barely manage to duck in time and it only clips your shoulder, its contents dripping all over the front of your kimono. The slight, bitter scent of almonds permeates the air. “I’m going to kill you.” He snarls, getting to his feet. Like this, he towers over you easily. “You’re going to regret messing with the wrong type of people, missy.” 

He shoves you hard and you go crashing to the ground painfully with a yelp, your head knocking against the corner of the table and you see stars flash before your eyes. Before you can regain your balance, he swings one leg over your hips, pinning you down to the ground and before pulling another knife from his sleeve - this time, a sharp, single edged blade that could easily slice your neck to ribbons.

He presses it against your throat, and you swallow, trying not to tremble and cut yourself on the edge of his blade. You don’t know how you’d explain such a wound to Kyoujurou tomorrow.

“Now,” his breath is rancid, his knee pressing painfully into your hip - you know bruises will form there tomorrow, “I’m going to show you what exactly happens when you waste our time like this, you fucking-”

“Fujita!” 

The grip on your robe loosens ever so slightly as the man whips around to glare at his partner. “I’m talking here, man, what the hell do you...” his partner is writhing on the tatami mats, clawing at his throat, desperate, breathless screams leaving his mouth. “Saburo! Saburo, what’s happening to you?”

You shove him off you with all your strength and he topples to the ground with a heavy thud. Shaking your head as you stagger to your feet, you wipe at the stain on your kimono before eyeing it with disappointment. “This is going to take ages for me to clean now.” You exhale as Saburo flails wildly, choking on air as he attempts to breathe. Fujita whirls around to stare at you. 

“What did you do?” He roars, but when he tries to stand, he staggers to the side, nearly falling before he manages to catch his balance. His eyes go wide, and he looks up at you in horror. 

“Poison in your cups, but not mine, of course. It would be a waste of alcohol to poison the entire jar.” You say wearily, picking up your own cup from the table and taking another sip. “Cyanide, if you want me to be specific.”

Fujita chokes, grasping desperately at his own throat, before he stumbles and falls onto his knees, eyes wide with terror. You watch as the knife falls from his hands and clatters onto the tabletop. Saburo is already still, aside from the occasional twitch. “The two of you made useful test dummies, I suppose. Well, I could pay the two of you for that… but you won’t have much need for money in a few moments, anyway.”

Still, Fujita tries to claw his way to the door, struggling to put one hand in front of the other as he fights to force air into his lungs. You watch him for a few moments and wonder if you should have used a higher dosage instead to finish him off more quickly. Picking up the jar of alcohol, you cross the room in three quick strides and bring it down on his head with all the force you can muster.

The heavy ceramic jar of alcohol shatters the second it connects with the back of his skull, and Fujita crumples to the ground one final time. For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, and when you look down at your hands, a shallow cut bleeds red over your palm before the blood falls to the tatami below in little, crimson drops.

Looking at the mess before you, you can only shake your head and sigh.

“It’s nothing personal.” You say, out loud. “You tried to kill me, after all.”

The corpses on the ground have no reply.

[sexyglances]

Here's Tian's birthday fic, ok! You can either read it on ao3 or the full ~2k words are under the cut.

-----

Tian woke up on his back as a ray of sunshine slipped through the gap between slats of bamboo and struck his eyes. He rarely put his eye mask on at night these days, preferring to wake up earlier in the mornings so he could spend the first part of the day with Phupha rather than staying in bed alone. This change in habit, however, didn't automatically turn him into a morning person by nature, so Tian kept his eyes shut, as if keeping them closed meant he could preserve that sleepy sweet feeling for a bit longer. His effort was futile though, as he could feel more than just the sun trained on his face. "Chief," Tian smiled, eyes still closed, "I know you're looking at me."

Tian heard a small chuckle to his right and felt Phupha's breath tease his ear. "Good morning." Phupha said, voice filled with endearment, "and happy birthday, Tian." Then he leaned in and pecked Tian's cheek and whispered, "I'm so happy you're here."

Tian turned his head towards Phupha and opened his eyes. Phupha was lying on his side facing Tian, head resting in the cradle of his elbow. "Chief--" Tian said. Tian wanted to tell Phupha to stop, that he didn't need to say these things to him anymore, that it's been long enough that the gratitude should have worn off by now, that their devotion could remain unspoken. But Tian couldn't say those things because his chest still got heavy and his heart still swelled every morning when he could look over and see Phupha looking back at him with so much tenderness in his eyes. Instead, he settled with a, "Me too," and returned the peck on Phupha's cheek. He went to pull away, but before he could do so, Phupha had turned his head just enough so that their lips met so they could properly kiss. Phupha nudged closer, trying to deepen the kiss, but Tian pulled back and placed his hand softly on Phupha's chest to stop him. "Hey. We haven't even brushed our teeth yet this morning." Judging by the way he raised his eyebrows, Phupha did not think this was a good enough excuse to stop. They gazed at each other for a few seconds, the atmosphere charging up between them, on the brink of something unstoppable, until Tian popped the bubble and said, "And I have class this morning in a little bit."

That declaration worked and Phupha dropped his eyes. "Right," Phupha said with a tinge of disappointment in his voice, "You have school today." Before Tian could say anything else about continuing this quote-unquote discussion later, Phupha changed the topic and asked, "Are you thirsty?" Without waiting for an answer, he got up, went to the sink, and brought back two ceramic cups of water. Tian pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed into a sitting position. Phupha handed him a cup and sat down on the bed next to Tian.

These cups were new to Tian, different from the dented tin cups they usually used in the bedroom for utility. The cup Tian held was thick and rounded with a glossy finish and felt hefty in Tian's hand. Beneath the shiny glaze was an intricate, colorful design of green tea leaves and stems intertwining alongside cream-colored depictions of blooming oolong tea flowers flowers with bright yellow centers. Tian turned the cup around in his hand, studying its design until he saw the design break to encircle an inscription written with delicate writing in a burgundy color. "Oh, what's this?" Tian asked as his fingers traced the wording that read "for the colorful philosopher."

Phupha responded, "It's my present for you. It's not much but--"

Before Phupha could finish his sentence Tian said, "Chief, I told you I didn't need any presents this year." He leaned his head on Phupha's shoulder. "Just being here is enough."

Phupha leaned his head on top of Tian's and breathed in. Phupha was still not sure how he got so lucky. How his life changed so fantastically and dynamically from a life that he never disliked, but was one he now realized was fine--but just fine, nothing more than fine. His old life felt rote and mundane and empty compared to his new life with Tian. And a new life is what it was. How could it not feel new when everything felt effervescent and full and colorful in a way he had never experienced before. Phupha had always been prone to noticing the tiniest details of things, but what surprised him in the most unexpected way was how much joy he could get out of those tiny details. How love had transformed those tiny details into something that encapsulated his entire existence with warmth and vigor and gratification to be alive. "I know," Phupha responded, "but I still wanted to get you something. It's not much, but it represents us." Phupha held up his own cup to show Tian. "Look, I have one, too."

Tian switched the cups in their hands. He read Phupha's cup aloud, "For the giant green mountain." A tear pricked the corner of Tian's eye. It was too early for such sentimentality. He had just woken up and Phupha was already flooding Tian with feelings of affection. And he hadn't even stood up for the damn day yet. Tian had been given plenty of birthday gifts in the past, but never anything where someone spent more on the care and personal details involved than they spent with their money. Tian stared at the cups some more. "Where did you get these?" Tian asked.

"I went to a ceramic shop a few months ago in Chiang Mai and special ordered them," Phupha answered matter-of-factly, as if planning and designing and ordering a gift months in advance was an ordinary, everyday gesture and not a remarkable act of romanticism at all.

Tian set the cup he was holding down on the floor. "Chief," Tian said with a slight tremble in his voice. He pulled Phupha into a hug, "Thank you." Tian didn't have the words to convey everything he meant, all the gratitude he had for his life in Pha Pun Dao, for his chief, for this love they shared, but he hoped that the hug could relay a fraction of what he was feeling. Phupha hugged back tightly as if he was trying to reciprocate all his feelings back to Tian.

They pulled apart and Phupha exhaled before placing a hand on Tian's knee. "Come on, we have to get you to school."

-----

As Tian and Phupha walked into the school, it was already bustling. The kids were there, uncharacteristically early and they were busy hanging up homemade decorations with Yod and Rang's help.

"Ah, what's all this?" Tian asked with surprise in his voice.

Everyone turned around and in an out-of-unison cacophony of voices yelled different variations of happy birthday, addressing him by "Tian," "teacher," and "P'Seetian" accordingly. Khounueng and Kalae ran up to him and pointed at a cake on the table.

"Look what we made!" exclaimed Khounueng, and then he stuck a party blower in his mouth and blew it in Tian's face.

"Yeah!" Ayi yelled from across the room, "we picked the strawberries ourselves and decorated with them and everything!"

"We'll get to eat it soon, right?" Kalae asked as he shoved an extra strawberry into his mouth.

Before Tian could answer, Inta and Meejoo grabbed each of Tian's hands and pulled him to the front of the classroom. We made you a birthday crown, too!" said lnta as she picked up and waved a crown of tea leaves woven together in a circle studded with pink and yellow frangipani flowers and white jasmine buds.

"Put it on," Meejoo begged. "it's so pretty. She held up a second matching crown, "We made one for Torfun's birthday, too."

Tian looked at Phupha and they shared a meaningful look. Torfun was still a part of Pha Pun Dao, and even though she was gone, she was unforgettable. It was only because of her that Tian could experience all this joyfulness that surrounded him. Tian couldn't say that out loud of course, it would be too much for today, so instead he said, "Ooh, you're right, they are pretty. Let's take this to her memorial place in the afternoon." He patted Meejoo's hair. "Now who wants to help me cut the cake?"

But before Tian could move to the cake, Phupha cut in and asked, "Aren't you forgetting something?" He grinned fully as he took one of the flower crowns from Inta and placed it on Tian's head. "How could we celebrate the prince's birthday without his special crown?" Tian rolled his eyes. Of course Phupha would call him a prince on today of all days. But there was no bite behind Phupha's words, the words were just playful teasing and Tian knew that.

Tian had many birthday parties in his life. They were usually lavish and full of expensive decorations and even more expensive gifts. People dressed up and schmoozed at his parties, using them as a time to network and one-up each other, caught up in a lifestyle where status trumped everything else. The parties were simply an excuse for people--himself included--to show off. His mom would call him a prince for the day and Tian would go with it, letting himself give into the fantasy. And even though he had always made sure to have fun, indulging in alcohol and whatever wild dares the night brought him, looking back on them now, the memories felt hollow. As if he had been living in a bizarre lucid dream that he's woken up from and it was only now that everything actually felt real.

Tian challenged Phupha back with a smile of his own, "If I'm a prince, then what does that make you, Chief?"

Nam's voice came from the doorway, "Why, that makes him your chief prince of course." Tian and Phupha turned toward him as he walked into the building with Longtae trailing just behind.

"Sorry we're late," Longtae said, and gestured towards Nam, "he had to pick me up from the train station and it didn't come on time."

"You're here, too?" Tian asked.

"Of course I am, P'" Longtae said. "It's a special day." He looked up at Tian's crown and smiled. "I had to come take pictures." As Longtae said that, he held up his camera and snapped a photo.

"Oh, oh, oh," Nam cut in, "Don't you think you should get a picture of the prince and the chief prince together?" He took the other flower crown from Meejoo, and as he placed it on Phupha's head, he winked and said, "I'm sure Torfun wouldn't mind if you borrowed this for a few minutes."

Before Phupha had a chance to object, Tian interlocked his arm with Phupha's and looked at him with soft eyes. "We should get a picture together today, don't you think?" And with that, Tian turned to pose for the camera.

-----

Two weeks later an envelope addressed from Longtae back at school showed up in the mail for Tian. Inside was a packet of pictures from Tian's birthday. The first photo on top of the stack was a shot of Tian and Phupha, both wearing the flower crowns, and their arms interlocked, smiling for the camera.

The second picture in the stack was a more candid shot and was taken from closer up. The half-eaten birthday cake peeking in at the edge of the frame indicated it was a photo taken later in the celebration. Tian and Phupha were sitting down at the long school table, Tian's hand on Phupha's shoulder, Phupha's arm slung around Tian's waist. They were still wearing the flower crowns, but this time they were looking at each other, heads bent together, eyes sparkling, and laughing, as if they were unified in their own private world.

It was that second photograph that Tian had plucked from the stack to save. He had stuck it onto the corner of the bulletin board in their room so he could see it everyday before he left for the day. The photo represented something intangible. All he knew was that he couldn't look at it without feeling warmth radiate from within himself. It was a feeling so precious, he resolved to never let it go.

[pertinax--loculos]

Absent That Night -- Excerpt

In which Nox has called Agent Latrell to a crime scene, and Latrell discovers something which will change the direction of the case... and, quite possibly, his life. Wordcount: 1129 CW: death (this is a murder), quite a few mentions of blood/bloodstains *** Nox made his way unerringly through the nonsensical layout, through a door that led to a six-by-eight foot attempt at a hallway, up a narrow set of stairs, past the impractically sharp edge formed by the acute angle outside. By necessity the walls narrowed to a tiny hallway past that bit; just beyond it, they opened up into a room that appear to take up most of the second floor.

Window to his left, on the front of the building. Paintings to his right, covering every square inch of wall. Wet bar against the opposite wall, pale marble with dark metal stools.

Dead body in the centre of the room.

Nox stopped just in front of the window. The rising sun cast him mostly into silhouette.

“Usually, I don’t return to a job site.” His voice was even, measured, but far from casual. “But I thought doing so might be prudent given what happened last time.”

The body was male. That’d give the Headees a bit of a thrill, changing up of the victim profile. No doubt they’d find some way to spin it, even if they currently were leaning pretty heavily on the idea that Carrie had somehow surprised Nox during the last theft. From the doorway, Latrell couldn’t glean any more details.

“How long were you away for?” he said, taking a couple of steps forward.

Nox shifted with him; when Latrell glanced at the movement, he realised it was in order to keep his face hidden in shadow. “About three hours.”

“Huh.” The word did nothing to encompass the thoughts spinning around Latrell’s head, or perhaps it was the only word that would. Three hours was not enough time. Whoever had done this had to get the victim here, get in, kill him, get out, all without leaving a scrap of forensic evidence. And that wasn’t even accounting for finding out that Nox was supposed to be doing something tonight, and then finding out the actual location.

“Yeah.” The gravity in Nox’s tone suggested he’d had similar thoughts. “Professional.”

“Association?”

“No,” Nox said, with such confidence that Latrell didn’t even bother to question him. Even if he disagreed, Nox clearly wasn’t going to discuss it.

Latrell walked the perimeter of the room first, trying to get a broader view before he closed in. Like Carrie, the man had been left facedown, one arm stretched in front of him, feet towards the door. Didn’t look like a gunshot this time, though; not enough trauma. Stabbing? That would make more sense, given that Nox was prone to leaving his signatures with a knife.

He stopped in front of the wall of paintings, trying to make out an obvious gap. They were so haphazardly placed it was impossible. Latrell glanced back over his shoulder. “What is it you took?”

Nox lifted one shoulder, let it drop. “Few gemstones. There’s a safe behind the Clarkeson in the centre.”

The only reason Latrell was able to identify the Clarkeson was because Nox had stolen one before. He stepped closer, peered around the frame, getting as close to the wall as he could without touching it. The safe was well-concealed, likely state-of-the-art.

“‘A few gemstones’?” he repeated, stepping back and swivelling to see both Nox and the body.

This time there was the hint of a smirk in Nox’s voice. “About three carats of untreated gem-quality tanzanite.”

Latrell huffed. Again, his gemstone knowledge came exclusively from Absens Nox, but that was enough to tell him the value of the stones. “Unbelievable.”

“I am very good at what I do, lawman.”

Perhaps too good. Having memorised his zoomed out view of the crime scene, Latrell moved forward for a closer look.

Something about the body niggled at him as he did. He wasn’t sure what it was at first; maybe some forgotten cop sense telling him something was off, that perhaps the body had been moved into position afterwards, or that it didn’t have the marks of a professional killing. But there was an extended bloodstain beneath the body, just like there’d been below Carrie’s, and for a victim to have been killed in this room without any obvious signs of struggle, the murderer had to at least be proficient. No, it was something else, something twinging his memory as he got closer and closer.

It was the precise moment he stopped at the edge of the bloodstain that he saw it.

The tattoo, darker lines stretching down the dark skin of the man’s forearm. A fluid, wavelike pattern that Latrell had admired for the way it evoked the sea.

The world tilted sharply on its axis. Latrell felt the ground move beneath him, shifting and heaving, and he knew he was gonna end up on his knees. Straight down and into the pool of blood, still soaking into the off-white carpet, forming an inexorable admission that he’d been there, that the Headees would use, on top of this, to prove that he wasn’t the accomplice he was the fucking prime suspect—

“Whoa, agent.” Nox’s voice, from very close and yet very far away. Something grabbed his arms, pulled him backwards, away from the pool of blood and the tattoo and the body.

The body.

Kelly.

Nausea clawed its way up the back of Latrell’s throat and he forced it back down, savagely, swallowing again and again and again. He couldn’t throw up, not here, not now, not in this room with the young man he’d argued with only a week ago lying bloody and cold and dead directly in front of him.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“Lawman? Agent Latrell? You with me?”

Latrell decidedly wasn’t, but Nox’s voice pulled him out of the quagmire of his mind, just enough to process that he was, indeed, on his knees, one hand pressed to the ground in front of him, the other covering his mouth. Nox was near enough that Latrell could see him out of the corner of his eye, though he didn’t lift his head.

“Thought you’d seen your share of dead bodies,” Nox said, casual.

Latrell was pretty sure the comment was intended to rile him. He didn’t really care, because it worked. He shoved off the floor with his hand, bringing himself up onto his haunches. He wasn’t quite ready to try standing.

“Not many of them have been people overtly threatened in public,” he said.

Nox’s face flickered. Too many emotions for Latrell to parse. Likely he didn’t know him well enough to do so even if there weren’t. This man was a stranger. This man was a criminal.

And he was the only ally Latrell currently had.

“That’s… not ideal,” Nox said, slow, cautious.

Latrell laughed, the sound bursting out of him, too close to hysteria. “You think?”