#yeah he's all fucking rotten and tired and just wants to finally fucking die

[the-acid-pear]

Also while Jack and religion posting these lyrics from Belle's Palsy by Reverend Glasseye just felt so him.

[amor-immortalem]

Meli the Runaway part 1

A/N: writing is so hard sometimes… but hey at least I managed to write about a new set of characters this time. I’m getting bored of writing for Mammon, Arella, and their family so I figured I’d switch to another family that had just about as many problems… Also I thought I gave a name for the step-mother but I can’t find it anywhere and I forgot what it originally was so I just gave her a new name.

Content warnings: none??? At least none I can think of anyway

“What do you mean I’m grounded?!? I didn’t do anything that wasn’t deserved!”

“Melissa, you threw your step-mother’s laptop out the window! How was that deserved?”

It’s a battleground right now in the Avatar of Wrath’s household. After an hours’ long meeting between the Lords of Hell and the soon-to-be-King of the Devildom about restarting the exchange program between the three realms, little had been accomplished leaving Satan in a rather foul mood upon his return home. It only worsened when the moment stepped through the door, his wife would come marching up to him in a huff. After hearing her explanation of the day’s events at home, the blonde demon finds himself marching up to his fifteen-year-old-daughter’s room for an explanation. That’s what led to the fight they’re in now.

“You have no idea how horrible she is to me when you’re not here!” Melissa exclaims, “She’s always running her mouth at me, disrespecting my things, she barges into my room without warning and expects me to do all the housework on my own while she sits on her ass on that stupid laptop all day.”

“That’s not true,” Satan says as he places his hands on his hips, “Hivites has been nothing but kind to you. The only one actively causing trouble is you. You lie and do anything to take the blame off of you.”

“Why am I the liar? Just because your bitch of a wife says so? If that’s the case, then yeah I’m the biggest fucking liar in this family!” The half-demon grinds her teeth.

Why can’t you just take my side for once? She wonders, why is it so hard to suspend your disbelief to see that the wife you chose to replace my mother is rotten?

“Since you admit it, I want you to go downstairs and apologize to Hivites.”

“I’d rather die than apologize for anything to her.”

At that Satan takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’ll give you the night to think of what you’ll say, but you’re not getting out of apologizing to her. I would require the same of her if things were the other way around.”

The teen only clicks her tongue in annoyance as she rolls her brown eyes and her father turns and walks out as calmly as he can before another fight can develop between them.

Once he’s gone, Melissa shuts and locks her door before returning to her desk to resume writing the latest chapter in the fanfiction she was drafting. It all felt so unfair to her.

“What can I do to make you see? Why is any of this even happening? Is karma finally catching up with me and punishing me for what I did to Mom…?”

She bites her lip at the thought of it. Maybe things would be better if she left and never came back. Where would she even go? Sure, she has friends she could crash with but the point of running away would be to go somewhere her father wouldn’t be able to find her so easily.

“I guess I could go up to the human world- I’d have to trek through all the layers of Hell just to get there though… man, what a pain in the ass… anything would be better than staying here though…”

Meli gives the idea a little bit of thought. Even if she did get caught eventually, the idea of causing her father the headache of having to find her up there amuses the half-demon.

“Maybe running away will actually get him to pay better attention to what’s going on too… better get to packing…”

・・・〆・・・

“There finally done,” she lets out a tired sigh as she shoulders her bag.

It’s nearly midnight now as Meli slides open her window. She takes one look around her bedroom. She’d lived here ever since she could remember and the thought of leaving it- even if only until she got caught- caused a frown to cross her features.

“What am I doing?” She shakes her head, “I can’t chicken out now. I’m doing this to send a message. Backing out now would mean she’d be stuck having to apologize to her step-mother and that just wouldn’t do. “Well, here goes nothing.”

And with that, the teen leaps down from her bedroom window and takes off running.

・・・〆・・・

The next morning, Satan is up early. With everything that had been going on at home, he’d forgotten what a big day this was supposed to be. RAD would be resuming classes in a week so today was supposed to be his daughter’s move-in day to the House of Lamentation. Even more of a reason he should have her apologize to her step-mother before she goes- he doubts his child has any plans to come home on the weekends and school breaks like her cousins so making sure she didn’t leave on a bad note was at the top of his list..

The demon makes his way up to his daughter’s room and knocks on the door. He’s only slightly surprised when he doesn’t get an answer as she’s usually up by this time. Maybe she’s still upset with him? Or maybe she really is still asleep? He tries the door knob to see if its locked and when he finds that that’s the case, he utters a short spell designed to unlock doors and peeks his head in to check on her.

His green to yellow gradient eyes widen when he sees the empty bed and the neatness of her desk.

“That little- I can’t believe she snuck out of the house like that.” Satan only shakes his head in disbelief before pulling out his D.D.D. to phone his brothers in search of the missing teenager.

・・・〆・・・

Next

[wtfevenismypage]

Pro Fighter

request: Hi, i have a request. Spencer x reader or bau team x reader where she gets kidnapped but no one knows that she was trained in the red room. The unsub live streams it to the bau team and *cue the black widow interrogation scene from avengers (2012)* and they are just whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck lmao. The ending is up to you, sorry if the request is a bit messy.

Warnings: Fighting, Cursing, Shook team

A/N:Guys I’m so bad at writing fight scenes it isn’t even funny, i’m better at making peoples hearts ache from fluff or angst! But I tried my best! This definitely isn’t my best work btw

Shit.

You woke up with a booming headache and a sharp pain in your ankle.

Looking around, the light is dim. A single hung light-bulb on the wooden panels of the ceiling. The smell is horrible, but you know what it is once you look around. Dead cows dangling from the ceiling. Rotting.

A camera is placed in front of you. The unsub is either streaming to the dark web, or to your team. Probably your team to drag them into his trap.

“Well well well, look at you! Finally awake huh sweet girl?”

A low, raspy voice spits out, walking out of the shadows and standing right behind the camera.

Tall, big gut, greasy black hair, and a rotten toothed smile.

“Good evening Mr. Meyer.”

He smiles, showing off his moldy yellow teeth.

“The rest of your friends are watching by the way. So unless you want a world of pain I advise not dropping any hints. In fact, don’t speak at all.”

You repress the urge to smirk, and you look directly in the camera, before feeling a wet trickle down your forehead.

Blood.

“Damn. I’m off my game today. I blame you Morgan. You kept yapping and yapping last night and I never got any sleep.”

The man seemed to not like you talking to them. He frowns, stomping forward and grabbing you by the hair. He yanks your face up and you can only hope that Garcia isn’t looking.

“Don’t talk to them sweet girl. I want your attention.”

He let’s go, crouching in front of you. His breath stenches of rotten fruit and eggs. 

“Now then, since you are going to die tonight, figure I might as well have fun and tell you a story beforehand.”

You almost sigh, knowing that the team is scrambling to find you, but you have to get information. Of course you weren’t worried. You were raised in the red room for your entire childhood. Fighting on a sprained ankle and a concussion would probably hurt, but it would be alright. You would survive.

As long as you don’t get too terribly hurt.

“Once upon a time. There was a little boy.”

He stands, raising a hand and smacking you across the face. It stings, leaving a searing red feeling on your cheek, nearing your eye.

“This little boy had a father who had a lot of anger. His father brought women home every night, killing them slowly, like I’m doing to you.”

Another slap.

“But what father didn’t know, is that his precious son watched from afar, admiring the work he did. I am taking my father’s place in this world. His legacy will continue with me!”

He delivers a harsh punch to your stomach, making you groan and curl over,  shutting your eyes tightly.

Alright time to end this guy.

“His legacy huh? You wanna make him proud? You won’t get the chance.”

You lean back in your chair as he leans in, smashing your head against his and knocking him back, standing up in the chair and spinning to hit him with the chair, breaking it in the process.

He stumbles on the ground for a moment before getting up, running straight at you. You hop up, landing on his shoulders and bashing at his head with his elbows as he tries desperately to beat your lower back and thighs.

“You fucking bitch!”

You continue to bash his head in with your elbows until he stumbles to the ground, passing out on top of you.

“Hey guys, you find out where I am yet? Because I have no fucking clue.”

You turn to the camera, wiping at the blood staining your dress shirt.

-

-

-

-

-

Meanwhile, the team was still trying to process what happened.

“Did anyone else see that? She just took down a 379 pound man who’s twice her size by herself. Did we- did we teach her that?”

“No we did not. Let’s hope she tells us what that place is or we’ll never get to question that.”

“Alrighty what do we have here? It looks like a butcher place? Or whatever you call them. Ummmm, There’s a whole lot of dead cow. He couldn’t have taken me far. The clock on the camera says it’s only been twenty minutes. I’m sure you guys have questions but I am getting tired of the scent of rotten meat, please hurry.”

“Garcia, Find her.”

“Already there, got two Butchery’s Within a fifty mile radius, go get my girl please.”

They split up into two teams, Rossi, Morgan, and Spencer on one team, while Hotch and Prentiss were on the other. 

You busied yourself on the floor, tying the man up with the rope that was previously tied around your limbs.

Your entire body ached with the feeling of his fists beating you up before you had woken up.

“Ugh... My head is killing me...”

Your brain was throbbing from under your skull, the pain worst at the sight of your bloody gash. It was overwhelming. You could feel the way your mind so desperately wanted to shut itself down, but you couldn’t let it until they got you safe and sound.

There was a loud rapping on the large door from outside, an aggressively familiar voice following it.

“FBI agents put your hands up! We’re coming in!”

“It’s me Morgan, unsub is unconscious and alive.”

The door opens, Revealing three of your favorite agents. A smile on your face as their guns return to the holsters. Morgan rushes up to you, holding your head and checking to see how bad the injury is.

“Well my pro fighter, you have a whole lot of explaining to do when we get to Quantico.”

You shrug, wrapping an arm around his and Reid’s shoulders for support to walk. 

“Yeah well, I might pass out so it can wait.”

PERMANENT TAGLIST(OPEN) @pinkdiamond1016 @spencer-reids-snow-white @sheepfather @eusuntgroot @libradolan

[ifmywishescametrue]

and bc i have no self control. #41 kisses to shut them up for rhodeytony

So this one spiraled so quickly, because I also have no self control! And now it’s a 3.4k words of 5+1 for Rhodey and Tony’s first kisses together. Hope you like it :)

The first time is something of a joke. Tony is doing that rambling thing like always, hands moving around rapidly and coming dangerously close to smacking passersby in the face. He gets more than a few dirty looks for it, but he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Rhodey isn’t even sure what he’s ranting about anymore. Maybe one of his professors, or that annoying guy in his physics class. All he does know is that he wants to get to the cafeteria before they run out of pizza and Tony walks slow when he’s talking. So Rhodey grabs him by the wrist when his hand flies in front of him again, spinning him around and planting his lips firmly against Tony’s for just a moment. It does the job of stunning him into silence, but it also makes him freeze completely on the sidewalk. Rhodey keeps walking, and Tony has to run to catch back up. 

“What was that for?” Tony asks, eyes wide. 

Rhodey shrugs, “Had to shut you up somehow.”

Tony makes an offended squawking sound, hitting Rhodey with the too long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically. 

“That’s rude,” Tony says. “You’re getting me ice cream to make it up to me.”

Rhodey laughs, slinging his arm over Tony’s shoulders to pull him along. “Whatever you want, Tones.”

______________

If the first was a joke, the second is just the repeat performance. Between Rhodey’s basic training and Tony’s recent and sudden rise to CEO, it’s been almost three months since the last time they’ve seen each other. Basic has him questioning everything and feeling like a bit of failure. He should have been able to handle it better. The homesickness, the pressure, the constant grind of work. It’s been the dream for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling he has now. 

“Maybe I should quit.”

Tony snorts inelegantly, “Pretty sure that’s called deserting and it’s a crime.”

“So I’ll go on the run,” Rhodey argues, like it’s a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll move to Tahiti or Fiji or one of those other islands. Wait, you have a private island, right? I could go there, and if anyone comes for me, I’ll just take a rowboat out to sea, and they won’t have any jurisdiction on the water to arrest me. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. Right? It’s -”

Tony’s lips are a little sticky from the beer he’s been drinking, and his hands are warm where they cup Rhodey’s cheeks. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, and at first he can’t think enough to react. When he can think again he can’t decide whether to push him off or kiss him back, and he still hasn’t reached a conclusion when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t know if it lasted two seconds or two minutes, and it’s confusing to realize that he isn’t sure which he would prefer. 

“Wow, that is effective,” Tony grins. “Thought maybe it was just me it works on, but I should try that on board members sometime if it’s that good.”

Rhodey gapes at him when he connects the pieces. “Seriously, Tony? That happened two years ago, and I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”

"No, you were spiralling and now you’re not," Tony says simply. "Situation resolved by not talking about it."

"That's not how that works."

"Of course it is. How do you think most fires get put out? By putting a lid on them until they die."

"Alright, ignoring that that's not even true, what the hell does it even mean?" 

"It's very true, and what it means is that I have put a lid on this irrational fire, so it doesn't have the chance to spread and ignite the rest of your life. Containment, honeybear. It's about containment."

"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey says, and Tony tosses his hands in the air. 

"What do you want from me on the spot?" 

They spend most of the night trying to come up with something better, laughing and drinking the rest of the beer in Tony's fridge, until Rhodey forgets that he was ever stressed in the first place.

______________

Their third kiss is an accident. It happens somewhere in between Rhodey deciding that he hates Tony's new boyfriend and him realizing exactly why that is. 

He comes back from six months overseas, and it's a few days ahead of what he was expecting. He told Tony Thursday, but his plane touches down in California on Tuesday morning, and he gives the taxi driver Tony's address without a second thought. Tony likes surprises, and he has no reason to think this might be a bad one. 

He uses his key to let himself in, fully knowing that Tony won't be awake yet to answer the door. The first traces of sun are just starting to filter in through the windows, and Rhodey sets his duffle bag down near the door before moving into the kitchen. Tony's refrigerator is nearly barren, but there are a few eggs and a green pepper that would be rotten by tomorrow that he can make due with. He finds an onion, too, and falls into a rhythm while dicing vegetables. 

It's this kind of thing that he misses when he's away. He misses having a kitchen and making what he wants in it, even if this isn't his kitchen or his first choice of food. But he misses the simplicity of it all. Life on the base seems alternate between too fast and too slow, but this is all his own pace. 

He hears footsteps on the stairs a little after the eggs hit the pan, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Tony shuffle into the room while rubbing his tired eyes. If he had stayed turned around a little longer, their third kiss wouldn't have happened at all. By the time Tony opens his eyes, Rhodey's back is to him again. 

Instead of instantly reacting, Tony slowly wanders over and puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder. The words are mumbled when he says, "You're up way too early," and Rhodey doesn't have time to process how strange the sentence is, because he's being kissed the second his head turns. Not the shut up kind of kiss or even that sort of friendly peck he's seen people do sometimes. It's the kind where Tony's tongue is slipping between his lips, and his hand is wandering lower. The kind that friends don't share, but lovers definitely do. 

Rhodey falls into it without question. 

The spatula clatters to the floor from his hand, and Tony laughs into the kiss before pulling back. There's a grin and a joke on his lips that's quickly replaced by dawning horror. 

"Rhodey?" Tony squeaks out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and through it Rhodey hears, "Oh, shit." He looks down at the complete lack of space between their bodies, dropping the hand to raise them both in front of himself like a defense as he backs away a couple of steps. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought - you weren't supposed to be here yet. Thursday. That's - you said Thursday. Didn't you?" 

It's like ice water with how quickly the warmth of that kiss leaves his body. 

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and plays at unaffected. "I did, yeah. Seems like you should attack an intruder instead of kissing them, though." 

Tony's cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, and he runs a still shaky hand through his hair.

"I thought you were someone else," he sheepishly admits. "It's just that from behind you, um, well you look a lot like Ryan, and he wasn't in bed still when I got up, so I came down here, and, uh, I guess you know the rest of that story." 

Ryan, Rhodey's mind bitterly repeats. The guy Tony's spent the last three months talking about on the phone and in his letters. It's always about him in some way.  He told me the funniest story yesterday, Rhodey or Isn't he so romantic, platypus? But Tony seems happy, so he fakes a laugh at a story that definitely isn't funny retold and agrees that string quartets are romantic instead of horribly cliché. He helps him plan dates when it's Tony's turn, because apparently that's yet another adorable thing they do together. 

He just barely suppresses the sigh before saying, "Don't worry about it, Tones. It's all good."

Tony looks relieved, and after an awkward minute or two they fall back into their normal conversation like it never happened. They talk about the missions Rhodey has flown for and the designs Tony has been working on between bites of burned eggs and coffee. 

Neither of them ever mention that Rhodey kissed him back. 

______________

Tony and Rhodey are both drunk for the fourth. The music is loud at the club, and the air is a smoky haze. It's someone's birthday, he thinks, but he can't really remember anymore by the fifth shot of tequila. 

He leans back against the bar on his elbows, watching in drunken amusement while Tony tries to put the moves on someone to hold up his end of the bet. The guy looks like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and Rhodey laughs into the rim of his glass. All he needs is one kiss, and Rhodey will be out the contents of his wallet. He isn't even sure what those contents are, and Tony wouldn't let him check before the handshake. It could be anywhere from a nickel to fifty bucks, he figures, which is worth it to watch this complete trainwreck. 

It takes another ten minutes of flirting before Tony finally gives up and comes back over to the bar. 

“Loser,” Rhodey teases. “What happened to having ‘game so good a straight man would fall to his knees?’”

Tony flips him off and steals the glass from his hand. “He has a girlfriend, which is the only reason it didn’t happen.”

“He didn’t even realize that you were flirting with him, did he?” Rhodey laughs, and Tony pouts pitifully. 

“The no touching rule wasn’t fair.”

“A good bet doesn’t involve actual harassment,” Rhodey reasons, just like he did earlier in the night. “If you can’t get them to kiss you by flirting with just words, they wouldn’t want you touching them in the first place. It’s called consent.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I do not need to be taught about consent. I am the king of consent. Enthusiastic, resounding consent, even.” He pauses, and there’s a dangerous look in his eyes when he narrows them at Rhodey. “Okay, I know that this about to go against everything I just said, but it’s you, and we don’t have rules, right?”

“What?”

“Just say yes.”

“Yes to what?”

Tony leans in with enough time that if Rhodey really wanted to, he could pull away. He could put his hand over Tony’s mouth or step to the side or simply tell him no and Tony wouldn’t do it. 

But he doesn’t do any of those things. 

He lets Tony cup the back of his neck to tilt his head to the right angle, and he threads his hand into Tony’s hair in return. His lips taste like the vodka and cranberry juice from the stolen glass, until Rhodey has kissed him so thoroughly that he can’t taste it anymore. 

“There,” Tony says, grinning proudly like he’s just done something exceptionally smart. His breath is coming quickly, and Rhodey’s head is spinning with the thought that he’s the one that did that to him. “I got a straight man to kiss me. Pay up.”

Rhodey laughs, full-bodied with his head tilted back. “No, man. You definitely didn’t.”

Tony’s still a little too drunk to fully understand what he means by that, and he takes it as if Rhodey’s saying that he stole the kiss, rather than earned it. He spends most of the night after that trying to get him to kiss him again on his own accord, but Rhodey doesn’t want another one like that. He wants Tony’s soft-eyed gaze on him, and his body held tight in his arms. He wants to hear him say the same words he’s saying right now, but to have him actually mean it when he says the word please. Like he won’t be able to live for another second without Rhodey’s lips on his. 

He doesn’t want the joke anymore, but he knows he won’t ever get to have the real thing. 

______________

Rhodey is half asleep for kiss number five, and he isn’t even quite sure that it actually happens. He’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany, he thinks, and machines are beeping all around him. He can’t really remember what brought him here as he drifts in and out. There was some kind of fight - that much is obvious. He sees flashes of bullets in the sky, flames, and a rapidly plummeting altitude reading. Was it a mission gone wrong? An attack they weren’t expecting? One of the machines ticks a little faster when he tries to clear his head enough to think about it, and then darkness takes over again. 

When he partially wakes the next time, there’s something warm and solid in his hand. It shifts a little, brushing lightly in circles over his skin, and it takes him a longer amount of time than it should to realize that it’s another hand. But when he does, he knows without a doubt who it belongs to, and the thought sends him back into sleep with a warm feeling in his chest. 

He finds out later that he was unconscious for three days, and Tony hardly leaves his side for a minute of it. Rhodey doesn’t want to say how that makes him feel, so he falls back on what he does know how to say. 

“You should really at least go back to the hotel to take a shower. You’re starting to smell, man,” he says after the doctor leaves the room. 

Tony gives him a weak laugh, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the oily texture. "Maybe in a little bit. You just woke up."

Rhodey shifts against the pillows, tilting his head to get a good look at him. His clothes might be the same ones he showed up here in, all wrinkled with a coffee stain on one of his sleeves. The circles under his eyes are darker than he's ever quite seen them before, and he looks too pale. 

Tony isn't supposed to look like that. 

He's supposed to be sunlight embodied, all tanned skin and bright eyes and fluid motion. But this Tony is slumped over in his chair, small and fragile looking like the wrong word could destroy him completely. This Tony offers him a brave face and a delicate smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Rhodey can't stand it. Can't stand that it's his own fault he looks like that. 

Stretching his arm out, he turns over his hand to open his palm. The movement tugs at his injured shoulder, but he grits his teeth to hide the pain and it's worth it to have Tony's hand back in his where it belongs. He squeezes gently, and Tony squeezes back. 

"You almost died," Tony whispers. "You're not allowed to die."

"I won't do it again," Rhodey says, even though they both know he can't make that promise. 

Tony nods, and for now that can be enough. He switches the topic to something else so they don't have to talk about it anymore. So Tony doesn't have to say what the last three days felt like, and Rhodey doesn't have to admit that his last thought before the plane went down was regret that he'd never get to have this again. 

Tony makes him laugh until his battered ribs are aching with it, until they've talked about everything and nothing and sleep is pulling at Rhodey again. It's hard to keep his eyes open, and he fights it until he can't any longer. 

A hand runs over his hair, and down the side of his face to linger on his cheek. Rhodey leans into the touch with closed eyes as Tony murmurs, "I'll come back tomorrow. Don't you dare do anything stupid like dying while I'm gone."

He feels the warmth of Tony's breath on his skin the moment before Tony kisses him. It's a barely there, wisp of a thing, right on the corner of his mouth. There one instant, then gone the next. It's the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep again. 

______________

“I’m so old,” Tony groans, flopping down on the beach chair next to Rhodey’s. “Ancient. Decrepit. On death’s door.”

“You’re thirty,” Rhodey says, and he laughs at the pout on Tony’s face. “I’m a year older than you. What does that make me then?”

“A senior citizen, just like me.”

Rhodey lifts his beer from where the bottle was balancing in the sand and clinks it with the bottle in Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the club then. We’re happy to have you.”

Tony kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet under his thighs as he settles back in the chair. It’s quiet out here on the beach, away from the crowds and noise from the party. The crashing of the waves and the distant thrum of music are the only sounds, and they watch the water in the still of the night for a while. 

“Don’t you want to get back to the party?” Rhodey asks softly, unwilling to break their bubble of peace. “It’s for you.”

Tony shakes his head. “I like it better out here.”

“Want me to kick everyone out for you?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the house, filled to the brim and lights flashing from every window. He leans over the inch between their chairs and rests his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “No, they can have their fun in there, and I can have mine here.”

Rhodey cards his hand through Tony’s hair, feeling warm despite the cool breeze. “This is fun for you, huh? Sitting in silence?”

“It’s always good with you,” Tony murmurs, so quiet that Rhodey almost loses it to the ocean. He’ll always be thankful that he didn’t. 

He lets his hand go lower, slipping from his hair to run his thumb along Tony’s jaw, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now. To tilt Tony’s chin up and turn his head to the side just a little. To brush their lips together, slowly at first, then steadily growing more desperate as he gives in to everything he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of the way Tony would sound, if he would sigh or moan or whimper under his mouth. Tony would be sticky sweet from the buttercream on the cupcakes from earlier, and Rhodey would taste sugar on his tongue. 

“Rhodey,” Tony whispers, looking up at him. The moon is reflected in the deep brown of his eyes, and Rhodey wants to keep this image of him in him in his mind forever. “Can I tell you what I wished for?”

“Won’t come true if you do,” Rhodey whispers back. 

“I think it’s the only way it might,” Tony answers, and he seems even closer than he was before. 

“What did you wish for?”

Tony’s cheeks are flushed, and Rhodey thinks for a moment that he’s going to lose his nerve to say whatever it is. He’s ready for the joke instead, but it never comes. 

“For you to kiss me,” Tony says with an unsteady breath. “For it to mean something when you do.”

Rhodey slides his hand a little higher, and he strokes across Tony’s cheekbone. He doesn’t miss the way that Tony’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “And what do you want it to mean?”

“Everything.”

“Everything,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony smiles, soft and unsure. “I think I can manage that.”

______________

Years later, Tony still likes to tease Rhodey about their first kiss, except now it's become their thing. The interrupted sentences sometimes get finished after and sometimes don't because kissing Tony is more important than whatever it was that he had to say in the first place. 

He loses count of what number they’re on. One thousand or one million, it could never be enough. They have all kinds of kisses now. Early morning, sleep-hazed kisses, and quick, little pecks on the way out the door. Good night kisses that turn passionate and desperate as often as they stay innocent and sweet. Reluctant ones when Tony is mad at him for something silly, lingering ones in apology. 

Each one still means everything.

[arllenn]

Staring down at Ruri- no Chime is his name, before you, you can help but feel tired. None of this is making any sense it’s all too much at once.

Bonderev, one of the dickheads behind what happened at black swan bay, had apparently been alive and living well enough to the point where he could give lessons on morality in his final moments. Imagine that! HIM a man who BLEW UP an ORPHANAGE and who had personally shot you and Renata, what he persumed to be, dead! And he had the nerve to ask you to, no- TELL you to protect his son, to not let his actions get in the way of YOU PROTECTING his SON! You’re so frustrated to the point where you’re not sure if you want to burst out into maniacal laughter, break down and cry or just destroy everything in your sight the same way that dickhead had done to you and your family all those years ago.

He had gotten everything and more. A family, a happy life, power and he was freed from all the consequences of his actions. So what about you what did you get? A permanent fear of trusting anyone because “hey I’ve already been used as a genetic experiment by the man I considered a father who then proceeded to blow me, everyone and everything I’ve ever loved to kingdom come! But sure thing nice stranger who I just met let’s be besties!” Makes so much sense. Oh, oh! What about stealing years away from your life! 20 to be exact, man you could’ve been married, had a family, gone to the capital and achieved everything you had wanted to! But no instead what you’re doing is standing here, the same 18 year old who couldn’t do anything to save your friends, your family, as you watched them die in front of you. You’re the person who even in her last moments Renata had to look after and protect. And wow doesn’t that smart, doesn’t it hurt to look down at Chime to see how weak he is, with a voice that trembles and eyes that seem one glare away from overflowing with tears, doesn’t it hurt to look at him and see the worst parts of yourself reflected back at you? The parts you wanted to bury so deep down inside that they’d be forgotten by even you. But here they are, loud and angry and demanding your attention.

Your throat closes in on itself, the hand on your hip tightens. It’s a painful squeeze that’s only purpose is to remind you that, no you can’t cry here, you can’t let anyone see you like that, you cant let yourself be like that, not here. Not in front of people who you should know, who you should trust but who you don't You've spent more time running around for them then with them. It's mean and the ugly cloying feeling that rises up from your chest makes you look back at your relationship with 'your' uperclassmen. Were you even close enough to be called comrades? friends? Most of the time it felt like you were just there. A living phone running to deliver messages from one of them to another. Running errands, throwing yourself into danger or just escaping death for what? People who, people who you- people who you... what even are they to you? Right now your upperclassmen feel miles away from you, both emotionally and physically.

Your nails were starting to dig into your skin in a way that was more then painful. You could feel the moment the skin on both your hip and the palm of your other hand broke. Pulling your lip in between your teeth you try and tune back into the conversation waiting for the right words, for your upperclassmen to throw another request at you so that you can leave, preferably go outside and beat the shit out of one of the trash cans out back before running off into danger once again to fulfill their orders like you always did. And wow, isn’t that something... even now, even now, you’re still just blindly following people’s orders, never asking questions, never saying no. What... what is wrong with you? Hadn’t you learned your lesson already? Hadn't you learned after Herzog that you don't, you can't, just do that. Last time you did that you grabbed onto a rotten rope, a horribly, disgustingly, rotten rope.

"Promsing to protect somebody so recklessly is a foolish thing... nevertheless... thank you." Chime's retelling of his life comes to an end at a convient time. It's perfect really, and so you take that moment, the lull after his thanks, to leave.

You walk out into the lobby of Takamagahara the slow calming jazz music a horrible contrast to the thoughts and feelings that are swirling inside you right now. You make it two-thirds of the way to the bar when you're met with an extremely unpleasnt sight that has you cringing for more reasons then one.

Crow and Yasha are sitting the bar, resting most of their belegirantlty drunk weight on the actual contertop instead of on their chairs. They're demanding extra achoul, Crow shouting about how he can't take something anymore who knows what. And yikes heres a thought, Chime Gen is in the VIP room right behind them, those two who, even if they are drunk out of their minds, are Chisei's aides. They find Chime or even gain the smallest inkling of an idea that he may be here and you'll have more to worry about then cleaning up the counters from their drunk cry fest. Normally you'd step in here, and take over for Quinton the poor bartender on duty who always seemed to get the worst of the costumers but you really aren't feeling up to it today.

Just as you're about to turn around to give the trashcans outside the beatings of their lives Crow says something that you can't help but stop at. "You know I like Sakura don't you?" It was a question directed at Yasha who was only able to groan out what he thought was a response. You debate staying for a second. This isn't something that you particularly care about, nor is it something that really concerns you. But it just, you just want to know a little bit more about what Sakura was like before she became another one of Herzog's victims. Its with that flimsy excuse and the puppy dog look that Quinton gives you once he notices you're there that has you stepping closer, leaning against one of the pillars that trap the bar in its own seprate space.

As Crow continues to slur his feelings out Yasha seems to sober up a bit, it's not by much but its to the point where you're no longer worried about him getting into a bar fight, more just what taxi service to call for him when he inevetably passes out and where to send him afterwards.

Yasha leans over the bar apparently ready to give Crow some type of advice when the following happens. 1) he trips and stumbles over his words "Don't.. Don't worry. We are brothers. I... will never... mock you." sweet right? It would've been if not for 2) The fact that he lurches over its a face you recgonize all too well.

"Quinton get out of the-" 3) Yasha hurls all over Quinton, your words left to hang just as Yasha's icky face goop is left to hang off of Quinton. And now you're royally pissed. Sure you were pissed before but this is the type of rage that can only be quelled by you being left alone to stew in it. Its not the emotional type of rage that you felt earlier when you wanted to smash every glass surface you came across no this is the cold type of rage that leaves nothing but apathy in its wake. because as much as you've been trying to ignore it theres so much more that you had been trying to ignore, so much more that had been pushed to the wayside that you're angry about. You look up at Quinton whose looking at you like a lost kid in a mall that had mistaken you for their mother. Running a rand through your hair you harshly scratch at your scalp. "Quinton," you let out a frustrated sigh, "Take the rest of the night off, you'll be paid regularly and you can take extra pay if you wake up sick tommorrow." You turn to him and start to walk behind the counter switching places with him.

“Right thanks a bunch, manager." He rushes out. Turing towards the staff area most likely to change into his extra uniform instead of going home covered in puke. Staring down at Yasha's mess which was covering most of his area of the counter as well as the floor under his chair your annoyance hit an all new peak. It's not the chunky kind of throw up that can be easily cleaned up, its a mush that resembles watery baby food. It's obvious that this wont be a quick clean and that both mops and floor wipes are just going to push this stuff around instead of soaking it up.

Today just can't get any worse can it? Pushing your hand back into your head you aggitatedly rubbed at your scalp, pushing and pulling at the skin there. You’re pissed off. To come back after fighting against Herzog, let’s not forget HERZOG WAS THERE TOO! HE WAS THERE, HE WAS THERE LIVING AND BREATHING, AFTER ALL THAT HE HAD DONE, HE HAD THE NERVE TO GET UP ON THE PEDESTAL THAT HE HAD CONSTRUCTED, DESIGNED AND BUILT HIMSELF THROUGH EXPLOITING THE INNOCENT TO TEST HIS FREAKY DRAGON DRUGS ON, HE HAD THE NERVE TO TALK DOWN TO YOU! ACT LIKE YOU WERE STUPID OR SOME KIND OF PREDETERMINED FAILURE! You get back from that battle exhausted , emotionally drained, and wanting to destroy yourself to find Finger leisurly drinking with Humpback! After you thought that he died you thought that you had lost another person, only for him to be there and fine. It was reliving yes, but just fucking horrible at the same time. So when you stare down at that mess and the first thing you see when you look up is the VIP room that the others are in you felt like you were justified in deciding that you would be acting on your tiredness and handing off this task to one of your upperclassmen like they do to you so often.

Actually you retract your earlier statement today can in fact get worst. Crow and Yasha have apparently had enough to drink both uncoordinatedly slamming down the money to pay for their drinks, you really don't care wether or not is correct you just want them gone, they BOTH step into Yasha's puke tracking it out the door with them. Yeah, no- you're not cleaning that up nope, nu uh, never. You blow out a heated breath and start to walk towards the VIP room careful to avoid all of the face mush on the floor. Pulling on the curtains that served as the door to enter you called out to the occupants.

"Right, sorry to ruin the fun but I just had two costumers who puked and tracked the throw-up everywhere so I need one of you to go out and clean it up preferably like," You looked down at your wrist as though you wore a watch. Truthfully it was just to hide the annoyed look on your face, "right now please." You glanced up at them Before clarifying "Chime I'm not asking you to clean it up, just focus on resting." Because as much as you wanted someone to clean that nonsense up right away you were also specially tuned into just how draining it could be to meet Herzog like that. "Cool thanks guys!" You clapped your hands together and prepared to leave the room when Luminous started complaining.

"Aw, come on no way newbie, I don't wanna clean something like that up!" He put his hand to the back of his head, a tick you had noticed he did when he was complaining, nervous or worried, "Come on can't you do it? You were already out there.." And there it was normally you would excuse that tone as just being something that made Luminous, well Luminous but today the whiny tone was grating on your ears and you were two steps away from man handling him like you used to with Anton when he was being uncooperative. The thought of him hurts. Witnessing his final moments, being there when they happened, it was both the same and different then the others. Sure you had watched all the others die but Anton's had always stuck with you in a way that was far too painful for someone who you really didn't like. And now the urge to cry was back, you felt your eyes burn with unshed tears that were a culmination of too many of your emotions to name.

Caesar brought a hand to rest on his chin tapping away at it, before he even got the chance to talk your anger had already started to peak "Luminous is right newbie, theres no reason for us to do it, you were already out there and knew the areas that needed to be cleaned. This just seems like a waste of both yours and our time." Yeah, yeah, you seriously contemplated grabbing Caesar by his ponytail and using him as a mop for a second.

"You just cleaning it up would've been more efficient." Johann unhelpfully chimed in. Yeah, maybe you would use Caesar as the mop and Johann as the counter rag.

"Yeah freshie! Everyone knows that newbies do all the grunt work, you can't expect us to do it can you?" Fingers nasally voice made you want to throttle him the more he continued to talk. Sure he may have meant it as a joke but you really weren't at the point of caring. In fact you couldn't care less about anything right now. The anger that had just been building had condensed into a vengeful apathy that demanded the souls of those around you.

Once again Caesar spoke this time however you decided to cut him off. "That's right newbie, using my authority as team leader I order you to-"

"Damn I kinda don't care," You said scratching at the back of your head in an obviously exaggerated way. "Yeah actually..." you started mimicking Caesar's earlier stance, "If you're invoking your team leader rights then I'm invoking my manager rights."

"Hey wait-" Luminous tried to interject.

"Yeah as your manager I order you all to have that throw-up cleaned within the next half an hour." A bit long of a time slot, sure, but really who cares as long as it gets done.

"No way newbie team leaders out rank managers, which means my order still stands." Caesar's stubbornness in this situation could be something to praise if not for the fact that a) you don't care and b) you're two steps away from bringing your thoughts of using him as a mop to fruition.

"Team leaders outrank managers when we're out on the field sure, but right now we're in Takamagahara not battling death servitors, which means your team leader status is moot." You made a slicing motion over your neck. "You may be the leader appointed by the college but right now that means nothing, were not fighting and this isn't reconnaissance, we're working."

"That doesn't change the fact that Caesar is team leader freshman." You can always count on Johann to speak up for what he believes in. Too bad you're not here to praise your upperclassmen but instead get them to work.

"Cool! And I'm still the manager. Right now you all are technically on the clock at Takamagahara which means what I say goes. Caesar may be the team leader and you may be my upperclassmen but that doesn't change the fact that right here right now what I say takes precedence in all matters that aren't dragon related because I'm the ma.ne.ger. " You smile your best costumer service smile and speak in the same tone that you do with costumers when you say this. Then you turn on your heel and walk out calling out behind you that "I expect to not wake up to puke covered floors in the morning! I'm going to bed good night."

And well if Finger chose not to comment on your behavior because he watched you break down in the elevator through the security cameras then that will remain with him. And if Caesar and Johann chose not to speak on it because they heard you sobbing from outside your room that night then thats something that stays between them. And if Luminous caught a glimpse of the empty look in your eyes that night when you left your room for water then he definitely held that as a close secret to his heart. Choosing not to comment on it. And if you noticed that your seniors were just a bit more gentle with you or asked for your input before sending you off on recon missions when they didn't before then you don't comment on it.

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers GRAND EDITION for Switch ;; More, Blood ー Yuma [Manservant Ending]

ー The scene starts with a flashback of a younger Yuma in the city

Lucks: Oi, Bear. If I were to die, you’ll succeed my dream, right?

Bear: Do you...plan on dying or something?

Lucks: Idiot! Who plans their own death? I’m only talking figuratively.

Bear: Your will, in other words? I don’t mind but I’m pretty sure I’ll be long dead before you though?

I’d rather not have you sacrifice yourself for me to survive. That’d be hella lame.

Lucks: Hah! Big words for a coward! Although I won’t stop you if that’s your wish. But you know, Bear.

They say that a real loyal follower considers their Boss’ wishes and tries to fulfill them, you know?

If I die, I want to think deeply of what I would want you to do.

ー The flashback ends as the scene shifts to Yuma’s room

Yuma: ...

( ...I knew, Boss. You actually never wanted me to inherit your dream, did you? )

( You only said that because you wanted to prevent me following you into the afterlife, didn’t you? )

( If I just lived true to who I am, I’m sure you would have been happy, even if the world didn’t change...However. )

That just isn’t enough for me anymore. ...Boss.

I feel like I’ll lose both you and her if I don’t become Adam. ...And that’s no joke.

That’s why I won’t give up just yet. Even if I’m not qualified...I’ll do anything within my power to become Adam.

By doing so, everything will be mine...

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the hallway at school

Yui: Yuma-kun, can I go home now?

Yuma: Aahn? Yeah...

...Oh right, I just remembered somethin’. I gotta go to the teacher’s office today.

Yui: Eh? What did you do!?

Yuma: No mischief. ...Probably. I’ll get it over with in no time, so ya wait here, ‘kay?

Yui: Try and stay calm if possible, okay?

Yuma: I know. See ya.

ー Yuma walks away

Yui: ( Will he be okay...? )

( Yuma-kun has been acting a little off lately, so I’m worried. I hope he doesn’t become irritable like before again... )

Reiji: Excuse me.

Yui: Kyaah...!

Reiji: ...How dare you make such a sound? Utterly shameless.

Yui: R-Reiji-san! Anyone would scream if somebody silently creeps up on them from behind...!

Uhm, are you by yourself?

Reiji: I would like to ask you the same. Is he not with you today?

Yui: Eh?

Reiji: I am referring to your guard dog. Mukami...Yuma, was it?

Yui: Yuma-kun got called by one of the teachers...Did you want to talk to him perhaps?

Reiji: Well, yes...Aah, seems like he has returned.

Yuma: Oi, Sakamaki’s second eldest...The fuck ya doin’ to her?

Reiji: No need to shout at me like that. I have absolutely no interest in this undisciplined mutt. You are the one I want to talk to today.

Yuma: Me? The fuck, you’re bein’ disgustin’. If you’ve got something to tell me, then spit it out already.

Reiji: I would rather not talk to you for too long either, you see...

Yui: ( ...Would it be better if I stepped away? But leaving these two by themselves is a little... )

Yuma: ...Ya can go home first, Yui.

Yui: Will you be okay...?

Yuma: I’m not gonna do anythin’. I don’t sense ill will from this guy either.

Yui: Really...? Well, I’ll go ahead then.

ー Yui walks away

Yuma: ...So, what is so important I had to send her away? If it’s some stupid crap, I’m not even gonna bother listenin’.

Reiji: Rest assured then. I am sure you will be very much interested in what I have to say.

You came to ask us before, did you not? ...Regarding Shuu.

Yuma: Yeah...Is that dude even comin’ to school? I haven’t been able to get a hold of him.

Reiji: I can only assume he’s been wandering around in search of a quiet spot. Looking for that guy is a waste of your time.

Therefore, in place of my lazy older brother, I was thinking of giving you an answer to all of your questions instead.

Yuma: ...Unfortunately for ya, it’s somethin’ ya wouldn’t know.

Reiji: No, I am very much aware. About what you want to ask Shuu. ...As well as who you really are.

Yuma: ...!

Reiji: I shall tell you everything you want to know. Well then...Where should I start...?

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the living room of the Mukami manor

Yui: ( ...Yuma-kun’s late. )

( I wonder what Reiji-san wanted to talk about? )

( Seeing as Reiji-san actually went out of his way to come see him, it definitely isn’t just a trivial matter. )

*Thud*

Yui: ( Ah, seems like he’s back...! )

ー The scene shifts to the entrance hall

Yui: Welcome back, Yuma-kun. That sure took a while.

Yuma: ...

Yui: Yuma-kun?

Yuma: ...!

...Why the fuck are ya here...?

Yui: What’s wrong? ...Did something happen?

Yuma: ...No, nothin’ really.

Yui: But you’re drenched in sweat. Your complexion looks pale too...

Yuma: Shut up! I said it’s nothin’!!

Yui: Sorry...

Yuma: ...Che, Imma hit the hay.

ー Yuma walks away

Yui: ( Yuma-kun...? )

ー The scene shifts to Yuma’s room

*THUD*

Yuma: ...Fuck...

Did that guy really...? (1)

...I’ll never forgive him.

ー A flashback ensues

Ruki: ...Judging by your reaction, seems like you have realized as well. Yuma. ...That we are unable of becoming Adam.

Yuma: ...

Ruki: I am fairly certain that...only those who inherited that man’s blood, the Sakamaki brothers, are valid candidates to become Adam.

Yuma: ...So ya want me to give up? On my dream? On becoming Adam? ...And her as well?

Ruki: ...In the end, we are nothing but frauds. With our second-rate bodies (2), we aren’t qualified. ...That’s just our fate.

Yuma: Hah. So what? We’ve basically been used as convenient test samples? (3)

Ruki: We simply were not strong enough to defy destiny. Don’t put it like that. You owe him your life as well, don’t you?

...Eve will one day choose her Adam. No matter who Yui chooses, it will be her blood making the final decision.

When that happens ーー Yuma, you should do the noble thing and back off. As a way of returning the favor to him.

ー The flashback ends

Yuma: ...I won’t give up.

I have to become Adam and fulfill Boss’ dream.

I’ll crush the filthy rich, and change this rotten world.

...I won’t let her choose Shuu.

I definitely won’t let that guy who stole everythin’ I held dear away from me, become Adam...!

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the library at school

Yui: Haah...

( I’m a little shaky on my legs...I guess that’s to be expected. Every time he sees me, Yuma-kun sucks my blood. )

( I’ve been instinctively trying to avoid him, knowing that my body won’t last at this rate. )

( ...Ever since he talked to Reiji-san that day, his behavior has taken a turn for the worse. )

( He sucks my blood at any given opportunity...And he’s back to being violent like before as well. Even though he had grown gentle as of late. )

( I guess Reiji-san must have told him something back then after all? However, he won’t tell me even if I ask... )

ー She grows dizzy

Yui: ( ...I’m feeling faint again... )

*Thud*

Shuu: What are you doing?

Yui: Shuu-san...

Shuu: If you’ve got the time to be surprised, could you please stand up...? You’re heavy.

Yui: Ah, my ba...

H-Huh? I can’t get up...

Shuu: ...Can I drop you?

Yui: P-Please wait! At least do it slowly...!

ー The scene shifts to the hallway

Yuma: Che...That damn Sow. Where is she hidin’ behind my back...?

I gotta suck her blood before it restocks...

...If her blood is what chooses Adam, I just gotta make sure she’s runnin’ dry at all times.

Right, Ruki? ...Hehe, aren’t I a genius...?

Hehe...Hehehe...

ー The scene shifts back to the library

Shuu: Haah...I shouldn’t have come here. I just know I won’t be able to sleep in peace since you’re here, what a pain.

Yui: Sorry...

Shuu: ...The other one isn’t around today, huh? Did you finally get tired of him?

Yui: That’s not it...

Shuu: Well, I don’t really care...So, when can I let go of your hand?

Yui: Ah...Sorry. I think it should be okay noーー

*Thud*

Yui: ...!

Yuma-kun!

Shuu: ...See? It got noisy.

Yuma: ...Doin’...?

Yui: Eh?

ー Yuma suddenly punches Shuu

*THUD*

Yui: Shuu-san!!

Shuu: ...Ow...

Yui: What are you doing, Yuma-kun!? Suddenly punching him like thatーー!

Yuma: Shut up!!

*Rustle*

Yuma: Stand, ya bastard!!

*THUD THUD*

Shuu: Ugh...

Yuma: You’re gonna take away what’s mine again, huh!? Aah!?

*THUD THUD*

Yui: ...Cut it out, Yuma-kun!!

*Rustle*

Yui: I’m begging you...!

Yuma: Don’t touch me!!

*THUD*

Yui: Uu, ah...!

*THUD*

Yuma: Did ya think I wouldn’t hit a chick? Hah. You’re too naive.

Yui: Yu...ma-kun...

Yuma: Just wait there, Sow.

You’ll have my full attention once I’m done disposin’ of this piece of shit...Hehe...

Yui: ( ...Yuma-kun... )

*THUD THUD THUD*

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to Yuma’s room

*Creaak*

Yuma: Aah, I’m beat...

...My hands sting...

...

...I’m done.

I’m tired of...punchin’...

...Sleepy...

ー He dozes off

Yuma: Aahn...? Why the fuck is it so hot...?

ー He wakes up to find his room burning

Yuma: Aah...?

...Hah...This dream again, huh? It’s been a while...!

But ya know...Too bad! I already remembered everythin’!

I’m no longer scared of this! Show it to me all ya want!

...After all, I no longer have anyone important left in my life.

ー The scene shifts to the Mukami manor burning from the outside

???: ...Amidst the orange-colored flames, the young boy cries all by himself.

He lost the two things dear to him, so he weeps in solitude.

...This sure brings back memories.

...Fufu...Hahahaha!

ーー This time we shall bid farewell once and for all. ...Edgar. (4)

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes

(1) The sentence cuts off here, but I assume the full sentence would be ‘Did that guy really kill my family’?, implying that Reiji lied to Yuma, telling him that Shuu is the one who set the village on fire. 

(2) Ruki refers to the four of them as ‘picked up’ or ‘plucked off the streets’.

(3) 当て馬 or ‘ate-uma’ refers to a stallion which is used to test a mare’s readiness to mate.

(4) The audio is very faint here, but if you listen closely, you can hear Reiji say ‘Edgar’. In the written dialogue, it is replaced by ‘...’. 

[abluescarfonwaston]

Did someone ask for a quick and angsty immortal jaskier prompt? "It was supposed to be the music," he whispered, voice breaking. Heart breaking. "The songs. I wanted my songs to be remembered forever. I never wanted this."

Why would you do this to me anon. i’m already crying over the fact dandelion outlives everyone he loves. Major Character Death Warning. Obviously. Literally everyone dies. Uuuh also this kinda turns into Lambert/Jaskier at the end but like. They’re both Centuries old so nothing Happens.

When the wasting sickness swept through Lettenhove it killed his Mother and his Father and his Sisters and left him untouched. 

He was ten and the world was over. Except he kept waking up in the morning.

At thirteen a girl at Oxenfurt, Essi Daven, played her Lute in the commons and sang and had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes. And for the first time in years he sang a duet with her and suddenly he was a bard and he had a little sister again. 

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it finally restart.

At seventeen he met a man with white hair and seemly as many scars on his body as his heart and fell in love. Because Bards fell in love easily and he was impossibly easy to love.

The witcher plead for his life. Plead for them to let the bard go.

“No. Both of us or neither.” He was done outliving those he loved. At seventeen he was already done with that. “You kill him and let me go and i’ll destroy your mountain. Kill every last one of you in revenge.”

He’d leave behind a song. The one he’d written as a child and had swept the town more devastating than even the scarlet fever had been. It would live on past him. He would be remembered. The people he loved would be too. Toss a coin to your Witcher. The people he loved immortalized in song.

It wasn’t supposed to make him immortal.

“Give it a rest Jaskier.” Danity snapped. “It’s not you that has to be afraid of anything. No one ever touches a troubadour. For unfathomable reasons you’re inviolable.”

He’d still feared then. Chappelle could have had him killed. He was pretty sure he could die. Mostly he feared the pain. Or dying alone.

“When an old woman gets tired of life she walks into the woods without a weapon. The results are guaranteed.” He’d told Geralt when he’d moaned about how the world was changing and -more importantly- that he had no work.

Remember how I don’t even carry a knife when I follow you out on an adventure? No weapons at all. Ever. Just me and my lute.

He’d brushed death. A thousand times he’d almost met her. He followed Geralt- who was prophesied to always have death follow after him. You’d think at some point they’d meet.

Essi and Geralt fell in love on the coast. He wrote a ballad for them. About how their love was so powerful not even death could come between them.

He never played it. Not to anyone. He didn’t think it was actually about Essi and Geralt.

When rash appeared on Essi’s face in Vizima during the quarantine his hands shook.

“Not her.” He’d screamed at the gods. They didn’t exist of course. If they had then they’d abandoned them all long ago. “Not her.”

“Jaskier?” She shivered violently. “I don’t want to be burned.”

“You won’t be. You’re going to be fine.” He promised. Clutching her hand. “Promise Poppet. You’re going to be fine.”

The cremation fires blazed outside.

“I want to be buried in the woods. With my lute and-” She hurled mostly into the bucket. “My necklace. Please Jaskier.”

“Course Poppet. When you’re old and grey I will bury you out in the forest.”

“Thank you.” She clutched the little pearl. “For giving me him. I love him.”

“I never saw him happier than when he was with you Poppet.”

“What about when he was with you?”

“Oh come now.” He shifted her in his arms and moved the bucket a little further away. “You know me. I’m insufferable.”

“I love you Jaskier.” She cried as she shivered with less and less energy.

“I love you too Poppet.”

He carried her from the city. Into the forest. Her heart stopped beating before they arrived. He dug her grave and buried her with her lute and her pearl necklace.

With the pearl he’d given to her as a birthday gift. From him and Geralt.

When Regis passed it felt absurd. Humans weren’t supposed to outlive goddamn vampires in their fifth fucking century.

And then there was Geralt. Died in Yennefer’s arms along with her.

“It was supposed to be me.” He told no one as Ciri led their bodies out to the lake. “I was supposed to die with him.” Love so great not even death can part us.

But the story was never really about him was it?

Nenneke had a garden full of plants that grew under a crystal skylight. They didn’t grow anywhere else in the world anymore.

He’d asked Geralt about it. She’d said something about the sun and how it was changing. Apparently Geralt had asked why they all didn’t live under crystal skylights then, if it was so deadly.

“It’s already too late for us.” She’d said.

She talked liked the world was ending but the world ended all the time. And he still woke up in the morning.

Zoltan’s beard turned grey. He supposed he should have been thankful that Zoltan got to turn grey. It was better than most of the people he’d loved.

“How’s your fucking hair still Gold. You’re supposed to be getting old too!”

“I dye it.” He lied with a roll of the eyes. He’d stopped dying it years ago.

That winter he buried Zoltan too.

Golden eyes stared at him in confusion. “You look just like.” He started. His thin hair was grey. His wolf medallion gleamed in the sunlight that streaked into the bar.

“You’re one of the last Witchers i think.” He told him as the waves crashed outside. “Might even be the last.”

“Fucking hope so.” He sat down across from him and stole his beer. “Shitty job and a shitty life.” He squinted at him- which Jaskier knew was entirely unnecessary. He just forgotten to adjust his eyes. “What’s your name bard?”

“Dandelion.” He answered. It had been for the last century. “Yours?”

“Lambert.” He downed the drink. “You really think i’m the last? That worth a song? One of my brothers had a lot of songs.”

“Yes I suppose he did.” He waved for another drink. “And look what it got him.”

“Died surrounded by people who loved him.”

“Are you sure you know what a pogrom is?”

That got him a sharp toothy grin.

“I could write you a song but-” He was tired of burying people he loved.

“But?”

“I’m cursed you see.” It was definitely a curse these days. “I’ll live until the last of my songs is forgotten. I really don’t need anymore material.”

Lambert leaned forward curiously. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“You don’t think it sounds like a curse?” He sneered. Lambert’s face faltered. “To outlive everyone you love?”

Lambert paused. Thinking. “Write me a song then. Play it just for me. So if my song’s the last we’ll go together.”

“And what’s my payment for this song?”

“Company.” Lambert’s grey eyes glittered. “You look like you need it.”

“Not as much as you. I bet you talk to your horse.”

“Well i know you do pretty boy. Heard you in the stable.”

He leaned back on the bench. “So what’s a Witcher do in a world without monsters?”

He shrugged. “Fish mostly.”

“I can do that. Once almost snagged a catfish the size of you. Got a djinn instead. Very bad deal honestly.”

“You expect me to believe that? I know about Bards and Ballads and how you’re all rotten liars.”

“Don’t forget about fisherman and their tales.”

The boat leaked worse than an old drunkard but it was small enough and the lake calm enough that it didn’t make him sick.

“I could just kill you. Curse probably can’t fix decapitation.” Lambert offered with his stick in the water. He claimed were bombs they could use instead if they got desperate. Or bored.

He smiled and shook his head. “Give it a try.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow but pulled a silver blade from it’s sheath.

His pole reeled and the boat tilted to the side, plunging him and the sword into the water.

He laughed as the attempted to drag the monstrous fish to the boat. Lambert cursed and climbed in. Yanking at the rod until the line snapped and they fell back into the boat in a painful pile. Laughing.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

“Sing me a song bard.” Lambert would request from under his floppy sun brimmed hat. “No else up here but me.”

“There’s an entire stone keep on the hill.”

“No ones lived there in centuries. No one can hear you up here but me.”

He frowned at the ruins on the hill. Lambert kicked him.

He grinned and for the first time in decades - sang.

Maybe. Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it had finally restart.

“What was this place called?” He asked as they wandered through the crumbled ruin, covered in moss and ivy.

“Kaer Morhen.” He said like the words hurt him.

They hurt him too. He laughed.

He laughed some more.

He couldn’t stop laughing until Lambert smacked him hard enough to see stars.

“I never got to come here. Geralt.” He caught the flinch but moved past it. “Never trusted me enough to even let me know which country it was in.”

“So you were his bard.”

He nodded as Lambert kicked a stone apart. “He was right not to tell me of course. But.” It still hurt that his best friend hadn’t trusted him with his home. He’d taken Yennefer here. But not him. Never him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt’s trust. A thief, a liar, a spy, a bard. It still hurt.

“Well a wolf finally took you here. Is it everything you fucking dreamed?”

He took it in. “Nah. It’s rubbish.”

Lambert smirked. “Yeah. At least that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re hairs getting grey bard.”

“What?” He nearly leaped into the water in his haste to look.

Grey strands streaked his beard.

“Thank you.” He cried. “Thank you.”

“Still owe me that song Dandy.”

He wrote Lambert a lot of songs. Performed for an audience of one.

“Are you really okay with the fact no one will ever hear them? I mean what’s the point in being immortalized in song if-”

“Yeah. Didn’t give a shit about the songs.”

“Hey!” He protested. Kicking him where he lounged in front of the fire. “They’re good songs!”

He grunted in fake pain. Wiggled out of range. “Did Geralt ever tell you why he liked having you around?”

“My charming personality I assume.”

Lambert snorted.

He sat down on the floor and poke him. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me why you think he did.”

“No one tells Witchers bedtime stories.”

“Oh.” Lambert was halfway to sleep already. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah.”

“What you think happens after?” They were huddled together. Old and grey as a storm raged outside. “We die.”

“I gave up on gods when i was a child.”

“So did i.”

“Then.” He paused. Listened to the howl. “Whatever’s next at least neither of us is going alone.”

Lambert squeezed his bony hand. “What’s the chance we see them again?”

“Hm.” He pretended to consider. “Well we’re definitely going to hell so-”

“Like anyone we gave a shit about wouldn’t be.”

“Point.”

He closed his golden eyes. “Hey Dandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Sing me out.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

And quite singing filled the drafty cabin until the song stopped.

The world ended.

And at long last no one woke up in the morning.

[thebluestbluewords]

9 for the OTP questions? Choose any ship you’d like!

Thank you nonnie! Sorry for taking almost a week to get to this, hope you enjoy :)

Number 9-- Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

(There are two not-fics below-- rotten four as is my brand, and mal/audrey)

There’s two ways I could go with this:

either THIS is the Maldry rivals-to-friends-to-lovers fic, where Mal is a dashing pirate who is young and rebellious and was kicked off of her ship by her mother, who wants her to attend the young lady's academy on the mainland and educate herself in the ways of “proper” society so that they can infiltrate the rich ships better and get the reputation as the gentlewoman pirates that they deserve. Of course, in this fic Mal meets Audrey along the way, and hates her immediately. Seriously, this girl likes PINK and PRINCESSES but also NOT PRINCESSES because she is NOT INTO GIRLS and it’s INFURIATING.

“Mal,” says Evie, who is Mal’s best friend from the pirate ship who is actually delighted to be attending the princess academy and is learning new ways to hide knives in her fancy dresses every day “Babe.”

“Fuck off,” says Mal, who has known Evie since they were six and had a falling-out so dramatic that they sailed on separate ships next to each other for four years afterwards.

“You’re so gay for her.” says Evie, who is already hooking up with Mal in their free time because it’s easy and comfortable and they both enjoy it well enough. “I know that look, Mal Bertha.”

“There’s no look,” says Mal, sulking.

“Just ask her out with all of your dashing pirate charm.” Evie says. She has not stopped applying her lipgloss throughout this conversation, and it’s not as distracting as it should be for either girl.

So Mal goes out and picks up a new pair of boots with less bloodstains than her old ones, and rents a boat (renting is like stealing, except it’s only for a while. It’s practically borrowing, really, except for how Evie has drilling it into Mal’s mind after a few too many incidents with lost books that BORROWING happens when you’ve ASKED FIRST) and decides to turn on the full pirate charm

Audrey is not impressed, and does not break up with her boyfriend, Chad Charming, over this attempt at wooing. She is a princess, and in NO HECKING WAY did she sign up to be….harassed!! By a pirate no less!! Everyone knows who her mother really is, no matter if she’s here under an “education decree” from the “crown prince” for the “children” of the exiled *former* smuggler’s community by the coast.

….Mal steals a boat, and tries again. Only this time with kidnapping.

Audrey is impressed with the dedication, if nothing else. She may not like a pirate, but she can appreciate a girl who will dedicate at least six hours of her life to plotting and stealing a whole finishing vessel from the coast. And cook her a lobster dinner on it.

Mal is delighted by this turn of events. Evie is thrilled that she finally has time without her best friend where she can FINALLY decorate their room the way she wants. Audrey is reluctant at first, but eventually comes around to the idea of dating a bad girl.

….and also there’s a bit where Mal gets dumped in the water and Audrey, despite Not Signing Up For This Bull Crap, has to jump in and save her. From about two feet of water. Because Audrey was being a reasonable person and taking her shirt off so that she could get the full benefits of the sun. Make that vitamin D.

Mal is so gay that she walked off the side of the boat when it happened.

The OTHER answer is that it’s a rotten ot4 story, and Mal is an evil princess who gets sent away to live on a pirate ship for a year by her mother, who wants her to become more evil and also learn some leadership skills. The other three are the pirates who are supposed to teach her their wicked ways of stealing and drinking and cruelty.

Unfortunately for Maleficent’s plans, the shipping journey doesn’t go exactly according to plan.

Mal does not fall overboard this time, but what DOES happen is that the OTHER wicked princess on board the ship is too perfect for words, and when it’s revealed that actually, Evie is the famous pirate princesa espelho and NOT another wicked boarding school member, Mal has a full blown gay crisis.

“Well YEAH,” says Jay, who is also dating essentially pirate royalty. “She’s like, basically the coolest person you’ll ever meet, aside from me. What, did you think she was one of us regular wicked school brats?”

“I don’t know what I expected,” Mal tells her pillow, which she is burying her face in during said Gay Crisis. “She’s too good to be true.”

“Nah.” Jay says, mouth full of ye olde cheetos or something. “She’s pretty lame sometimes. You should ask her about what her room looked like when she first got her own ship. All dark and gloomy.”

“WHAT” shrieks Mal, who has been working on changing her bunk to the darkest, deepest corner since she first arrived. “She THREW OUT a room that was dark AND gloomy in favor of what?”

“Better lighting for her makeup tutorials, mostly.” Jay says, not paying attention anymore. “I think she might also have a full journalism setup there too. She won’t tell me anymore, not after what happened with the caustic tar.

Mal is horrifically curious about the caustic tar now. “What was it made from,do you know?” she asks, because she’s still working on how to cohabitate with other people peacefully despite growing up running around an evil academy since she was a child.

“Nothing important,” says Jay casually, throwing a ball at the ceiling.. “She had some boards replaced, scrubbed off all the skin on her palms fixing the parts of the door she didn’t want to replace, and then made a very cool liquid version of the tar for spraying on fabric to get natural wear and tear patterns on new garments.

“Sick.” Mal says, and before she can make any other comments:

“There was the matter of the handprints though,” Jay say, still extremely fake-casually. .”they were weird, you know, because Evie had them on her back for weeks, with the tar and all, and they were definitely dainty. Almost like some girl kissed her around the neck while there was still tar on her hands.”

Mal throws a shoe at him, knocking both the ball and the boy out of the way, and shoves past to find Evie.

Because the roles are already a mess for this (I am very small and very tired place just roll with it as I am not editing this before I post) Mal runs into exactly the pirate royalty she doesn’t want to see.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” asks Carlos, who is basically a tiny perfect decoy in this world. His mother had a monopoly on the exotics trade for a good few years when he was a child, and would tie him to the mast and make him cry for mercy as a way of luring other ships hoping to rescue a nobleman’s child closer. It worked disturbingly well, and now at sixteen, Carlos is both a pirate elite and terrified of falling into the water.

Mal pushes past, because she is as always a little bit of an asshole, and goes off to find her OWN pirate princess to date. She doesn’t need any stupid boys who just look at her like she’s dumb when she doesn’t know an anchor form a bowline. She doesn’t need to know. She’s going to be managing her own crew eventually, and they’ll do all of the heavy lifting aspects of it all. Mal is simply going to chill out and wait for the princess to come to her.

Of course, because this is a pirate story, this is when another ship sees the school experience boat, and decides that the best experience for the young baddies to have is explosions. Lots of them.

First hand, even.

The pirates (Evie and Jay and Carlos included) get to stations.

Mal, confused and distressed by this turn of events, is about halfway from transforming her whole shit and dealing with the dragon claw marks later, decides to wait in the hold. She is not getting paid for this experience, and it’s so beyond her ability to control what other ships do, mom.

Mal might have a few mommy issues in addition to the princess issues. A balance there.

“Fuck” Mal says, instead of dictating a letter to her mother like she should when entering a potentially life-threatening situation. “Now I’m never going to be able to talk to her.”

Mal does not die, Evie does not die, neither of them actually manage to steal anything in this story except for each other’s hearts, and then they talk at length about their feelings and how they should become a mean fighting team.

The next pirate raid (intentional), they’re ready. They’ve practiced all of their cool two-person moves together, and they’re ready for this.

Two minutes into the battle, Jay gets taken by the unwitting second team and disappears. Mal, predictably, flips her shit when this happens.

Aaaaand now it is late and I’ve written up enough of a piece of a fic I won’t write for this hour. Hope you enjoyed one or both of these ideas, nonny.

(the second one ends with Evie and Carlos dragging Mal along on an adventure to get Jay back, where Mal learns how not to be useless on a ship anymore and she and Evie bond as people and they keep Carlos and Mal in turns from having a nervous breakdown as they get their boyfriend/BFF back and then they all realize that ACTUALLY they work best as a foursome and do that)

[vampire--dad]

Part 1 of my Witcher!Jaskier fic (that originally just started as a Geraskier drabble thing and spiralled wildly out of control) (and also doesn’t have a title yet bear with me here)

——————

“Roach, you take care of him now, won’t you?” Jaskier says softly, petting her nose. She huffs and nudges his chest. He chuckles. “Good. Keep him out of trouble.”

“And you give me shit for talking to her,” says a familiar gruff voice. Geralt approaches the stables with his pack slung over his shoulder, clad in his black armour. Jaskier pulls an apple from his pocket and offers it to the horse, who chomps it down happily.

“Well yes, because you’re always so bossy and grouchy with her. Someone’s got to be nice to her. She’s a wonderful horse.”

Geralt sets his pack over the back of the saddle before turning to Jaskier with his arms folded, ignoring the comment.

“I don’t need the horse to take care of me or keep me out of trouble.”

“Sure you do. She always brings you back in one piece, don’t you, Roach?”

“Jaskier, I don’t need to be taken care of.”

Jaskier sighs and shakes his head, finally turning to face the witcher. His yellow eyes stare into his soul, reigniting a fire he’s spent years trying to put out.

“Fine… but bring yourself back here safely, alright?”

He regrets saying it to his face, but he means it. Over the years, Jaskier has learned to carefully conceal how much he cares for Geralt. He knows it won’t go anywhere. He knows Geralt doesn’t feel the same. He can’t. He’s a witcher. He’s not capable of it. Yet Jaskier still yearns for him.

Geralt scoffs and lifts himself onto Roach’s back. “What, worried you’ll lose your main source of income?” he says with a mocking tone. Jaskier hides how the comment stings. Is that really what Geralt thinks he sticks around for? That’s just an excuse to stay. The witcher digs his heels into Roach’s sides and rides off without another word.

“Yeah, something like that…”

It only takes two days for the townspeople to start asking where the witcher is. They fear he’s dead. Jaskier brushes off their worries and fills the air with fantastical stories instead. It’s not uncommon for Geralt to be gone for days at a time. It’s not until the end of the first week that Jaskier finds himself starting to worry as well. The innkeeper is kind enough to let him stay until the witcher comes back, so long as he fills the hall with music. Performing becomes a distraction from the worry that gnaws at the corners of his mind. Geralt has never been gone for more than a week.

As he lays in bed among the scratchy old sheets, he faces the fact that this worry is borne from more than just concern for a friend. He knows that if something were to happen to Geralt, it’d kill him too. And he knows he’s an idiot for caring so much. Witchers don’t feel. That’s what Geralt has always told him. He never believed it until he realised he was in love with him. Then it became a crushing truth. Geralt could never care for him the same way he does. It’s not the witcher’s fault, it’s his own. He wishes he could stop, wishes he could put out the fire that burns under his heart and burns it to a crisp every time Geralt looks at him.

By the end of the second week, the innkeeper threatens to throw him out if he spends another night in his room moping. The worry consumes every corner of his mind now. He tries to sleep. It doesn’t work. He waits by the window, staring at the town’s gates. Waiting for the White Wolf to ride back into town unscathed. But he doesn’t. Rather, he’s carried by two men, covered in blood. Roach follows behind them. Jaskier races out the door, crying the witcher’s name.

“We found him in the forest,” the men say as they struggle to carry an unconscious witcher to a bed in the inn. “He killed… whatever that thing was, but it just about killed him.”

Jaskier barely hears them. He grabs his pack and spends hours tending to each wound on Geralt’s body, only to find that another one has started to bleed what little blood he has left. He peels the blood-soaked clothes off his back. He can’t tell what of it is Geralt’s and what’s from the monster. It doesn’t particularly matter. He notices as he tends to a wound on the witcher’s temple that he feels cold. Geralt always feels cold, but his skin is practically freezing. Jaskier curses. The bastard can’t die on him yet, he won’t let him. Roach is lucky the stable boys like her and care for her free of charge.

He stays by Geralt’s side for days. He quickly turns from freezing cold to hot to the touch. Jaskier spends what little coin he can spare on herbs to treat the infection. The witcher never wakes, but he groans in pain in his sleep. Each one feels like a punch to the gut for Jaskier. He tries to be gentle, but since he doesn’t know where the infection is coming from, he needs to clean all of the wounds as best as he can. The shallow ones are all but gone within a few days. He’s never quite gotten used to how quickly his wounds heal, but it’s at least slightly comforting to have less to deal with.

Geralt doesn’t wake till the fourth day of Jaskier tending to him. The bard is hunched over his bare torso, redressing a wound that runs along his ribcage. He’s done well to ignore how bloody good Geralt looks without a shirt on. He sits back only to find a pair of yellow eyes staring at him and just about jumps out of his skin.

“Bloody hell, Geralt! You could have said something…”

The witcher grunts and sits up slowly, Jaskier’s hands bracing his broad shoulders as he assesses the damage done to him.

“Careful, careful,” Jaskier cautions him. “How do you feel?”

Geralt winces slightly, but pain is almost familiar to him by now.

“Fine,” he grumbles. Jaskier resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“You had an infection. I think it’s gone, but you need to rest.”

“We need to go. We’ve been here too long.”

Jaskier inhales sharply. “Geralt, you’re going to pull your stitches if we leave now, and I’m out of thread to redo them, so unless you plan on sacrificing a shirt to me so I can stitch you back together—”

Geralt ignores him. They’ve spent far too long in this town. It’s better if they keep moving. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, stumbling slightly as he stands for the first time in about a week. Jaskier throws his hands up in defeat as he searches through his pack for a clean shirt.

“I’ll be fine, Jaskier,” he says with his back turned to the bard. It’s a good thing, too, for the witcher doesn’t see the pained and worried expression on his face.

They set off with Roach and what little food Jaskier can talk out of the innkeeper. The bard isn’t much of a hunter, but he’ll have to try if they plan on reaching the next town without starving, and the gods only know he won’t let Geralt hunt in such a state. Hopefully he can score them a squirrel at the very least.

He can tell the witcher is in pain. He winces at every step Roach takes that jostles him a little too hard. Jaskier can’t help but feel as though all his hard work to keep the bastard alive is going unappreciated. It always does, really, but this time it hurts a little more. He would have died if not for Jaskier’s care and the cold nights he spent sleeping on the floor so Geralt could rest.

They set up camp beside the narrow path that winds through the forest as night falls. Jaskier is quick to set up a fire before Geralt can, yet again finding himself wondering why he bothers. Geralt has never noticed the things he does for him, what would make him start now?

“What’s wrong?” the witcher asks unexpectedly.

“Nothing,” Jaskier lies. A lot is wrong, but Geralt doesn’t need to know. Probably wouldn’t care if he did.

“Something is bothering you. Spit it out.”

Geralt knows something is wrong when the bard is quiet, but he’s never been that short with him. Usually he’s the one giving monotonous one word answers. Jaskier stares into their campfire without a word. He’s stressed. He’s tired of how Geralt brushes him off, how he never thanks him for caring for him. He supposes it’s because he shouldn’t. Geralt has always made it clear he’d rather be left to his own devices, but Jaskier can’t help but scramble after him in futile hopes that one day it will all be worth it.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says impatiently. The annoyance in his tone fuels the bard’s anger. “Spit it out. What’s wrong?”

“Damn it, Geralt, you blithering idiot!!” Jaskier shouts. Years of longing and loneliness built up inside him all come out at once. “I waited in that inn for two weeks for you to come back. I thought you were dead! Then you’re carried back into the town, unconscious and covered in blood, and I nurse you back to health as per fucking usual. And you act like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost die out there. Not even a ‘thank you’ for making sure you didn’t die of an infection or for staying in that rotten inn for two weeks. Waiting for you. You never think of anyone but yourself, you prick! I’m fucking over this. I’m done.”

Jaskier grabs his things and storms off into the forest. Geralt watches him in silence until he fades out of view. Roach grumbles and nudges his shoulder with her nose. Of all things, the last thing he expected was to feel guilty… but Jaskier is right. He waited for him. He always has. He’s always the one who tends to his wounds and stitches him back together so as to not leave too much of a mark. Jaskier has followed him across this land for years and for all those years, Geralt has ignored the signs. He knows Jaskier cares for him more than he’s ever let on. He can’t deny that deep down he cares for him, too. He just never wanted to face it. It was easier not to, easier to wait for the fire in both of them to die out, and safer. But it never did. Roach headbutts his arm impatiently. He growls and pats her nose.

“I know,” he grumbles.

He sets off after the bard, following the bitter scent of his anger along an invisible path. Slowly the anger fades to regret, a sour scent that stings Geralt’s nose, but he follows it anyway. He finds himself reaching for his sword at every sound the forest makes. He should never have let Jaskier run off like that, not at night. He’s going to get himself hurt. The sour scent of regret starts to become richer and Geralt finds himself feeling guiltier and guiltier as he follows the smell of sadness. He scrubs his nose as it itches at the smell.

He treks until he finds Jaskier sitting on a log, his head in his hands, a mess of frustration, sadness, and fear. He doesn’t know where the hell he’s going. He just wanted to get away from Geralt, but now that he’s not here he realises what an idiot he is. All he has is the small dagger Geralt gave to him. He’s got no chance of fighting off anything bigger than a dog. Geralt stares at him and finds his chest aching with guilt. It takes him a while to work up the courage to say anything.

“Jaskier.”

The bard’s head shoots up at the sound, but his fearful expression quickly turns to one of disgust as his blue eyes fall on the witcher. He turns his back to him.

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

Jaskier groans and grabs his things, anger bubbling up in his chest yet again. “Just fuck off, you asshole. I don’t need your—”

“I’m sorry.”

They stand in silence for a moment, Jaskier’s back to Geralt. The moonlight shines through the trees on his soft brown hair. His eyes start to sting, his bags slipping from his grasp and back to the ground. He dares not turn around. It’d kill him if Geralt saw him cry. Eventually, the witcher speaks up again. He doesn’t know where the words come from, but they spill out of his mouth.

“I’ve taken you for granted for so many years and I’m sorry. I never appreciated you. You’ve always waited for me and taken care of me, and I was never as grateful as I should have been. I’m sorry, Jask.”

Tears start to fall from Jaskier’s eyes as Geralt speaks. The desperation in his voice gives the bard hope he knows he shouldn’t have. Before he can say something stupid to ease the tension, Geralt says something that shakes him to his very core.

“I know how much you care about me, Jask. I always have. I don’t know why you do, given how I treat you, but I know…”

His voice trails off, but something tells Jaskier that he’s not finished. He’s just trying to figure out how to say it.

“I do care about you. I’ve just never known how to show it. I always thought being a witcher was more important and… it was safer to push you away. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

Geralt stares at the back of the bard’s head. He’s never been good with words. What he said doesn’t even capture half of what he meant, but he’s surprised he came up with that alone. Jaskier doesn’t move for a moment, then all of a sudden he turns on his heel and throws himself into Geralt’s arms. He’s longed to hear those words for years. It’s all too much for him. He tries his best to hold back his tears, but a few sobs slip from his throat. Geralt doesn’t say anything, he just holds Jaskier and pets his hair gently.

Eventually, Jaskier pulls away and scrubs the tears from his face with his sleeve, cursing under his breath. He’s a mess. His eyes dart about, looking anywhere but at Geralt until he says his name again.

“Jaskier…”

There’s a tinge of worry in Geralt’s voice he’s never heard. His blue eyes shine as he looks at the witcher. A pair of golden eyes stare back under a brow furrowed with concern. His own voice shakes with the strain of choking back tears.

“You always told me witchers couldn’t feel,” he says.

“I lied. It’s easier if people believe that we don’t feel… even you.”

Jaskier nods and sniffles softly.

“Do you mean it?” he asks. He has to. After all these years, he has to ask. Geralt reaches out and gently caresses his cheek with a gloved hand.

“I mean it,” he says definitively.

Jaskier doesn’t think. He just throws himself at Geralt, kissing him like it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. The witcher holds him close, his lips cold and bitter. It’s relieving. It’s overwhelming. Jaskier feels like his heart has caught on fire. Geralt thinks he’s going to melt in Jaskier’s warm embrace. Eventually their lips part and Jaskier gently brushes the hair from Geralt’s eyes. Geralt doesn’t let him go. If he’s going to allow himself to love Jaskier, he’s never going to let him go again.

“Come back to the camp,” he says softly. Jaskier nods and reluctantly slips from Geralt’s arms to grab his things. As he slings his bag over his back, he begins to apologise.

“I’m sorry I stormed off and called you a—”

“Don’t be. You had every right to,” Geralt cuts him off. The guilt of how he has treated Jaskier still lingers in his chest, so he’ll bury it with affection and that wonderful warm feeling he got when the bard kissed him. He slips off his gloves, and takes Jaskier’s hand as they walk back to the road together.

[four-rabbit]

The Last Piece Left

This was supposed to be fluff the first time I had this idea. But then I decided that it could be fluffy with angst in the end. But then I got to actually write it and it became angst with even more angst in the end, so... hope you enjoy

I apologize in advance for any mistakes

Summary: For the first time since he left the Others, Virgil reunites the courage to talk to an old friend, but neither of them seem to know how to feel about each other. Or how to not make things worse. 

Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders

Warnings: swearing, mentions to death and dead bodies, angst (does that count as a warning?), fight, sex mention

Word Count: 2287

“I told them my name” Remus looked away from the canvas in front of him, just to see who he once called a friend standing in the middle of his room, with an expression as abstract as the paint Creativity was trying to finish. So many feelings in such a small space it became impossible to understand. 

“Ok? Good for you, I don’t give a fuck” replied, focusing his gazes on anything except Virgil’s eyes, doing his best to keep his emotions simple. We hate each other. He abandoned us. That should be enough. Virgil stayed in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. “What do you want, emo?”

“Thomas painted his hair” he started.

“Yeah, I noticed. Purple doesn’t really go well with green. Unless we’re talking about a wound. Or a dead body. Nevermind, purple and green are awesome together”

“Yeah, I really liked the hair, actually. I was thinking… I mean, you and Deceit have green and yellow. The core sides also have colors. I’m kinda tired of the black” 

“Are you? I think it matches you, boring, quickly establishes that you’re the villain, having been washed in at least some months”

“I just want you to teach me how to sew,” Virgil replied, already starting to lose his temper. Calm down, he said to himself,he may be hard to deal with, but you are here to help, not make things worse. 

“Roman knows how to sew, probably way better than me. Do you think I should add like, blood red or more like a wine red?” He pointed to the canvas, answering his own question before Virgil could do so “Yeah, blood red of course, the classic”

“I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, I don’t think Princey’s style really matches mine” Remus wishes he was as honest to himself as he was with other people. He knew deep down it would hurt more to do that. He knew that getting a bite of what used to be their friendship would just make him more hungry for something that didn’t even exist anymore. He knew it would probably hurt both of them even more. But someone wanted his help for the first time in… well. Virgil wanted his help. 

“Ok, get out of my room” said, finally turning to Anxiety, who tried to pretend those words didn’t send a wave of disappointment though his body. 

“Of course... This was a mistake” mumbled, starting to sink out.

“No dude! Fuck, I mean, like, intrusive thoughts and anxiety is never a good mix, let’s go to your room or a neutral room” quickly explained. 

“Oh” Virgil came back, seeming surprised “I can take your room just fine, dude, I’m used to it”

“It got way worse since the last time you were here, trust me, Gerard Gay” Virgil looked around. The view did look messier, if it was possible. The floor felt like skin, but with something off. He could hear whispers in the back of his consciousness, to which he could never identify a source. The smell was less like trash can and more like a trash can on fire where a corpse had been discarded some days ago. But he could take all that. He could take hours in that room, the same way Remus could take hours in his room. 

“I don’t see how”

“As much as I would love to see Thomas hyperventilating because his anxiety can’t stop thinking about how people are going to invade his house and slowely murder him if he doesn’t check all the locks at least five times, I’m pretty sure you don’t want that headache. And it will be a hell of a headache as soon as the room reaches your mind”

“Fine, My room, then?”

“Yeah, I’m in need of some new spiderwebs anyway” 

Virgil’s room didn’t change much since The Duke was there for the last time, except for some new Disney posters, probably from Roman and a drawing on the desk right beside anxiety’s bed. It was terribly colorful and childish, with all the three core sides and Virgil. Patton, then. Of course it was Patton. Anxiety immediately took the gift out of Creativity’s sight. 

“I’m not gonna eat it or anything, y’know?”

“It’s personal”

“Of fucking course it is” He could see how Patton seemed better compared to Janus. But they didn’t need a stupid - and shitty, let’s be honest - card to prove how much they cared for, everything was just so fucking stupid and boring with the core sides, why would Virgil fucking chose to be with them?! What was wrong with him?! What did Remus do wrong?! “It’s really shitty, but I guess daddy has always been bad at everything he did”

“Could you keep it down? For at least thirty fucking minutes?” Virgil snapped, clenching his fists and looking at Remus with pure danger in his eyes. 

“Do you have a… “He looked around, wishing he could just stop fucking talking for at least one damn second “A sketch. For how you want your hoodie to be? 

“I do, actually” Virgil kept his eyes away from his old friend, the tension in the room so heavy it could be cut, grabbing one of the drawings on the same table Patton’s gift was and giving it to the duke. It was… a concept. Remus conjured a pen, turning the paper and using it’s other side to make a more clear image, giving it back to anxiety.

“How about this?” Virgil tried not to smile, but his eyes betrayed him by shining. It was perfect.

"It 's cool”

“Great” he then started to reunite all the materials. One of Virgil’s older hoodies, purple fabric, white and black threads and…

“Why a spinning wheel?” 

"It 's cooler” replied, shrugging. 

“If I touch the needle will I also sleep for one hundred years?”

“Who knows? Now sit your ass down, emo, this will take time”

“Ok, what do I do first?” said, sitting on his bed and waiting for instruction. Remus flinched until the realization struck him. 

“Wait, you actually want me to teach you? Buddy, I’m the worst teacher ever and you know that” And also I’m a selfish motherfucker who knows very well that if you never learn it every time you need to fix it you will have to ask for my help. 

“It can’t be that hard”

“If you actually want to do something decent, it will take at least some days. Do you want The Duke in your room for days? I wouldn’t mind it, we could even have some fun” He smiled maliciously. He was right. Virgil wouldn’t want any of the core sides to know he still talked to Remus. Especially not Roman. 

“Fine. How long will it take for you to do it?”

“One hour” He could do it in a couple seconds, actually, but sshhh. 

“Ok” Virgil looked down, seeming almost… embarrassed. Creativity grabbed all the materials, conjured a bench, sat down and started to work. He tried to stay in silence, but it was almost painful to do so

“How are the core sides doing? Anything interesting, if that’s possible?”

“Are you trying to do small talk?” Virgil almost smiled. The only one of the Others good with that was Deceit and they all knew that. 

“I’m trying to keep it down like you said to protect your now light side ears or whatever” Virgil chucked, rolling his eyes. 

“What was that painting about?”

“Oh… I was trying to do an abstract representation of the emotions decay and rottenness bring”

“Sounds like you. How was it going?”

“Like shit. Not literally, even though that’s a good idea, did you know that when we die our whole body, like, relax, including our stomach muscles and all? And yeah, we shit ourselves, so go to the bathroom before you die, I guess” Virgil flinched with that unwanted information.

“I feel like you told me that before”

“I probably did, it’s pretty basic. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, I haven’t being able to paint anything good”

“I thought it was pretty nice” For Remus’ standards. 

“Sure you did. But really, how are those dorks? Did someone already explained to Daddy what sex it or nobody had the courage yet?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“Of course!” 

“Nobody did, obviously, but I’m considering, I like Patton, but if he refers to adulthood as adultery one more time I’ll lose it” Remus snorted. 

“He does what?”

“Long story, dude”

“Holy fuck” He laughed “He’s definitely doing that on purpose”

“What would he win by doing that?” A couple of answers came to Remus’ mind but he was sure VIrgil would hate all of them. Still, he had to choose one, that how things work “Maybe he likes fucking with you guys”

“Not everybody finds it funny to manipulate the people around them like Deceit” Oh, here we go again. 

“Patton and Janus are not that different”

“Name one thing they have in common” fortunately for Remus, the first answer that came to his mind was not that bad. 

“Well, if you’re right, they both don’t know where babies come from” Virgil seemed divided between keeping arguing and smiling. He went with the second option. You can do it, Virge. You can not screw everything. 

“I guess so. But Patton is definitely better with hugs” 

“Which one of the light sides would you fuck if you had to chose?”

“Where did that come from?!” Remus shrugged.

“Just curious”. 

“I won’t fucking answer that!” exclaimed, his face starting to get red.

“For me it would be Logan. Or maybe you. Do you count as a Light side already?” Anyway, Logan must be amazing. It’s almost like fucking a teacher and I always wanted to know how it feels like” Virgil was about to order him to shut up, but he knew Remus enough to know it would only make things worse, so he went with a more effective technique.  

“How is Deceit doing?” Remus raised his eyebrows, the question surprising enough to stop his line of thought. 

“Fine? Why do you care?”

“I mean… are you guys good?” 

“As always”

“Haven’t he been… hurting you or anything like that?”

“Janus never hurted me, dude, what the fuck?”

“Except that he did. Except that he does it everyday. You just don’t want to admit it” Remus looked into his eyes, frowning.

“Emo, what is this all about?” 

“What do you mean?” Based on how he focused his gaze on the floor, Remus raised his eyebrows even more. 

“This is not just about the fucking hoodie, is it?” Virgil stayed in a seeming never ending silence.

“They accepted me, Remus.You guys said it was impossible for the core sides to accept us, but here I am. They could accept you too” Oh, so that’s what this is about. Remus went to one of his rare silences, which were always scarier than his loudest noises. 

“We already talked about this, emo”

“But that was before! When we thought they all hated us! But they don’t! Logan is welcoming and Roman is trying and Patton… Patton is willing to receive us with his arms open”

“No, he’s fucking not. Patton hates me so fucking much I’m pretty sure he would get rid of me the second he had the fucking chance and would still convince himself it was the right thing to do” He got up without realizing, putting all his efforts into not crying like a pathetic child. 

“I think you’re mistaken him for Deceit” Virgil also got on his feet.

“Janus, his name is fucking Janus, why can’t you just call him for his fucking name?! He yelled. 

“He’s a liar, Remus! He doesn’t care about you or any of us! He just wants to… Follow his plans or whatever”

“Oh, do you think Patton cares about you?!”

“Actually yes, I know he fucking does”

“Well, yeah, maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t, but if I get there? Not only will he get scared and kick me out, he will also be angry at you for bringing the freak here into his perfect little world of sunshine and rainbows, so thank you so much, but Janus at least was there for me when I needed it, unlike those dicks or you!” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. 

“I should have known this was a mistake” Virgil said, letting his shoulders drop with the height of defeat. 

“Yeah it was. Here is your fucking hoodie” He finished it with a snap of his fingers at threw it at Virgil, sinking out right after. “Have fun with your new friends, Virgil” 

Slowly, anxiety grabbed his new costume. It was amazing, Comfortable, spooky, creative. And it was so… detailed and clearly done carefully, It was… He started crying.Ugly crying, with the tears scratching his throat to came with violent sobs, their warm burning as they fell down his face, wetting his own clothes and the new one in his hands, the pain in his chest seeming like a monster was tearing apart his whole soul, trying to destroy his heart, it hurted more than anything that he ever felt. 

He knew, deep down, it was impossible to have a real famILY like that. But he also knew he was a hypocrite and it was easier to pretend things were simpler. It was easier to pretend he didn’t need Remus. Or Janus, by that extent. It was easier to pretend they weren’t family. But not easy enough for him to not hold on to all there was left from what they once called a friendship.

 He held the hoodie tighter.

[mother-snake]

Why? Beacuse I'm bored out of my mind. Thats why.

-----

Janus was done.

He was done with all the hurtful comments about his appearance. He was done with people moving away from him when he stepped close. He was done with the abuse from the darks. The abuse from the lights. The ignorance that followed him every time he opened his mouth to even voice his opinion on a movie.

He was done.

Maybe thats why he was packing his bags, he wished for death at one point in time, but that was a long time ago. Now he just wants to leave and live his life. Janus walked over to the nightstand by his bed. He picked up the photos that sat there and looked at them.

Purple, Green and Yellow.

He simply put them back and latched his suitcase shut. On the bed he placed five letters. Each colour coded for the side and each saying that he was done.

Janus wasn't upset. People get dealt bad hands in life, he was one of them. Not a big deal! Right?

RIght.

Janus walked out of his room and for the first time in years, he didn't lock it. He burned the hundreds of journals he wrote over the years. He left his full outfit and was wearing a yellow button-up with black slacks. He left the photos. The memories. The med kits. The years worth of spilled blood...

He only had one more place to go first. To drop off a letter of 'fuck off and leave me alone' to the light sides. The commons smelled like fresh vanilla and smoked fire wood. The lights were off and the sides themselves were passed out as the DvD screen played over and over again

Placing the suit case down with a click, he walked over and placed the envelope on coffee table. He turned back around to pick up his suit case when-

"Why the fuck are you here?"

Turning around to see Virgil standing behind him, Janus let out a cheshire grin. "Dropping off my letter of resignation, why else?"

Virgil stood taller, "I don't know why else! You're probably put poison in that le-- wait... Resignation?" He seemed to think for a second. "You can't resign! Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell are you planning Deceit? Are you gonna duck out like I did? Why would we ever come save you?!"

Janus waited a few more minutes of Virgil yelling at him before he turned back around to grab his bag. Only to be pulled backward and slammed into a wall.

"What are you planning?" Virgil gripped his shirt harder as he slammed Janus against the wall repeatedly. When the room stopped spinning he looked up to see the other four woke up too. Fan-fucking-tasic.

Before Janus could even say a thing he was thrown to the floor and his ribs were kicked. He swears he heard them crack.

That. Is. It.

His eyes flashed a dangerous yellow and he felt his teeth grow sharp. "Stop fucking hitting me, Virgil.... NOW" the kicking stopped and Janus stood up. Standing tall despite the burning feeling surrounding his ribcage.

"You wanna know what I want? I want you assholes to leave me the fuck alone!" he wiped a small stream if blood away from his mouth. "I am tired of being the punching bag! I'm so fucking tired of never being able to relax! I'm tired of valuing starvation vs food poisoning! I'm done with being the convenient villian for you to pin all of the blame on while you continuously beat and bully a side who is barely 22 years old." He wiped more blood away, Virgil must've broken something. "I am tired of hiding in places to attempt to not be found by the other dark sides! I'm tired of the looks of distrust as if I was the one who made your life difficult! I'm tired of not being able to fall asleep because I live in fear that I won't make it till morning! I am really fucking tired of being locked in the fucking freezer--"

"What about all of our good memories together?"

Janus stopped and blinked. Staring at Remus who was looking at him like he had lost his damn mind.

"Those memories only show me that my only friends that I had now hate me."

"Janus-"

"No! You don't get to use my name! Not after you left me to die in the dark Remus! Not after you promised me that you would bring me too!" Tears were slowly leaking down his face. "You want to keep the memories? Well you can have them."

Janus summoned the photos from his room and ripped open the frames. Each time he grabbed a photo he tore himself out of it. Each time shouting about how the memory was now free of a dirty rotten liar in yellow. All while Remus was screaming for him to stop.

Dozens of photos layed on the floor. Half of them had a Purple side and a Green side. While the other half of the torn pieces was a Yellow side with a snake eye.

The others were flabbergasted while Janus just rubbed away the blood stream once again.

Janus coughed and covered it with his hand. Pulling the yellow glove away he looked down and saw large pools of blood staining the yellow fabric.

Janus let out a soft cuckle as he tore off the gloves. "Congratulations!" Looking into all of their eyes, but focusing on Virgils, "I am done. I am so so fucking done!!"

Janus breathed in a pained gulp of air. "Don't come looking for me." He picked up the suitcase, stepping over the shattered glass. "If any of you even cared for me at all, you would never come look for me." he started for the door.

"Janus wait!"

"Janus we are so so sorry!"

"please come back!"

"JanJan!! We need you! Please! Wait!"

"Janus! Please just wait a second!" someone grabbed his wrist

"LET GO OF ME!" Tearing his wrist frim Romans grasp. "YOU NEVER CARED BEFORE! YOU DON'T GET TO CARE NOW! YOU ASSHOLES DON'T GET TO PICK AND CHOOSE WHEN SOMEONE IS IMPORTANT!" and with those final words.... Janus walked right outside the door and was never seen again.

The other sides never realized how empty the house was before then. But Janus was right.

You don't get to pick and choose when someone is important.

-------

Hmm yeah angst

Did I shatter your heart again? Or do I have to try harder Jessie?

❤💛❤

aadjkfuigi- w h y   w o u l d   y o u   h u r t   m e   t h i s   w a y

im definately going to say that if my motheer wasnt in the room then i would most likly be in tears. cause yes. this is an angsty boi. (11/10for this one potatoo)

[rinusagitora]

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe, Vera Oberlin, Polly Geist, Amira Rashid, Kale

Pairings: BriDamiVicky, OzZoe, AmiVera

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 10/?. WARNINGS- PTSD symptoms, drug use, fanart drawn by @spookyhugsandkisses​;  Everyone is home, and is processing the events that have so far unfolded.

AO3

It was one of those nights Oz just wasn't able to focus. Even snuggled against Zoe and watching a goofy, uplifting anime, he couldn't ease the pit in his gut.

Zoe's thumb rubbed his brow. It was nice stimulation, at least. She was sweet in every way.

It was just a bad couple of days, Oz reasoned. He lived through millions. The birth of predator and prey, the fall of civilizations.

Zoe asked, "Do you remember your very first day?"

"Maybe long ago," he replied. "My first memory is in the dark, just beyond an orange light…. I think. There are so many now, it's hard to sort through them."

"Me too."

"What brings this up?" Oz asked.

"This, that, the other," she said. "I'm trying to remember a time before now that I've worked to keep people alive."

He frowned. "We're not very good at it.'

"No," Zoe agreed.

"We try to save people, but… they just end up dying. Or someone does."

She said, "They're all too eager to. Vera happily forked over her soul."

"And they adore destruction…. I hate demons for that reason. The Aquino, the LaVey, gungho for ruination and bloodshed before diplomacy."

"We wouldn't be here without it," Zoe said.

"Don't you tire of it?"

"I never said it didn't."

Oz hummed. His vision was blurry. Phobias kissed Zoe's hand, hugged her knee. He barely understood what Sergeant Frog was saying.

But that was the least of his worries.

"All of this now… what we're doing… is it helping, or is it retribution?"

"That depends on our intentions," she said. "Neutral good and lawful evil can approach a problem the same way and the only thing that puts them apart is their intentions."

Oz sat up. His Phobias whined for her skin like grumpy children. "Do we avenge Vicky?"

"Is she our friend?"

"... she's not innocent in all this."

"No, but that's irrelevant at this point."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We walk among mortals for so long and they rub off on us." Zoe cupped his cheek. Oz's eyes fluttered shut as she pet his cheekbone. "You more than I."

"Are you saying we mingle in these partisan affairs?"

"We already mingle, love," she said. "We've gone this far for them. I don't mind going further."

Oz's Phobias smiled with him. "I love you, Zoe."

---

Vicky felt like she hadn't been home in years.

It was stale, but just as she left it.

Vicky lingered in the doorway as her boyfriends made a beeline for the bedroom, Damien stripping to his boxers en route and littering his clothes on the floor.

She wasn't sure how she felt about being back. Vicky felt foreign, different, displaced. She stood in the entrance, shoes and jacket still on, and tried to piece it together with a puzzled furrow in her brow.

How many times had Vicky died? Once… twice… thrice? What counted as death and undeath?

Philosophy made her head fuzzy. She pushed off her shoes, not even caring to toss them into the shoe rack inches away, and made for the kitchenette in search of moldy dishes and rotten food. She'd need laundry done too.

"Babe, chores can wait."

Vicky didn't even bother to check if that was Brian or Damien. She said, "I want my place to be clean. Plus, I need clothes for class tomorrow."

"I thought we should skip," Damien said.

"Been through enough to warrant a break," Brian agreed.

She huffed. "I want to see my friends. Liam and Blobert don't know I'm back yet. It's not fair to keep them in the dark."

"Yes," Brian said, sitting on the floor with Vicky, "so we'll call them. Or meet them after school. But Vicky… you're still in fight or flight mode. We need to get out of that."

She laughed wryly. "What, like Hugh isn't at large?"

"There are three of us, and one of him. If he does invade your home, I think we got him," Damien snorted. Brian glared at him over his shoulder.

"Not helpful," he said.

"What? It's true."

Vicky sighed and continued to gather her outfit for tomorrow. She got together something presentable and went to her closet for the wire so she could hang them up in the bathroom. She shook Brian's hand off her pant leg but was caught by Damien a second later.

"Yeah, we're going to bed and sleeping in."

"No," Vicky argued. "I want to go to school."

"Baby, he's right. I'm so tired I'm gonna pass out when I hit the pillow," Damien said.

"Like you don't already?" Vicky snapped. "Dami, let me go. I have to get ready for school."

"We're going to bed," he said, firmly, golden eyes boring into her own.

Her nostrils flared irritably. Vicky adored her boyfriends but everything, the second the door closed, once she was relieved of the worries of her loved ones’ livelihood, she was imprisoned in a maelstrom of conflicted emotions. Fear, grief, rage. Shame that she was annoyed that Brian and Damien breathed over her shoulder. They just missed her. Vicky knew she would have behaved exactly like them if she watched either Brian or Damien die.

But sometimes, Vicky felt like her loved ones forgot she had a threshold. In less than a quarter of a century, Vicky was routinely sexually abused, experimented on by someone even more horrendous than herself as a bank robber, killed someone, and finally, she had died twice.

Vicky felt like she had every right to a night where she didn’t have birds chirping in her ear.

“Move,” Vicky said. “I’m just doing laundry.”

“No. We’re gonna relax tonight.” Damien's voice was rising, he was getting angry. Brian gawked at the scene unfolding from the corner of Vicky's eye.

“I want to go to school. I want to see my friends, and I don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I do!” she insisted, her voice quickly reaching a shrill crescendo in her frustration.

“What is your fucking problem, Vicky?” Damien barked.

“Nothing! I just don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I go to school.”

“It’s safe to say we’re not winning this fight,” Brian grumbled. He tried to grab Vicky’s laundry, and she pulled them away. He scowled and swiped again. “Babe, please give it to me.”

“No.”

“Am I seriously the only one here who’s exhausted?” Damien said, storming into the living room and tearing at his hair. “It hasn’t even been a fucking week since you died. We’ve been through a lot. We deserve some fucking sleep!”

Vicky whipped to him and screamed, “Like I fucking don’t? Like I fucking didn’t?” Her hair bristled with static. “You can’t fucking begin to comprehend the pain I’ve been through, asshole. I’ll cope however I fucking please.”

“I just watched you and my dad die! Don’t guilt-trip me.”

“Guys,” Brian said as stepped between them, “let’s not get into this. I’ll do the laundry. You two can go to bed.”

Vicky shoved past Brian. “Guilt trip?” she squawked. “You want a fucking guilt trip, Damien? I’ll show you a fucking guilt trip. You could’ve fucking saved me! You knew who took me, but you waited days to get me. Do you know how badly I was hurting? How isolated and confused I was?” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “You’re selfish and… and dictatorial! You got to grow up in a sweet little princely bubble where everything’s fucking rosy, but I was tortured, and killed, and raped, you son of a bitch, and when you guys had the opportunity to help, it you fucking days!”

Brian replied, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Vicky?”

Tearfully, she screamed, “Shut the fuck up, Brian!” She turned back to Damien. He was tearful. Irate. “What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”

Damien bent over her and said, “I was in so much pain without you, Vicky. I wanted to get you every day. But if we stormed without a plan, they would have killed you.”

“They already killed me!” Every inch of her mortal skin felt hot from her anger. “All I want to do is something mundane to keep my mind of this bullshit, but you guys are breathing down my fucking neck. You don’t have to fucking help me, but I need some room to breathe.”

“You were just fucking murdered and had to fight for your fucking life just a couple of hours ago. Vicky, you can’t work yourself to the bone! I was worried about you and you jumped down my fucking throat!”

Brian pushed the pair apart. “We need to calm down before the cops get called,” he reasoned.

She slapped away Brian’s hand. “Don’t defend him,” she said, “you’re as insufferable as he is!”

“Vicky,” Brian said as he wrapped her fists around her’s, “we weren’t trying to breathe down your neck. We know you’re in pain, and we just wanted to help you feel okay.”

“I don’t get to be okay! I just get to be miserable and hurting!” Vicky slipped away and wept. She combed her fingers through her hair and blubbered noisily. “I’ve wanted so badly to just die so all my pain would end. I’m even in pain when I sleep. But when I die, there’s just more of it. I’m in Hell if I’m not on my way.” Her lip wobbled. “And I drag everyone down with me.”

“You’re not dragging us down,” Brian reassured her.

“Scott,” she argued. “He may as well be dead. He was just a good friend and now he’s a vegetable because of me.” While she cried, she sunk to the floor. “I have to live with all this pain. The second something good happens to me, it’s ruined. I was better off exploited.”

Vicky cried into the carpet. Brian and Damien laid down with her. She clung to them, she blubbered apologies for everything under the sun and cursed her suffering.

Damien stroked her hair, holding her so tightly her back popped. It was so hot between them. She wanted to writhe in pain, in misery, but they caged her. Made her remember her company and her family.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm sorry."

Damien hushed her. "It's fine. It's okay."

"I love you all so much."

Brian pressed a kiss to her. Again, again, again, until she was short of breath.

She sat up. Damien laid his head on her lap.

"I'm thirsty," she said, raspy and tired. "I'm going to make tea."

Damien and Brian followed Vicky into the commons. Damien took a seat, and while Vicky prepared water in the kettle, Brian hugged her from behind. Kissed her scalp.

"I missed you," he said. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." Vicky swayed. Her eyes watered again. She hated how much she cried. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Brian hummed. His cheek laid in her head. "Water under the bridge, and all. Most of it isn't even you." She felt his frown. "Given the chance, I'd light your uncle on fire."

"Fuuuuck," Damien groaned. "If my dad and Hugo are fucking brothers, that means Dahlia is my fucking cousin."

Vicky frowned. "That may become… problematic," she said.

He scratched his ear. "I don't wanna worry about it now…"

"Mood," Brian agreed.

The kettle whistled. Vicky poured it over a tea bag and then took a seat between her boyfriends. They leaned against her, eyes glued to the television screen.

She sipped her tea. Brian and Damien drifted off. They were exhausted, truly. She didn't blame them. It was a long week.

But could she find a reprise? Never.

---

Something was exhausting about trading with eldritch creatures. Like her chest was scraped with a curette. Painkillers weren’t helping, and Vera was debating whether or not to undergo local anesthesia.

But she was so tired. With Vicky passing, Scott in a coma, and then Vicky returning, she was exhausted. That was the first day in years she hadn’t even checked her phone to work.

She missed Scott so much.

His machines beeped rhythmically. It should've been a peaceful sound. Like white noise. But the context almost put Vera in a fugue state. Catatonic with… with feelings she didn't quite understand.

Amira shook her shoulder. Morning light cast a shadow over the building. It was still dark in their room due to western exposure.

He said, "Baby, you look so… tired. Have you slept?"

"No. I don't think so, at least." Vera only then managed to pull her attention away from Scott. "I need to call in my absence."

"I took care of it," Amira said.

Vera hummed. Her chest still hurt.

"I want to stay here for the day," she told Amira. He nodded.

"Agreed." Amira pulled up a seat and crossed his legs. "He's got some color in his cheeks, though. The witches here are doing a damn good job."

"Nothing can fix everything." Not science, or magic, or what have you. But Amira squeezed her hand.

He said, "I know. But I'm optimistic."

"Aren't you always?" Vera looked back to Scott. He was intubated. Made to breathe. His heart was pumped by machines. Everything mechanical. Vera didn't have high hopes for his survival.

And it broke her heart. Scott could be obnoxious, but he was ultimately harmless! A victim in all this, the truest of them all.

Vera hated the Aquino family for victimizing someone whose inner light brightened the world like the sun. She'd be certain to rain terror on them from on high. To ruin them in every way she could.

Amira seemed to pick up on Vera's vitriol. He said, squeezing her hand again, "Do you want something to eat? Drink?"

"... just some water," she replied quietly.

Amira walked out. Polly floated in a second later.

Vera wasn't in the mood for conversation, but wasn't about to kick out a grieving friend, either. She wordlessly nodded to Polly. Polly smiled. She looked like she, too, was crying.

"I miss you," Polly croaked. "The hardest part of you being gone is that those of us left behind had so much to tell you, so much we wanted to experience with you, and now… now you're gone." She wiped her face. "I'd do anything to make you better, man."

Vera bowed her head, crying too. God, she missed him so much.

---

That morning, Vicky sent a text to Blobert and Liam to meet them. Of course, she was spammed with messages, but after proving it was her, and telling them she'd explain everything after school, they relented.

They waited in the parking lot hours later. Vicky smoked, and it reminded Brian that he could go for some weed. Everything was so uncertain. So tense. He needed something to ease his nerves.

The bell rang and students began to file out. Kale walked by, oblivious as he played what Brian was sure to be PokeMans.

He elbowed Damien. Both he and his girlfriend turned to him. "I'm gonna talk to Kale if that's cool."

"Go ahead." Vicky smiled a smile that made Brian swoon without fail.

Damien pecked Brian on the lips. "We'll hold down the fort, babe."

"Thanks."

Brian strode to catch up to Kale, before saying, "Hey, man! It's been a minute."

Kale turned around, bark crunching, and smiled. "Hey there. Glad to see you back." He pulled his headphones around his neck. "I heard Vicky's back too."

"Yeah. It's…"

"A long story?"

"You have no idea."

"As fun as the details prolly are, I'm sure you'd rather wind down."

"You read my mind." Brian pulled a baggie out of his coat pocket. "You got a minute?"

"Sure."

Brian and Kale found a secluded bench where the air smelled fresh and the only sounds were birds chirping. Traffic was completely absorbed by tall hedges.

They made their joints and then leaned back to enjoy them. It lingered in his lungs, making him buzz pleasantly. He could feel his stiff, rotten muscles easing.

"The fuck even happened?" Kale asked. Brian hummed dumbly. "With Vicky, I mean."

"Oh." Brian frowned as he ruminated. "She got into some trouble during a job. Some people didn't like it, and so they took her out." That was the simplest explanation, without the messy politics of Hell, and without a long story that was sure to just make Brian miserable.

"She's back now, at least."

"Equally as complicated," Brian told him.

"I bet." Kale took a puff. They sat in silence for a good minute. "It's fucked up, though. Are you sure you're cut out for this shit?"

Brian was a little hurt by that like Kale was suggesting it was somehow Vicky and Damien's vault she was murdered. It was a power grab. That's all.

But Kale was just trying to be a good friend, Brian reminded himself. He said, "Yeah. All this bullshit just reassured me how much I love them, y'know?"

"I'll take your word for it. I dunno much about that love bullshit, but if you're happy, man…" Kale trailed off and shrugged.

"Thanks."

Again, silence as they smoked. That was something he liked about Kale. How laid back he was. As fun as the insanity as Spooky High was, it was much nicer when insanity was a fraction of his day. Brian preferred sleeping like the dead or getting as close to it as possible.

Kale then asked, "What're you gonna do after all this?"

Brian pondered for only a second before he pictured Vicky and Damien in wedding garb from his home country.

"I want to get married."

[paperficwriter]

Garou x Reader: Nobody is Good At This

A continuation of the series, picking up where the last fic left off. You can also read the whole series on AO3!

Cut is for length, not for content.

His name is Tenchi, he’s very nice, and he’s the thirteenth date you’ve been on in three months since Garou left your apartment.

Your therapist has been cheering you on all the way. “You deserve to be happy,” she says. “You don’t need to center yourself around someone who treats you like a rotating door.”

You’ve wanted to tell her that it’s not like that. That it’s not like Garou has used you. In fact, that’s never been the case. You’ve just stumbled into each other’s lives a few times, you caught feelings, and...and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. Which you know isn’t healthy or good, and you know that if he thought of you as much as you thought of him he might at least try to come by or something, but…

You also can’t exactly tell her that he’s probably involved in less-than-savory activities, since you’ve run into him twice in states of, uh, disrepair.

Where is he now? Is he okay? Whole? That eye had looked so bad...and he seems terrible at taking care of himself...and--

“So...what do you say?”

Holy shit, how long has Tenchi been talking? Fuck!

You force out a laugh. “Oh my god, would you believe I was a thousand miles away? About what? Sorry. I’m so sorry. One more time, please.”

“I said, um…” Wow, he looks like he really doesn’t want to repeat this. You are a colossal asshole. “How about I walk you up to your apartment, and we can hang out some more? Maybe have a beer?”

Not this again. How many other dates have moved into this terrible dialogue? Seven? “I don’t really do late-night drinking.”

“What about tea?”

You squeeze your eyes closed. He’s going to think you’re crazy. Don’t say it. Just say ‘no.’ You can do that. “I don’t do tea.” And there it is.

Now it’s his turn to laugh in a way that sounds super awkward and fake. “You don’t do tea? Who doesn’t do tea?”

You’re more than aware that he doesn’t mean anything by it, but a white hot little lightning bolt of anger hits your spine. “I mean it, okay. I just don’t. Daytime, nighttime, anytime.”

“Okay! Okay, I’m sorry, I just…” He scratches at the back of his neck. Somehow you’ve made it back to the stoop of your building, and you’re literally a foot and a half from freedom. “I thought we were having a good time.”

“We were! We are!” Asshole, asshole, asshole. “In fact, we’ve had such a good time that I kind of want to save some of the good for the next time and let it die at a high point, you know?” 

“Really?” His eyes brighten. Yup. You are not just an asshole but also the shittiest asshole. 

The end-of-the-night ritual commences, and you let it. He’s moving in for the kiss, and you turn your head as gracefully as you can. He pecks your cheek, and he seems satisfied, and you smile, and he says he’ll text soon, and you say awesome, and you both say goodnight. He says it twice, in that stuttery, over-the-shoulder way. 

You’re finally inside, and you breathe a huge sigh of relief. Finally, it’s all over. Naturally, by the time you get to the second floor, he’s texted you, and you ignore it. What you can’t ignore is a squatting creature just above the landing on the next set of stairs, holding the bars and peering at you.

“Who the fuck was that dickhead?”

You scream so loudly that it echoes through the whole building. In fact, you nearly crumble on the stairs, you’re so startled, fairly certain that your heart is about to burst out of your chest. In the two seconds it takes to resolve your breathing, you realize it’s not a demon or a goblin but… “Garou! Oh my god, where have you been?”

Using his pinky, he picks at his ear. His eye is back to normal, and his hair is that silverish white, like it was before. Maybe a little shorter. “I certainly haven’t been on any dates.”

Your shoulders slack, and you stare at him. The smile that had been spreading on your face dies a sudden death. Seriously? After how much you’ve thought about him and worried about him, this is what your first interaction is like? “Dude. Are you jealous? What are you, fifteen?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck yourself!” A breath shoots out your nose as you shove your hands in your pockets. He stands up as you get to the stairs after circling the landing and shoulder by him. Or rather, you hit the middle of his arm with your shoulder because he’s still stupid tall. “And he’s nice, okay? It was fun, and normal, and he didn’t give me a nosebleed by slamming into me full force on the sidewalk, and I didn’t find him beat up to hell, so. There’s that.”

“Feh.” He’s following you. You can hear his footfalls just barely, and in your peripheral vision you can see him walking with his hands behind his head. “Sounds like a grade-A loser.”

“He was nice!”

“Is that all you can say about him? He’s nice? Can you even tell me one other thing about him?”

You open the door to your floor and walk down the hall, pretending that all your focus has to be applied to your keyring. You try to chew back the pout on your face because...you can’t. You don’t have an answer. Three hours and banal conversation later, and you don’t actually know anything about him at all. Well, you know one thing, and it’s lame, but you say it anyway. “He likes sushi.”

Garou leans against the wall, arms folded over his chest. He’s still in the same outfit. Does he own any other clothes? Does he own any looser clothes? “Are you saying that because you two went to a sushi restaurant?” 

Yes. “No!”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You don’t know him, I don’t know you, so. I’m just going to go.”

Suddenly, your chest feels like it’s caving in. “Wait, what?” He’s leaving. Oh god, he’s leaving again. “What do you mean, you’re going?”

The thing that hurts the most is how casual he seems. Like this doesn’t actually bother him at all. “You’re with some other guy. And you made this big thing about me coming back to have tea and you don’t even like tea, so...what else is there?”

“Garou…”

“It’s not a big deal. Whatever.” He’s walking away. He’s not even running. It’s nothing. It’s…

As easy as walking through a rotating door.

“I fucking love tea, okay?!”

The second you yell those words, you regret it. You regret how loud it comes out. You regret how hurt you sound, and how your voice breaks. You regret everything. But you also just can’t stop.

“I love tea. I used to drink tea all the time. Yeah, I know, who doesn’t? But I stopped because…” You’re going to cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Because everytime I started making it, I would think about how you weren’t there to have it with me, and what if...what if I drank it and somehow that made you never, ever come back? And you’re right, I don’t know him, okay? I went on a date with him, and I couldn’t even be there with him, because the whole time I was thinking about you. You...a fucking...jerk. Who doesn’t bother to know my number or come to my place or...or...”

Garou is staring at you. He’s staring at you as you start crying like a stupid baby in the hallway, and you should just go into your apartment so this entire night will be behind you, and you’re away from all thirteen guys and girls you’ve met over the so many weeks, and away from Garou, but…

Instead you stand there, watching tears land on your boots, until arms go around your shoulders and a pointed chin sits on the top of your head. “Knock it off. Come on, don’t do that.”

“Shut up…” You try to tell yourself you don’t like this. Even as you reach out and grab his shirt at the chest.

“Don’t cry. I hate it.” His voice is soft, and cool fingertips touch your cheeks. “You’re messing up your whole dumb face.”

“You’re dumb.” You sniff, and it sounds absolutely disgusting. Wet and slimy.

“Gross.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t fucking hug me, I’ll kill you.”

“Okay, okay.” Garou actually pulls you in to his body. There’s so much muscle, and he doesn’t seem used to this at all. His arms are too long, and it feels like he’s literally about to say ‘there, there.’ You actually have to laugh.

“You suck so much at this.”

“Don’t get my shirt dirty with your slobber.”

You press your face into the middle of his chest, until his pulse is punching you between the eyes. “I really, really missed you. Please don’t leave again.”

He keeps holding on until you stop crying entirely. Finally, you get into the apartment, and you take him with you. He follows you into the kitchen, and at last you start the water warming up again while he hops up and sits on the counter. You rest your head in his lap and watch the steam rise from the corner of your eye, and his fingers stroke your hair back. You sigh softly.

“How can you be such a rotten hugger but be awesome at this?”

His thumb circles your cheek, and you can hear a smile in his voice. “Well. This I learned from you.”

That’s right.

Regretfully, you pull away when the water finally finishes, and you put in the tea to steep. You turn around to get cups, but he’s standing right there, tall, staring into your face intensely. You...don’t know how to feel about the way he’s looking at you. “If you really didn’t know him all that well, why did you let him kiss you?”

You feel your face flush. “It was just a kiss on the cheek. Move, I’m trying to get into the cabinet.”

“I want to kiss you on the cheek.” Oh god, he’s so intense, why is he so intense?!

“No. I’m still mad at you.”

“Fine.” He nods, resolute. “Not on the cheek then.”

“Fine! So are you going to let me by or--”

You should have known better, but in your defense, you were tired from the night, and how were you supposed to know that he would take that as consent to grab your face in his hands - huge hands, you were doomed from the start - and kiss you? On the mouth. And, like the hug, it’s not perfect. His lips are stiff, and there isn’t much give to them, so it certainly doesn’t sweep you off your feet. But then you touch his face too, tip your head, and when you start kissing back, he picks it all up so damn quick. 

By the time he’s pulled back, you’re clinging to him, and it’s embarrassing how much you’re panting. 

“Am I nice?” he asks.

“No," you lie, "but I still like you more. Against all better judgement. Including my therapist’s.”

“Who needs therapy? I’ve never been to therapy, and I’m--”

“Please just...can we go back to the kissing instead of you finishing that sentence?”

He does, pulling you out of the kitchen entirely and towards the couch, and you’re kissing from under that long body, those endless limbs. The tea’s going to be ruined, but that’s okay. There’s always time for more tea, and who knows how often you’ll get this? 

[sweetbunnykook]

Her Forgiveness, Her Prayers

Murderer!Student!JK x Teacher!Noona - Drabble 

     “I ask this one thing: let me go mad in my own way.” - Sophocles, Elektra

You haven’t looked at him since he walked into the room, banged his cuffed fists against the white bars separating you and him, and began talking – about how much he missed you, how little time he has left in his luxurious private cell before he can be with you, how you don’t have to worry because he isn’t the least bit upset you ripped his heart out.

“I’m so happy you came to see me, noona,” he exhaled, smiling with such warmth in his eyes that you were, for a moment, convinced he was completely innocent of all charges. A boy like this could never hurt a fly. A boy like this could never have killed your stale but loving husband in cold blood and fucked you on that same desk a month later.  

“Am I still your favorite student? I never thought I’d say it, but I missed detention. They were the highlight of my days. It doesn’t feel the same here, you know? I hope you haven’t been sharing meals with anyone else from class, noona, I would really be upset if you did that. I can understand you turning me in, but I don’t like sharing you with-”

“Jungkook…”

His smile falls and straighten in a thin line, brows scrunching automatically as you fail to look up at him. He wanted to see your face so desperately, to make out your doe eyes, bambi lashes, and full heart-shaped lips. You’re finally here to see him and you’re not giving the voyeur inside him the satisfaction of seeing your tired eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

“Yes, noona?”

He waited, for what seems like hours, to hear what you have to say. You’re wearing a lovely cashmere sweater and a crème plaid skirt. It felt like a monthly conference again where you complain about his grades, his arrogance, and his ability to leave you speechless. For the first time in his life, he no longer wanted to tease you. He didn’t want to rely on shock factors. He wanted you raw, unfiltered, visceral.

You finally look at him, really look at him in his deep navy-blue prison jumpsuit. He seemed relieved that you looked heartbroken; that means you still felt something for him, even if you were no longer hurling words of anguish like you had the week before.

‘I fucking hate you. You’re a piece of shit, you know that?! A piece of fucking shit! I hope you rot in that cell where you belong. How dare you send me these letters? You don’t love me, you sick fuck. You’re disgusting.’

Even if every word pierced through his heart like daggers, even when his hand tightened around the receiver enough for the plastic to crack, he merely promised to call back later.

“I’m taking you to court.”

His cuffs rattle as he lifts his hands to scratch his neck, a nervous tick of his you noticed the morning after you first made love to him in Seokjin’s office all those months ago.

“Yeah.” He looks down at your hands, clasped on your lap. “But do you realize that fighting me is useless?”

You don’t say anything, so he continues.

“We both know I’m free to go in two weeks, noona. Everything you submitted, all that paperwork, that evidence…it’ll be in ashes by then. People here aren’t like you. They’re rotten. They see money and sweat greed, you can smell the stench all the way from here. That guard behind the doors,” he cocks his head towards his quarters, “he’s paid to keep me updated about your whereabouts. He’s a nice guy, I like him, but he smells like a corpse. It’s the greed. Like I said noona, you’re not going anywhere, so you might as well give up and come to me.” His hands grasp the thin white poles. “Lean on me and love me.”

Jungkook looks down at your lap once more. There is a very subtle outline of a cord underneath your wool skirt, strapped around your soft thighs he’d die to be in between. He’d ordered the guards not to touch you or look into your bag. He knew you wanted to kill him and here he is, anticipating it. It’s okay if you ruin him so much he’s indistinguishable from trash. He’ll gladly die by your hands.

“You lost already. Give it up, noona, just-”

You lift your hands and reach between the white prison bars, grasping his face in your hands. Jungkook’s feet stops tapping and his hands fall limp in front of him. He melts into your hands, turning his face to press his nose further into your palm and nuzzle; it feels like home. He already knows your hands are all he will be able to think about until his release.

“I know I’ve already lost,” you whisper, “I know that you’ve always been way up there, while I was way down here. I get it. But I owe this to Jin…or else I’ll have to hate you. And I don’t want to have to do that, Jungkook.”

You could’ve killed him if you wanted to. You could’ve held his neck and watch him wither away in front of you, like he’d done to Seokjin. You could’ve taken the cord under your skirt and wrapped it around his throat. You could’ve destroyed him right before your eyes – you could’ve called him worthless, scum, putrid.

But you didn’t.

Instead you held him, your thumb gently holding his eyelids close, and prayed under your breath. He’d not once heard a prayer so beautiful until today. He can recollect the countless times he sat in church next to his parents, mouth and bible open. Yet, he could never recall the prayers his mother recited with the vigor of an athlete striving for gold. Your prayers, your voice – it was the first time he’d heard such a divine plea that was meant only for him.

When you left him sitting behind bars without so much as a goodbye, Jungkook felt the weight of your forgiveness on his shoulders. All this time he’d hoped you would be filled with loathing; at least, enough to be filled with thoughts of him only. He wants to be the person you hate and love the most. He was frightened, as the days pass by, that you’d forget about him if he didn’t pester you with letters and voicemails and feed into the fuel that was your hatred for him.  

And in the silence of his cell, it was your kindness, more than anything, that terrified him the most.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

The catch (E.D. AU)

Summary: Being a CIA agent and getting tasked with taking down a notorious assassin, Ethan’s life gets a lot more complicated when a web of lies reveals just how clueless he’s been.

Warnings: swearing, sexual innuendos 

Ethan has a complicated life. One would say he chose his life as it is, to keep his job hidden from everyone he loves while being a part of one of the most secretive, successful CIA teams in history. That’s right! He’s an agent with a hundred percent success rate and he’s not shy about flaunting it either. It’s his pride, the ultimate proof of his superiority.

Though he loves his job, it comes with a lot of bad as well. For instance, his success rate means nothing to the world because to the world, Ethan is a businessman with a growing company that requires him to travel a lot. His family believes the lie too, let alone the world. The agency made sure of it.

Agent Doomsday is what the criminals call him. A ghost in the system, an anomaly they can’t trace, almost as if he doesn’t exist outside his job. It’s also the only name they have - to them, Ethan Dolan doesn’t exactly put the fear of death in the bones. Oh, if they only knew.

However, Ethan Dolan certainly had a nice little life outside his duties. Lucky enough to charm the dress of a very ravenous woman, Ethan was happily in love and eager to come home to her unscathed. He could always count on her lips to seal every ache, every wound and while she did ask questions before kissing it better, Ethan wasn’t a top agent for nothing, giving her a believable excuse each time.

On his way to his last briefing meeting, prepared to receive his next target, Ethan picked up his vibrating phone with a gleeful smile.

“Hey there pretty lady.” Playful and romantic as ever, his lips pursed as he awaited the sound of her voice on the other end of the call, missing her after almost a week of not seeing her. Had he not decided to speed things up, he’d still be in the field with his mind in the gutter. He had big plans for their reunion, that much he could promise.

“Handsome! Was that message real or are you teasing me senselessly without a cause?” She bit her lower lip, trying to restrain a wide smile dangerously spreading across her face, hoping her boyfriend truly intended to come home that night and she wouldn’t have to hug his pillow until his lingering scent calmed her enough to fall into a deep slumber.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner. And I plan on being a sinner.” He whispered the last bit, looking around to make sure no one heard his flirtation though he wouldn’t really mind it. His girl is gorgeous and he didn’t care what people thought about them or how he chose to talk to her after yet another successful mission that really made him horny as hell. The adrenaline rush still didn’t stop raging through his body and he was itching to release it all in bed, to have her quake under his touch and scream with every thrust. But he didn’t want her involved with the agency, so he hid his happiness as much as he could. For her safety. It was always for her. If it were up to him, he’d flaunt her just as much as his supremacy in the agency.

“I’m counting on that.” She chuckled. “I’ll make your favorite.” And that’s when he chuckled.

“Well, I’m counting on that! I just gotta get through this meeting and I’ll be home before you know it.” And while it was hard, both parties put their phones down and got to work - Y/N with cooking among other things and Ethan with the meeting where he got a chance to flaunt like a peacock.

“Agent, we have a new target prepared for you.”

“Already?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, wondering why he can’t get a damn week to spoil his girl rotten. She definitely deserves it.

“I’m afraid it’s of utmost importance. A group of assassins we’ve been investigating finally slipped up. We caught one out of 3 and we have some information.” Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Ethan tapped his chin with the tip of his index finger as he imagined this scum. An ugly, middle aged man with buck teeth and beady eyes. That’s what he saw in his mind.

“The deadliest of all, Blackbird, is stationed in our city and we need you to take this assassin down. We know an alias, but it’s up to you to track them down and get the job done before we have more dead on our hands.” Slipping the folder in front of Ethan, his boss adds:“Good luck agent.”

As the doorbell rings, Y/N was quick to run to the door, opening it with elation and she didn’t wait for Ethan to enter before throwing herself at him, her arms firmly around him as he tries to steady himself. His suit would wrinkle, but she didn’t care.

“Whoa! You really missed me, didn’t you?” A nervous chuckle escapes him as he hold her waist and picks her up gently, keeping her close, closer than he could in his dreams and imagination.

“I’d say you feel the same.” She smirked, pulling back to press her forehead against his, not rebelling when he puts her feet back on the ground but his hands remain at her sides.

A heavy sigh escapes him, his eyes closed as she opens her own, looking up at him with worry etched onto her face. “Tired?” She questions, her voice small and sweet, enveloping him in a comforting haze he could never have enough of.

“Very.” Ethan mumbles, leaning down to peck her lips lightly before walking toward the dining room, the smell of his favorite food making him hypersalivate. Glancing back at her over his shoulder, Ethan feels his heart pick up pace.

“You look beautiful and this smells…amazing.” Pulling out her chair, Ethan seats his wonderful girlfriend before sitting himself, but not before sending her a quick smile.

Clearing his throat, he dug into his food, wondering how his next mission will go for he never had more to lose than in this particular moment where everything was so perfect, his life peaceful and in harmony.

“Did something happen?” Y/N speaks up, breaking the veil of silence that befell them, unsure what to say or do ti make the weight on his shoulders just a little lighter.

“No. It’s fine. Just had a long week of missing you.” Smooth. Charming. That’s what she loves about him. He’s always been a perfect gentleman but very vague about his job. And it didn’t bother her before, but unless he had unexplained bruises or wounds he usually blamed boxing or gym training with hiw twin brother. She liked giving him the benefit of doubt, but his excuses weren’t as believable as he wanted them to be.

She wanted to try and talk to him, to get the truth for once in their relationship, but her cellphone rang and she decided to try after she has him unraveled in her bed.

“It could be work. I’ll be just a second.” Excusing herself, Y/N left Ethan alone with his thoughts - possibly the worst thing she could do to a man who is facing a dilemma of a lifetime. Questioning what’s right and what’s not, looking for meaning and clues on what he should do and to what extent had left him sick to his stomach even next to the very tasty meal Y/N prepared for him.

“You were quick.” Ethan speaks up as Y/N comes back to the table, her eyes set on her food as she remained motionless. Staring silently, her lips parted ever so slightly, Y/N wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Ethan’s attempt to spark up conversation had caused her to look up at him, her gaze fixed on him like he’s the only thing that matters in the world.

“I was thinking about how you’ll die.” She stated plainly, her voice light and sweet as ever but her yes are cold and unforgiving.

“Oh? That’s an odd thing to think about.” Ethan swallowed thickly, praying not to choke on his own spit as he stared back at the woman he loved dearly.

“Is it? You never think about death? How it will stop your heart when you least expect it? Or how that happens to other people with or without your interference? Or do you think about my death?” She all but snarled the last but, her left hand resting on the table as the right one remained under, hidden from sight.

“You know.” Ethan breaths out, his eyes widening as he took notice of her death glare and even more so of the loss of innocence she had about her.

“That you’re an agent tasked to kill me? Yeah, no shit!” She raised her voice slightly, her heart beating out her chest, trying to break the bony confines.

“And you’re an assassin tasked with killing me.” Ethan leans back, raising his left eyebrow as he smirks. “Guess we both lied.”

“Were you about to slit my throat during sex? In the bed we bought together?” She narrows her eyes at him, her lips set in a scowl as Ethan snickers.

“Seriously? I literally just found out you’re a fucking murderer and you’re accusing me of being the one that’s plotting your demise? How were you going to do it?” Y/N’s lips twitch as she glances down at the dinner Ethan half finished, smirking once he realizes what she’s insinuating.

“You wouldn’t.” He says quietly in disbelief, voice just above a whisper and her smirk grows into a smile.

“Are you sure about that? Agent Doomsday?” Quirking an eyebrow, she stood up, revealing her hidden left hand and the gun she held so tightly, as tightly as she held on for her life. One she wasn’t ready to quit just yet.

“I will allow you to go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped and I expect you not to come looking for me. That’s a one time offer. The next time I see you, you might find out why I’m the deadliest assassin of the decade.”

Slipping out the back, Y/N ran for her life, very much aware the story isn’t finished yet and Ethan wouldn’t give up until she’s two feet under. And despite her better judgement, she sent him a letter the same night before skipping town and laying low until she forms a proper plan. A letter she knew would make him want to play.

When Ethan came home with his stomach pumped for no reason because after the food went through extensive toxicology testing, it came back clean, he was pissed and heartbroken, angry and hurt. But when he found the letter, the paper scented with her perfume, he found himself in the game of a lifetime.

“Catch me if you can.”

PART 2

Tags: @beinscorpio​ @godlydolans​ @dolanstwintuesday​ @ethanhes​ @peacedolantwins​ @heyits-claire​ @dolandolll​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Homecoming

Sequel to Getaway

Warnings: noncon sex (oral and intercourse), cuckolding, angst. This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

Summary: The reader returns from her vacation but can’t shake what happened.

Note: Fuck me! Another sequel to a one shot. Whatever. Here’s some filth inspired by our favourite nomad. Someone stop me please.

Anyways, hope you all enjoy some straight up brutal Steve and let me know what you think as always. Love ya <3

---

It wasn’t until the man left that you recognized him. You were certain it was merely shock. You had to be mistaken. The former golden avenger. The disgraced patriot. Not of your nation but known to the world wide. The beard was a poor disguise when you looked closely. His hair long enough to deceive for a moment but not an eternity. If one stared at him long enough, they would know him without a doubt. He had been with you for hours; until you were senseless and numb; almost convinced you had imagined the encounter.

When Steve Rogers left you, the mess he left assured you of his presence. That you hadn’t dreamt it. The broken gin bottle, bandages spilled across the floor, empty cans littered the room. The ache between your thighs that spread to the rest of your body with each move as you cleaned up the remnants of his assault. You pushed the chairs in and replaced the small metal box beneath the table.

You stepped out into the wild and stared into the trees. He was gone. You hoped. You made the descent back to the dock. You were still naked. You dove into the water without a thought. The chill washed over you but could not cleanse you of his touch. So rough; so unforgiving. He had used your body as if it were nothing. You were nothing. And you had betrayed yourself. The fizzle of nerves; the rush of adrenaline. How weak you had been.

You thought of the hour you had spent in the cold water. The girls had returned just as you wrapped yourself in a towel and watched the small metal boat roar up to the dock. They greeted you as if nothing had happened. For them, nothing had. You stared now into the depths as they rippled around the same vessel; your bags and the other passengers crowded around you. You thought of jumping in to escape the face you couldn’t forget. The fingertips as they dug into your skin. You shivered and looked up to the mainland not far ahead. 

You were exhausted. The pitch black nights in the wilderness had you listening for every night bird, every snap of twigs, every breeze through the leaves. You would be glad to return to the city; the street lights, the noise, the traffic. Leave this place behind and never think of it again. Never speak a word of it. It would be like it had never happened. Almost.

It took twenty minutes to unload the boat. Two cars for the five girls. You and your sister in one, Camile, Milani, and Corette in the other. Almost a full day of driving ahead of you. Of thinking. Gia slipped a CD in the stereo and you mentally thanked her. It would keep you from silence. Keep you from bursting at the seams, not that you thought you could ever put into words what had happened.

What had happened?

You were still asking yourself the same question. You drove for the first half. The tedium of highway traffic kept you distracted. When it was your turn as passenger you stared out the window and lost yourself in the trees, the fields, the urban sprawl in between. Gia chatted here and there and you gave her the same distant responses that had filled your last several days at the cabin. It was habit really. There were no words which could truly express how you had changed. Nothing but the shell of your old self repeating its former dialogue.

When you entered the city, it was dark. Gia dropped you off in front of your building and you waved goodbye as she left. A spark of happiness immediately extinguished. You thought of your boyfriend, Ethan, and you cringed. You had looked forward to the reunion; the rush of your time apart but now it felt like a sombre retreat from battle. You stood before your building with bile in your throat. Would he know? Would he sense another man on you? 

You were as guilty as Steve was. You had been complacent. You had even enjoyed it. You were everything you had never wanted to be. You were a cheater. Scum. You should have resisted more. Fought harder. Should have bit back your fear and spat in his face. But you hadn’t. You let yourself be ravaged; demeaned. Betrayed the man you loved.

You didn’t take the elevator. You dragged your suitcase and tote up the stairs. You shoved your key in the door but it opened before you could unlock it. Ethan stood there; smiling. You almost winced as he pulled you to him and kissed you.

When he parted, he said, “Hey babe, missed ya,” And you clung to him in an effort to hide your face. You echoed his sentiment as best you could.“You tired?” He asked as he wriggled free from your embrace. He took your tote and reached past you to lift your suitcase over the threshold of your apartment.

“Long drive,” You grumbled as you followed him inside and closed the door. 

“Good trip, I hope?” He pushed your suitcase against the wall and placed your tote on top.

“Yeah,” The word was all you could muster as you looked around your apartment. It was so unfamiliar. As if it had been years since you had been there. You tucked your hands in your shorts pockets and kicked your sandals off. “Is it--I think I’m going to take a bath.”

“Oh,” He looked almost disappointed as he neared. His arms went around your waist as he pulled you close once more. “Whatever you need, babe.” He bent to kiss your forehead and his voice turned dusky, “I’ll be waiting.” 

-

The first day back to work after a vacation was always sluggish. Most of your day was spent on the phone. Ironically, planning the same vacations you rarely got. Clients chose their packages, their add-ons, the date. You entered all this in your computer and put on your best customer service voice. It was harder today to keep the act up. To sell these getaways when your own had been so unnerving.

When the end of the day came, you were in no rush. You dreaded going home. It would be a few hours before Ethan got home but still, you just didn’t know how to function yet. He had fucked you last night. You had let him. Out of remorse; pity; maybe even the need to feel something but this endless confusion. 

You should have told him, but would he believe you? The fugitive, the former avenger, Steve Rogers, had stumbled upon you in the hinterlands and assaulted you. Sure. Even if you could find your courage, it was a ridiculous plight. You sighed and grabbed your purse. You punched out and headed down to the streets to lose yourself in the city crowds.

The days passed in kind. Through a haze, as if you were looking at the world through a scratched lens. You went to work, recited the packages to prospective clients, typed away as the screen glared back at you, punched out, numbed yourself against Ethan’s touch, and went to sleep. Tried to, at least. Most nights you laid awake next to the snores of your boyfriend. When you closed your eyes, you saw the bearded man staring back at you. Felt his hands on your body. He lingered inside of you.

Work went by in a blur again. Nine days since your return. Two weeks since the intrusion. You were ready to go home for another night of monotony. Pretending you were okay. Wishing you were. As you walked out onto the street, you adjusted your purse on your shoulder. You followed the sidewalk towards your bus stop but nearly stumbled over your own feet. You gaped at the man not six feet from you; long blond hair, broad shoulders, decisive gait. You would know him anywhere. He was all you could think of as you prayed to forget him. 

You looked around at the other people passing by. When you glanced back, he was gone. Only those waiting at the stop remained. Your heart was hammering as you spun and searched him out. Where could he have gone? Had you imagined him? Had you finally cracked? 

You shuddered and continued to the stop. You dug your heel into the grass and looked over your shoulder. It had to be in your head. How on earth could he have found you? Why would he even bother to follow you? Just let it go. Move on. It happened. There’s no going back. The mantras never worked; only made it worse. The powerlessness; the fear. 

As those around you turned to watch the bus approach, you lined up with them and dug out your bus pass. You waited your turn and scanned it as you stepped up onto the behemoth. You found a seat near the middle and looked out the window as you waited for commuters to finish boarding. 

You grasped your purse tightly as the blonde head appeared again. A split second before he disappeared behind a truck. You hadn’t seen his face. It couldn’t be him. You were paranoid; obsessed! There were millions of blond men in this world; as many of the same height; surely thousands in this city alone. 

You slumped down in your seat and stared at the seat in front of you with a sigh. You rubbed your eyes and yawned. Sleep. That would help. If you didn’t forget, at least you wouldn’t be awake.

-

Every time you looked at Ethan, you felt rotten. He had been so sweet these last few weeks. Even if neither of you had acknowledged it, he knew something was wrong. You were distant; quiet. When he touched you, you couldn’t help but flinch. When he looked at you, you shied away. All affection, all intimacy was stunted. Yet he still tried. But you couldn’t. 

You couldn’t find it within yourself to pretend anymore. It was the end and yet you couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t accept it. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. You and Ethan had a once in a lifetime love. One so accepting, so natural, that it couldn’t just die like this. But it had. The death was slow and agonizing but you could feel it in your veins. You weren’t the same person you had been three years ago; three weeks ago. You would never be again.

Another restless night. You watched Ethan as he snored beside you. His nocturnal snorts floated through the room. You sighed and fell onto your back. The window was streaked with shades of blue and grey; the street lights softened the midnight black. The occasional car passed by and filled the void between his snores. You stared at the ceiling and touched your forehead. You just wanted to sleep. You felt like you were suffocating; the walls slowly getting closer as you sank into the mattress. This feeling came often and it would pass; but not for long. 

Then you heard it. Was it in your head? Another paranoid delusion? Those had too grown common. It was akin to sleep paralysis. Your exhaustion would dangle you between lucidity and your greatest fears. A dark figure would loom over you as you fought for a moment’s peace. You would wake with a pounding heart and ringing ears. These hallucinations had not been so frightening when they were fantastical demons. When your fears had been less real.

It couldn’t be in your head. The familiar click of the balcony door. The subtle rattle as it was eased shut. You reached over and grabbed Ethan’s arm. You could move; you weren’t dreaming. You sat up and shook him. He grumbled and tried to bat you away. You hissed and shoved his shoulder.

“Ethan,” You breathed as you tugged on him desperately. “Ethan, there’s someone in the apartment.”

“Huh?” He snorted, his eyes barely opened through his grogginess. “No, no, it’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” He tried to roll over but you clung to him. 

“No, I swear…” You listened. Silence. Had you really heard it? “Please, just check...for me.”

He huffed and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles as he yawned. He slowly brushed your hand away from his shoulder as he sat up. “Fine,” He pushed back the blanket but paused before turning his legs over the bed. “Are you...okay?”

“...I don’t know,” You whispered, “I’m sorry, I just...can’t sleep.”

He nodded and stood. He came around to your side and bent to kiss your forehead. “I promise, it’s nothing.” 

He squeezed your shoulder and you frowned. He was patronizing you. He thought you were as crazy as you felt. You watched as he turned away, his slender torso bare above his pajama pants, and he lumbered into the next room. You listened for a time. His footfalls assured you of his safety. You didn’t hear much else but your heart raced. There was something wrong. You just knew it. 

Finally, the silence was broken by his voice. “It’s nothing, I told you,” He called from the other room, “Come on and see for yourself.”

You scowled. He was taunting you now. Making fun of you. You couldn’t blame him. You had woken him from a perfectly peaceful sleep for your stupid fears. You pushed yourself from the mattress and dragged your feet across the cool hardwood. You entered the short hallway that led to the living room and found Ethan sitting on the ottoman. The lamp was on and limned his lithe figure from just beside the couch. He gulped and you saw the tremor in his hand. A figure appeared behind him and you felt as if you would faint. Your head spun and your hands fluttered to your chest. This couldn’t be real.

“Hello again,” Steve Rogers stopped just behind Ethan. You glanced at your boyfriend who looked as terrified as you. His hair was a mess and he looked to have struggled futilely with the intruder. He was skinny compared to the super soldier; a poor adversary. You chewed your lip and looked between the two men. “This must be the boyfriend.”

You lips parted but your voice was trapped in your chest. You nodded and Steve chuckled. He reached over and took a roll of thick black tape from the small table beside the couch. The same one on which the glowing lamp sat. You swayed on your feet as you clasped your hands together over your chest. A small sob bubbled from your throat.

“You should sit before you pass out,” Steve advised with a smirk. You met Ethan’s eyes and he gave a subtle nod. A swift smack to the head made him grunt. “I’m in charge here, not him.” You looked back to Steve as he sneered at the man sitting before him. “Understood?”

You nodded again and felt around for the armchair just inches away. You stepped around and sat stiffly on the cushion. Steve spun the roll of tape on his finger and watched it with amusement. His other hand squeezed Ethan’s shoulder, “Now, you two stay as you are for just a moment.” 

He stepped around the ottoman and you shied away as he neared you. He reached out to drag his fingers down your arm as he passed. You drew away from him and clung to the arm of the chair. He grinned at your reaction and carried on. He disappeared into the next room and returned with a dining chair. He planted it in the middle of the room and pointed to Ethan. “Right here, boy.”

Ethan bristled at the order but rose with grit in his jaw. He crossed to the chair with cold eyes and sat with a long exhale. Your lip trembled as Steve once more raised the roll of tape and the blunt tear filled the room. He wrapped the first strip around Ethan’s wrist and the chair arm. He repeated the action and you found yourself digging your nails into the hem of your long tee. 

“Why are you doing this?” You quavered.

Steve didn’t answer you. He merely kept on in his work until Ethan was bound hand and foot. He wouldn’t look at you. How could he? You had led this man back here and you could only imagine what Ethan thought. He had to know that this wasn’t random. It wasn’t hard to guess at your betrayal with the man stood before him.

“Did she tell you about her vacation?” Steve fiddled with the tape as he backed away. He neared you and his hand settled on your shoulder. “Did she tell you what she did?” You bit down as his fingers edged closer to the neckline of your night shirt. “What we did…”

“Don’t touch me,” You shoved his hand away and tried to stand. He shoved you back down easily, his grip iron on your shoulder. You looked to Ethan who had finally turned to you and you shook your head. It hadn’t been your choice. 

“She didn’t resist much. I’d say she was dreaming of it,” Steve continued on as he came up behind the chair. His hand stretched around your throat as he leaned over it. “Couldn’t blame her after seeing you.”

Your eyes stung as the tears rose. Ethan’s face was a storm of fury and pain. He finally looked away as Steve’s hand squeezed your throat. Another sardonic laugh. Steve released you and rounded the chair. He neared Ethan again and looked down at him. 

“Fuck you.” Ethan spat, his body tensed with anger as he pulled against the tape. “You’re disgusting.”

You yelped as Ethan’s head snapped back. Steve’s had struck him so hard, the chair teetered beneath him. You stood and Steve held up his hand to stop you. “Don’t.” He warned. You lowered yourself back to the cushion. “Good girl. I don’t wanna kill the boy, so let’s not push it.”

Ethan’s bottom lip was split and his eyes were unfocused as he tried to hold his head up. He coughed and spat out a tooth. The tears streamed down your cheeks. Steve came around the back of the chair and leaned it back on two legs. He started to drag it across the floor, his eyes on you. 

“Stay,” He ordered, “I’ll be back for you shortly.”

You watched as he passed into the hall; the chair scraping across the floor as he disappeared through the doorway. You tried to stand but fell back into the chair. You were shaking so much you felt as if you were vibrating. How had he found you? He couldn’t have followed you. And yet here he was. Living out your nightmare.

You heard him move around in the bedroom. You stared at the balcony door. You only lived on the second floor. There was a tree just beside your balcony; tall enough for one to climb. Likely he didn’t even need that. He was a former Avenger, a trained soldier, and genetically modified superhuman. You had no hope against him. If he wanted you, he would have you.

You looked up as footsteps sounded down the hall. All patience left his person as Steve crossed to you and grabbed your arm. He pulled you from the chair and you stumbled as he directed you back the way he came. You were in shock. The feeling drained from your being as you were forced through the doorway and then returned to you all at once. Your skin was on fire as you looked around the bedroom. 

Ethan was at the end of the bed, the standing lamp beside him lit the room in an eerie glow. All but the mattress sheet had been stripped from the bed. Steve shoved you ahead of him so that you collided with the side of the mattress. You caught yourself and tried to push yourself up but forced you back down. You whimpered and heard Ethan’s heavy breathing. You could sense his fury. His humiliation.

Steve’s nails scratched your skin as he hooked them beneath the collar of your night shirt and tore it down the back. You were jolted and he let the cotton fall down your arms. You were left naked; vulnerable. He slapped your ass and you untangled yourself from the fabric as you crawled away from him. He caught your ankle and dragged you back as you clawed at the sheet.

His other hand pressed on your lower back until you fell to your stomach. He bent over you as he tugged the ripped nightshirt from beneath you. “Keep it up and I’ll finish breaking his jaw.” He snarled. You closed your eyes and let your head fall against the mattress as the strength left your body.

After a moment, you felt his hands again as he slipped the twisted cotton beneath your neck. He knotted it at the back and you sucked in your lip as a sob threatened to rise. When he finished, he pulled on the makeshift leash and you were forced to raise your head. 

“Good girl,” He said as he jerked the leash again. “Come on.” You were forced up onto your knees to keep from choking. He had you on your hands and knees as he walked you around the bed with a chuckle. “Sit,” He ordered as if you were a dog and you sat back on your heels with a muted sigh. He lowered his end of the leash to the bed and held up a finger. “Stay.”

You looked down at your shaking hands. You heard fabric as it brushed over skin and hair, the buckle of a belt as it fell open. Footsteps as they rounded the bed and Ethan’s weak grunt. 

“I want you to enjoy the show, boy,” You looked over as Steve rasped in Ethan’s ear, “Keep your eyes on her.” He stood straight and slapped the back of Ethan’s head. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

You tore your eyes away before Ethan could meet them. You held your breath as Steve continued to undress, his clothes piled messily on the floor. The leash went taut again as he grabbed it and pulled you forward. You exhaled as you were forced to look at him; his cock was hard as he urged you closer. He held the base with his free hand as he angled your head towards it. You fell forward and braced the edge of the mattress as his cock met your lips.

“Ah,” Steve stopped you just as you parted your lips. “You can watch me fuck her, boy, or you can watch her bleed. Up to you.” Ethan growled but you felt the heat of his gaze. The stolid tension that permeated the air.

Steve pushed himself against your lips and you stretched your mouth over his length. He did not ease in, rather forced his cock down your throat until your entire body convulsed. He held you there as you struggled to hold down the retch. You kicked your feet and he wiggled his hips as your nose met his pelvis. You dug your nails into the mattress as your head began to pulse dangerously. Black spots speckled your vision and Steve finally pulled out, his tip against your lips as you gasped and coughed.

“I’m gonna train your girl well,” Steve purred as he tugged the leash and pushed his cock past your lips once more. 

Your hand slipped from the edge of the mattress and you grabbed onto his thigh to keep yourself from falling. Again he bottomed out and you gagged. He pulled back and slammed back in. He continued his motion. His pace sharp and punctuated by your groans and gulps. Your saliva spread along his shaft as he worked in and out. You struggled to take all of him as your jaw ached and your throat burned.

“You gonna swallow for me again?” His voice was smoky as his hand gripped the back of your head. His hold on the leash tightened and your other hand went to his thigh as you fought for your balance. “Be a good girl and swallow.”

He sank to the back of your throat, one more long stroke before he spilled with a growl. His hot cum spilled down your throat and you clung to him as you willed yourself to swallow. Your body wouldn’t co-operate as your breath was blocked by his girth. You finally gulped back and the thick cum slid down as the salty flavour seeped onto your tongue. 

Steve pulled out roughly. Your spit and the last of his cum dripped from your lips. You shuddered as your breath came ragged and leaned back on your heels as the leash strained against your neck. “Turn around,” He guided you around with the twisted cotton and you were on hands and knees before him. 

He slid his hands along your ass before he struck it with an open palm. You winced and your arms threatened to collapse beneath you. He dragged his fingers between your cheeks and pushed them between your legs. He felt around and you cringed as he dipped between your folds. You were soaked.

“Ah ah ah,” Steve turned his hand and flicked your clit. You arched your back and he continued to explore. “She’s fucking wet.” He pushed his fingers along your entrance and you bit your lip. He slipped them inside and you felt the heat trickle up your spine. Your pussy squelched noisily as he pulled in and out  He laughed as you shivered. “You hear that. She’s desperate for me.”

You whined and hung your head. Steve yanked on the leash and you were forced to look up. “Don’t try to act shy now, girl…” He bent over you as he continued to finger you. He whispered your name in your ear and your eyes rounded. You turned to look over your shoulder at him and he delighted in your shock. 

He stood straight and slapped your ass again as he fucked you with his hand. He pressed his thumb to your clit as he did and your thighs clenched around him. It was too much. Your breath rushed from you, moans escaped your lips and turned to pathetic mewls. You shouldn’t enjoy this. The air caught in your throat as the tide swept over you sharply. A raspy gasp as you pushed yourself against Steve’s hand and came. Your entire body spasmed and he didn’t slow until your muscles released. 

He removed his fingers and you looked back as he held them up. He stared down Ethan as he licked your cum from his hand. You glanced over for the first time and your heart shattered. He was crying. Silently. The tears streaked along his nose as his shining eyes fell to you. He blinked as if to quell them but it only spurred the flow.

Again, the leash jerked around your neck and Steve’s hand on your hip guided you. He turned you to face Ethan as he climbed up on the bed. You shook your head at Ethan and mouthed the single word; the one which could never be enough. “Sorry.” He sniffed and winced as he squared his jaw. The tears stopped.

Steve grabbed your wrists and bent your arms so that they were behind your back. You fell onto your face, relieved to look away from Ethan. There was no way past this. This would break you both. Steve tied the other end of the night shirt around your wrists and the angle of your arms strained your muscles.

Steve lifted your ass higher as he pushed his cock between your legs. He rubbed his tip along your folds as you held your breath. A ripple threatened to shake your body. He pushed inside suddenly and you grunted into the sheet. You felt a tug on the night shirt as he sank into you. Your head was held up as he lifted you by the agonizing restraint. 

Your eyes met Ethan’s again as your head was forced straight. The cotton choked you as Steve plunged into you without relent. One hand held firm the nightshirt while the other latched onto your hip. His pelvis clapped against your ass and you wheezed noisily. His grunts were deep, animalistic, as he bottomed out with each thrust. Your body jolted at his will, your back curved painfully.

“You see, this is what she needs.” He growled. “To be owned. You have to claim what is yours or another will.” You gurgled as your thighs tingled. You were going to cum again. Your fight against the whirl of nerves only made the orgasm more intense. You shuddered as your walls twitched around his cock. “You see that? She’s cumming. Oh, another?” 

He slammed into you harder and pulled on the nightshirt so that you were right against him. You croaked as you climaxed again. You had never cum so violently. So quickly. The waves only rose harder and harder. Your eyes rolled back as the tension left the cotton and his fingers spread over the fabric along your neck. He held you to him, your arms trapped between your sweaty bodies. 

“Beg for it.” He whispered in your ear. His voice dampened by the sounds of fucking. “Let him hear you beg for my cum.” You shook your head and his hand went to your chin as he held your head straight. “Do it.” He hissed.

He bent his head to drag his teeth along your shoulder. You whined as he bit down and your voice broke through in fiery rasp. “Please,” Your throat was acidic. “I want your cum. Please, cum.”

He sucked painfully on your flesh and his thrust into you as deep as he could go. He rocked against you and removed his mouth from your shoulder. He leaned back as he hammered into you and you felt his hot cum coat your walls. He slowed and let you fall forward. He pulled out oand you slumped against the mattress.

“You see, you have to make her clean up after herself,” Steve’s voice surprised you as he came up beside you. He stood just between the end of the bed and Ethan. He grabbed the cotton just behind your neck and dragged you to the edge of the mattress. He turned you on to your side as he bent to press his cock to your lips. “Look at the mess you made.”

You opened your mouth to him. Too weak to resist as he buried himself in your throat once more. You pushed your tongue against his cock and he groaned in delight. He slowly thrust himself in and out, the taste of both your cum lingered as he removed himself entirely. He released you so that your head hung over the end of the bed and he stood straight.

“The thing is, you gotta be able to keep her busy.” Steve’s weight shift the bed. He untied the cotton from your wrists and rolled you onto your back. “But for an average guy like you, that’s a hard task.” He pushed your legs apart as he pulled you closer. He knelt between your thighs and reached for your pussy. He toyed with your clit roughly and you gasped. “You see, she’s still not there. She still wants more.” 

He lifted your legs against his thighs as he moved closer. He lined himself up with your entrance and pushed inside. There was no resistance left. Your body welcomed him and your mind was too scrambled to try. He continued to play with your clit as he fucked you. This time he was slow; methodical. The circles around your bud had your walls clenching around him.

“You’ve got what? One, maybe two, laps in you. Nah, this is a marathon,” Steve’s fingers worked frantically as he kept his motion steady. “It’s not all in the rhythm, but the touch.” Your fingers dug into the sheet and you whined as another orgasm ripped through you. “Aw, look at her go. She just can’t stop.”

He removed his hand and wrapped your legs around him. He lifted your ass as he quickened his pace. “You gotta build up to it,” His hands were on your hips and he slowly rose with you still around his cock. “Gotta keep her guessing.” 

As he lifted your body from the bed. Your reached out to support yourself as he held you up. He fucked you as his cock sank even deeper. He used your body as if you weighed nothing. He didn’t waver as the blood rushed to your head and you bent your legs around him. He sped up with each thrust and you panted frantically as another peak rose before you. Your arms went limp as you came. You hung upside down as you writhed in delight.

“We’re not even close to the finish line,” Steve lowered you beneath him. “This is just the warm up.”

His hand went to your wrists as he pinned them to the bed and slammed his pelvis into yours. Each thrust had him pulling all the way out and crashing back into you with all his strength. The noises rising from you were inhuman. They tumbled out without a thought. 

He plunged into you sharply and his voice caught in his throat. He breathed heavily through his orgasm as you were filled once more with his cum. He released your wrists and held himself up on his elbows. He smirked as he looked up at Ethan. He rocked his pelvis decisively; in, out, in, out. He sat up and kept his motion steady. He reached for the end of the leash and tugged. 

He puled so that you sat up and you slung your arms over his shoulders. He wound the leash around his hand and held it taut around your neck. His other was on your ass as he guided you up and down his length. His cum leaked out around his cock and spread along your thighs. Your head lolled as you bounced against him, your head swimming as the cotton tightened.

Steve growled as his blue eyes burned across the room. He stared down the man behind you with a devilish grin. He rutted against you and bared his teeth. His twisted the cotton again and your breath was entirely cut off as his grazed along your cheek. 

He sneered as the chair scraped on the floor. His dark laughter rose as your vision turned wavy. “What’s the matter, boy?” Steve gloated as a whine erupted from deep within you. “You want a closer look?”

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