#*finger guns back into the abyss*

[goxjo]

! 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊

RYOMEN SUKUNA x VESSEL! READER

anon request: meeting in your head like that one ep with yuji and sukuna

+ synopsis. ❝ who knew the king of curses — the one living and festering in your body — was a jealous man? you’ve crossed him twice now, meaning he has to remind you that you’re his, and his alone. ❞

+ warnings. afab! reader, pet names: kitten, brat (lol), hard dubcon, yandere undertones, demon possession, monsterfucking, mentions of blood + an icky medical reference + gun metaphors, toxic jealousy, slight battle for dominance, fear play if you squint, degradation (real) + he calls you ‘little’, violence (he throws you once), light choking, true form! sukuna, very rough, two-cock! kuna ehhehe (this isn’t dp I’m sorry), masturbation, PIV, pussy job, slapping, creampie, slight dacryphilia, ~2.3k words, MDNI

♥︎ two-cock! kuna art ref ; based off of no secrets.

It is an exchange of looks from across the street, a simple hello, a brief conversation, an agreement of a time and place, and a quick peck on the cheek goodbye that sucks you into the abyss that is his soul — the one tucked within the empty hollows of what appears to be your ribcage.

Merely seconds ago, you were walking down the street, typing in the name and number of the man you’d met amidst the bustle of the noon rush. In a heartbeat, day turns to night and the silence pulsates in your ears. You’re standing on a thick pool of crimson, wondering why you’re not sinking. Before you is a mountain of bones, and the one who sits on top is you but not quite you. He wears your face decorated with his distinctive black marks. And though he contorts your face in angles and expressions you would have never worn otherwise, the black lines meld well with his grimace, like looking at a mirror that reflects the damned.

He lives, breathes, and festers inside you like a tumor poisoning your insides, tethered to your being like a twin in the womb. And you know someday he will consume you, leaving you to rot once he’s had his fill, adding your own skull to the pile of ivory and rubble.

Before this, Sukuna had only ever demanded an audience with you once. It was because of an innocent encounter not unlike the one you had just now. Back then, he left you off with a warning. Now, you can feel his judgement crawling under your skin, eyes throwing daggers at you as if you’re being put on trial.

“You’ve crossed a line, brat. I told you — no second chances.”

“I-I… let me go…” teeth clenching, you whisper under your breath, imploring him as if you don’t know by now he only does what he wants. You know better than to bargain with the Ryomen Sukuna. Standing before him feels as if all the warmth has left your body, his actual presence colder in the flesh than when he merely has control over your body. You’re afraid to even meet his gaze. Your knees feel weak, stomach riddled with the urge to hide away from his creeping glare.

All this to remind you you are helpless before him. And that’s precisely why you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Even though it’s inevitable, you try to hold out for as long as you can.

Suddenly, he’s out of sight. Your breath hitches, chest expanding as you lock in the air in your lungs, hairs prickling all over your body, and it’s as if your feet are bolted to the floor when you feel a clawed hand stroke your back.

“Why do you torment me so, kitten?” He utters so close to your ear from behind you, his deep grumble shaking you to the core. Sukuna interlaces his hand with yours, feathering soft kisses at the back of it. “These hands, they’re mine.”

“This neck,” he leaves a shiny film as he licks a stripe from the back of your jaw down to your collarbone, the tickling sensation making your eyes roll back, “mine.”

You bite onto your lower lip, “Please, I—”

“This heart,” he brings a hand to your chest, fingers wrapping loosely around your neck, his hot breath fanning your cheek, “this body, all mine... 

“So… why would you even think to offer yourself up like that?”

“I-it’s not like that, I…” You pause, loathing how you almost found yourself muttering excuses for the jealous man behind you. The sound of his voice so close to your ear triggers your fight or flight, but there is nothing you could possibly do and nowhere you could possibly run at this point. That means you have nothing to lose. And that is precisely why a sudden bout of adrenaline rushes through your veins, cocking your loaded gun of a mouth. “Maybe… I wanted to push your buttons.”

“Hm?”

“Maybe… I wanted to push you over the edge knowing exactly what gets under your skin.”

Sukuna releases a sinister laugh, gritting his teeth in disbelief over the daredevil in front of him. “Are you challenging me you little brat?”

“I can feel your want — seething and boiling, waiting for its release.”

“And you’d know all about my wants?” If Sukuna’s laugh was sinister, now it was maniacal. The form behind you increases almost twice in size, casting a shadow that engulfs you whole. You feel stripped of your clothes, freezing cold down to your bones. His sheer raw presence is the last straw that makes you drop to your knees. You look over your shoulder, head craning up to bear witness to the face that tells you you might’ve bitten off more than you can chew. You’re certain he can hear your thuds of a heartbeat. After all, this man is nothing if not for his keen sense of fear as he preys on the weak. 

“I’m going to make you regret that, kitten.” He burns off the image of you like a snake shedding its skin. He grows another pair of eyes and arms, stomach splitting open, revealing a second abnormally large mouth.

With the last remaining ounce of bile left in your body, you pull the trigger, shooting back, “don’t be a fool. I-I… want you to make me regret it, Sukuna.”

“Don’t use my name so loosely, you scum.” Sukuna circles around you, stepping into the light. He goes down on one knee and grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your head back, inching ever so closely to your face, and for the first time, you have come face to face with the demon that hid beneath your shell. “The only time I want to hear my name coming out of that filthy mouth is when you’re screaming,” he leans in until your lips are almost touching, “while I remind you who you belong to, kitten.”

You huff, earning a menacing stare from Sukuna who tightens his grip on your hair. “Don’t be absurd, you.” You don’t dare say his name this time but the look on his face tells you he’s not going to like what you’re about to say either. “I belong to no one.”

Sukuna closes the gap, tipping your head back further. You moan into the kiss that quickly turns hot and steamy, betraying every cannon you fired at him, mind hazy from the way his tongue sways with yours. His fangs graze your lips as he plunges you into a fervent, open-mouthed kiss. A second hand wraps around your throat, a third scooping you up, and a fourth tearing your panties from underneath your dress making you hiss at the sharp sting left by the snap of your bands.

“Fuck!” He throws you and you wince in pain upon landing on the pile of bones, back arching with your hand soothing your spine where you’re sure bruises will form.

He takes a few seconds to gawk at you like he’s saying a quiet prayer before his meal. He’s got a few extra bones but not a single warm one in his body. Your hope for a dollop of care from him is nothing but a fantasy. But his figure towering over yours, menacing eyes looking down on you, waiting to devour its prey, sends a chill down your spine, and a bolt of heat down your core.

“My, what a lovely look on your face.” And you know for sure that ‘look’ is a mangled mess of anticipation and thrill. Never mind that he’s got you laid out, soft pussy on display, on a bed of skulls and skeletons. Your only focus is him. Your heart beats out of your chest as you nibble on your lower lip, an act he doesn’t miss. You shouldn’t feel hot at your center, you shouldn’t be squeezing your thighs for much-needed friction down your exposed cunt, your mouth should definitely not be watering at the growing bulges behind his pants.

He crouches down to your level, bones bumping skin and more bones, caging you between two arms, kissing you deeply once more. He hooks your knee on his elbow before he grinds an erection on your slick folds. He grins into the kiss finding you wet with juices he knows are from a mix of fear and want.

He doesn’t let you breathe, lips immediately back on yours, drowning you in kisses even as you’re gasping for air, even as you mouth ‘Os’ from the pleasure on your slit, even as drool drips down to your chin.

The only time he parts from you, he hears a faint whisper from you. “Please.” Of course, he beams with joy.

You bring a hand to your clit, smearing your juices across your folds, desperately needing to be touched but you can’t bring yourself to beg him twice. He’s humiliated you enough as if helplessly playing with your cunt in front of the beast you’d been teasing wasn’t embarrassing in itself.

“Pathetic,” he sneers as he loosens the knot around his waist. He lays out two hard and heavy cocks on your stomach, one on top of the other. The weight of one should’ve been enough to cause you to panic, but your insides clenching like crazy serve as a gag for you, choking back any complaints from you.

Sukuna groans at the sight of you squirming beneath him. He steals the hand on your pussy to stroke the head of one of his cocks instead as he places the other at your entrance. You take a deep breath as the tip of his head slides down your hole, breath hitching at the painful stretch, slowly turning to songful pleasure as the cock on top of you slides across your slippery clit while his other fills your walls completely.

“Hhhaaa~” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing in shame, cheeks flaring from the overstimulation as he ruthlessly fucks you, hips rolling back almost as quick as he exits you. Sukuna grunts as you press on the head of his cock, pumping his foreskin lubed with your slick, stroking him with your cupped palm on top and clit underneath.

The insane amount of heat in your core makes your eyes roll back as you near your orgasm. You feel a few taps to your cheek, the last one leaving a sting. You open your eyes to Sukuna’s flushed cheeks and adjoined brows. “Look at me. I want you to look at me while you cum,” he snaps, leaning in for a few quick sloppy pecks on your lips before capturing your mouth again with a sense of urgency that rivals that of your first kiss. His tongue flicks yours the same time as his cocks twitch, making you suck on his lips as your insides coil from your high.

Sukuna hits your pussy as deep as he could, head of his tip hitting your cervix till you’re mewling into his kiss both in pain and pleasure. His forehead leans on yours and both your jaws fall open as he rides your and his high, eyes deadlocked on each other’s. “Mmmffuck — Sukuna! Sukuna! Goddon’tstopdon’tstop!”

Sukuna groans as one cock spills to your torso, the other painting your insides white. “I love making you obey.” And as much as you hate to satisfy the entity that has been plaguing your insides for far too long, his cocks feel so good between your plush legs, flooding your mind with fantasies of all the things you want him to do to you even after he has defiled all rhyme and reason out of your sweet cunt.

And he’s not quite done.

He flips you over, securing an arm around your stomach as he presses your back to his chest. Your feet don’t touch the ground when he makes your pussy mount his other cock, the bottom one rubbing hard against your clit. One hand holds you by your chin, fingers dipping into your cheeks as he makes you face the bones, thousands of hollow eyes watching him soil your pussy, cock squeezing white stuffing out of your squelching hole.

He hooks both your legs on his arms, spreading you wide open for the skulls to see. You tilt your head back, one hand fixing on his nape to get him to kiss you while you reach for his other cock, slurping his tongue as you grind your pussy flush across his length, making a pasty mess of fresh juices and sticky cum.

“Oh~ Sukuna, fuck~ god, fuck!” you chirp from the heightened sensation of being creamed as you’re suspended in the air, bouncing on one cock and grinding on the other, exposed to a nonexistent audience, overstimulation pricking tears in your eyes.

“That’s right. Cry for me, kitten. Cry. Need you to scream. Need you to remember who you belong to,” Sukuna mutters against your shiny lips. Saliva, yours and his, splattering with almost every syllable. “Pray, kitten. Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sukuna~ I-I belong to you!” He bucks into you hard and fast even as he shoots his load, cock twitching inside and outside of you. He covers your torso in his hot seed while his cock roughly strokes your clit, forcing you to come undone, walls coiling around his cock.

“Sukuna~ Sukuna~ Sukuna…” you pant, whispering his name over and over as your fucked out body induces a hypnotic sleep.

He takes you at the top of his throne, your peaceful figure curled up in a ball, laying you on his lap to sleep a dreamless sleep in his hold for god knows how long.

pspsps ! please consider reblogging and commenting if you liked it ♥︎

[nemesyaaa]

from the sea // pirate!rafe cameron x mermaid!reader

summary ; he was the too scary captain of the ship, and you were the too gorgeous mermaid of the sea. you were on his way, he was on your territory.

but mostly, you were not allowed to go on the surface alone since your mother's death because of dangerous and killer men like him. so when you unfollowed the rules of your father, you faced the consequences.

genre ; fantasy blurb. siren x captain dynamic.

warnings ; fantasy story ? possession. rafe has whip scars/and one eye. fear enthousiast. slight of violence. reader is a mermaid with tail. light gun play mentions and using. smut. gaslighting. dubcon. no shells on breasts reader. webbed fingers. lust as a sin.

author's note ; it's a 3k words. no songs inspiration for this one. i just wanted to make a fantasy au.

you were that kind of beauty that aspired to make all men go crazy over you, and it was for this reason that you had taken so many pirates adrift, to their bodies to their ships. you were beautiful and indeed the bewitching and seductive creature that legends and tales spoke of, but you were also the dangerous monster that the captains with monstrous scars on their faces and marks on skin who had survived your man-eating canines were whispering about in the back of a tavern to overly curious and drunk sailors.

you were the wife of all the gods but above all, those who defended their oceans. but only since your mother's death, your father firmly forbade you from going to the surface, either alone or accompanied. you were forbidden by the all-powerful sovereign of the seas. and his law was indisputable because he was the king and the monarchy. one day as his daughter, you will also be the head of the kingdom, and hold the power as him, even if you're not interested in it.

but like all girls your age, you had trouble listening to your father. no, you had this innocent and blind thirst to chase men. and, you had never had an incident before, so what could stop you ? you only had to slip into the clear waves, and let your magical and fairy body disappear through the eddies of the water which made your flowing silhouette as fast and shiny as a shooting star. the feeling of diving into the soft waves that play hide and seek with your sparkling and enchanted tail while the water gently embraced your mermaid skin was always the best.

you were the only dazzling thing of the perfect blue. the sweet and salty waves kissing your nakedness and long mermaid tail illuminated with colorful reflections ran alongside the rest of your bared chest in the flapping of a fin. you looked nothing like a fish that fishermen wanted to eat, but you looked like an underwater creature that captains wanted to capture.

one stormy evening, you decided it was time to go to the surface. you needed to break the rules to survive. with all the youth and rebellion of your free will, you had left the abyssal depths to face the dangerous world.

the sea was raging, and the waves were decidedly uncontrollable and violent. the shadow of a boat disturbed by the marshy assault of the storm on the waves wavered from one end to the other. that meant you were going to be able to have fun. you could also hear from here the agitation of the crew, the fear and the tension building. you easily spotted the captain because he was much taller and broader, the one who didn't frown a single eyebrow, and who remained calm as if it was the storm that should be feared. his voice shouted orders that you couldn't hear because of the raging sounds of the hard weather. he had a parrot on his right shoulder, and bangs stuck to the sweat of his forehead lightly sweeping his face. he looked delicious, you licked your bottom lip, flicking your mermaid tail to move.

you barely lifted your head out of the water in a crashing entry, emerging from the water by sending your hair flying back, a splash of water falling noisily into the waves and attracting the attention of the sailors above of the boat.

“ captain, captain, look !! there’s a siren ! ” said a sailor who pointed a finger toward you.

“ she's gorgeous ! ” replied another.

“ those tits…”

“ stop being horny, that creature can kill you. i don't pay all of you to do all the work so everybody on the ship move his fucking ass before i throw you all on that storm. am i clear ? and if i don't hear a yes right now, i will let that siren eat every single piece of yours. . ” warned the captain with a deep and somber tone.

“ captain yes, yes captain. ” echoed all the sailor voices.

“ man, you can't say that when you have a fucking boner while looking at her. ” commented a sailor.

“ shut your mouth, barry. it's not her at all. ”

“ do you think i'm dumb to think it's one of the men on the ship ? come on, you can lie with that mouth but that hard dick in your pants betrays you. don’t worry, nobody is immune to tits, especially when they're wet as a fucking pussy.”

“ mind your business. ”

“ as you want, captain. ”

a smile appeared on your soppy lips, as you disappeared again into the tormented waves. you had surrounded the ship, swimming only around the boat. you loved it when everyone was fascinated by you, catching with their eyes all your flawless moves as a show.

water being your domain and your home, you took the initiative to do some twirls by immersing your entire body in the water to bring out only your tail as you leaped to the surface with some back flips and observing your audience. you stood on an icy rock, resting your webbed and manicured fingers against the stone.

“ someone is gonna fucking do his work here ? ” shouted the captain. he was actually running out of patience because of his crew being so attracted by the siren. “are you all dumb on purpose ? this is exactly what she wants, to get all of your attention, and kill you. ”

“ captain accept there is nothing you can do. that woman is too stunning. ” cutted one man, literally drooling over his huge beard, giving up his activity for you.

“ do you think she cares about you ? you're just a prey for her. but right, this is not my problem. you can leave my ship and die. ”

once comfortable on the rock, , you begin to open your mouth to sing a sweet song that would bring them as well as this storm to their doom. your voice was just a trap to lure men.

you had no shells on your breasts as the tales loved to tell. actually, you were completely naked from the top, water running down your chest to your mermaid glowing tail. your skin was still cold and damp, like your eyes. but it shone through the moon, and the white pearls on your body lit up every inch of your flesh like stars. you were of a beauty that had thrown more than one sailor into the water. you were in the image of no god, no man, no woman, you were the angel of the sea. you had a throne in every wave, a kingdom wherever you swam.

your hair fell deliberately on your shoulders, and your angelic voice currently pierced all the foam. the storm was raging, and you appeared as their savior, a halo of light projecting above you to cover your superb figure. you were beautiful and unrealistic like a work of art.

when you weren't expecting it, one of the men you had guessed to be the captain had lowered a boat. he was certainly tall and imposing, a long coat covering his entire frame, and immense leather boots with roughly tied laces on his feets as he approached you. he had a pistol stuck in his glistening and leathery belt, and above all an eye patch over his face. you took a look at the cross scar hidden in his shirt of which you only saw the scary top of the burned mark of the probably iron.

he rowed up to you, until you felt his scent replacing the salty smell of the sea. you quickly understood that there was nothing like the other men you had managed to charm. not unlike the others, this man seemed to be able to corrupt anyone, men and women, humans and mermaids alike.

he placed his boat near the rock to look at you more closely.

“didn’t your father warn you not to come near men like me? i’m sure he did gorgeous, i bet you’re just not smart enough to listen to him. ”

you backed away but he put his gun on the tip of your tail to stand you still, making you shake. “y’know what that means? I’m in charge here. ”

“let me go!” you responded, waving your tail limply, but he pushed his finger against the trigger of his gun to scare you.

"you'll leave when i decide. so stand still because from now, all your rules are made by me. ”

“you should fear my father, he will kill you.” you replied.

he laughed in a mocking tone, and moved closer to you with a smirk. “you could kill me too though, couldn’t you mermaid ? but look at you, shaking like prey ready to die by my hand.”

“are you going to kill me?”

“ is this a question or a wish ? or maybe a dirty mermaid fantasy ? ”

“i don’t want to die.”

“If that pretty mouth can sing like it does then it can beg too, don’t you think? If you want me to spare you, you’re gonna have to be a bit more convincing.”

he lowered his gaze towards your glossy and watery body, his weapon buried in the flesh of your stomach, before slightly moving up to your breasts, your nipples arching against the gun. you shivered at the contact of the metal against your skin.

he slid the gun up to your throat, pushing the barrel against your vocal cords. you coughed, and placed a hand around his.

he had sworn "oh fuck...legends don't tell all the things siren can do to a man…"

your webbed fingers, surrounded by tiny fins, had found their effect on him. you looked so sweet and innocent, but you were a creature who knew how to be machiavellian so he had to keep an eye on you.

“you don’t want to die?” he asked, repeating your words.

rafe was not a man of morals, he made fun of laws and conventions. and above all, why would he deprive himself when a beautiful mermaid was willing to do whatever he wanted just to be spared.

you were desperate, and frighteningly attractive. rafe would be lying if he said it didn't stimulate him. his cock was clearly hard and painfully stretched against the leather of his pants, forming a bulge just below his belt. and it was starting to be so uncomfortable. he only wanted one thing, it was to fill your soppy mouth surrounded by divine dripping lips until he felt your throat tighten around his dick, because his girth prevented the air from passing into your cavity.

oh yes rafe cameron was cruel. he wanted you to die, but in a completely different way.

and what he wanted, he got. he was a captain admired and respected by all and who had a high reputation both on the seas and on land. he was rich and miserly. he had as much money as he had girls.

he pulled down his pants, freeing his thick length to reveal it before your eyes. you'd be lying if you said you'd seen one before. It was the first time you saw something that big, it was terrifying. you didn't even know what this sailor wanted you to do with it so you looked at him with curious and desperate eyes.

oh that innocence burning in your gaze had shot a charge through rafe's body and his cock had twitched, letting precum drop on your face and the blood inside him completely heated.

"open your mouth...yes, like that. show me your tongue, i'll help you, gonna tell you how to do it.”

he had thrust himself into your mouth before giving you instructions, telling you how to make him feel good, while his dick found a way to your throat. you were even wetter inside than a real woman and it felt perfect and insane. you started to suck him, your lips vibrating around his throbbing girth that stuffed you real quick.his tip was slightly salty from the precum dripping from it that you had swallowed, making the ship captain above you groan.

pushed by his grunts and his tight grip through your hair, you pumped him faster because you were starting to understand how it worked. he never tired of your lips that foamed, and fully encircling his cock which as you licked got bigger and bigger, your naked tummy spiraling as the growing feeling.

with one hand, he had plunged himself completely into you, your head completely trapped between his firm fingers, and your nose buried in his pelvis. you gagged on him, a spurt of drool coming out of your mouth when he pulled out, as you gurgled strongly . your saliva hung from his glistening tip down the length of his hardened dick, all the way to his heavy balls.

he re-positioned himself inside you, his massive dick now dripping inside your soaked mouth as you continued to suck and lick with the fear knotting in your stomach of being killed. but you could feel that his body was relaxed, his muscles were loose, and you could hear every deep sound of pleasure coming from his lips.

he was both fascinated and over the moon, because your wetted tongue twirling around his hot cock was perfect. oh if he could have fucked you, he would have. he couldn't help but fantasize about how he would have fucked you on this rock, his large hands on your tits caged them like bra and pressing them against his thick fingers that would easily crushed them.

he also loved how your throat was so capricious, clenching around him while your tongue hungrily brushed his entire growing bulge. the feeling was intense, and you could hear his breaths become harsh.

that's what he liked about corruption, you were too good for him, a creature blessed by all the gods who had nothing to do with a mortal as rich as him, because you were too divine , too wonderful but at that moment, you were in the same rank. you were at his mercy.

you placed your wet hands on his hips, leaving trails of water on his body and impressive marks of whip that left scars on his skin. rafe could have sworn it was the gentlest touch in the world. the tiny fins around your fingers, tracing the straight line of his waist, down to his firm ass as you sucked him to death, drove him so crazy with your long soaked tongue that made him gasp.

and even if he was not a believer, he was convinced that heaven could not be so wonderful.

a few minutes later, his dick had convulsed around your mouth, and you felt large hot streams filling your throat down to your tummy. you swallowed, and he smiled before stroking your hair gently.

“ good job, little mermaid. don’t you deserve a reward for that ?”

you didn’t really know what that meant but you nodded.

he had taken a long pearl necklace from his pocket. “turn around. let me help you. ”

and you complied. he had hung the expensive and luxurious jewel around your neck, the length of which was so long that he had to make several turns until a hundred white pearls covered the entirety of your bust, dangling around your handsome tits.

“do you know what that means?”

you moved your head to say no, and he responded. “that now you belong to me. you’re my prized possession. you need to understand that now you can't leave. without me. ”

he had found a treasure and he was going to keep it. after all, he was a pirate, he stole everything the ocean had. and sirens were not an exception to the rules.

“i want to see my father.”

“mermaid, you are mine, and mine only.” he responded while caressing your soppy cheek. “ you don't need your dad anymore, just me. ”

you lifted your gaze to meet the most beautiful blue eyes you ever met. he was handsome as the devil, and you couldn’t deny it. but you were a mermaid, you belonged to the ocean, not to a man.

you tried to run away but he stopped you by placing his leather boot on your mermaid tail with a smirk, before leaning forward to grab you by the throat, your upper body was arched, his biceps caged your vocal cords tightly, his thick fingers pushed further in your mouth to forced you to behave, your drool dripping over your hanged jaw.

“what did I tell you about making silly moves, huh? behave, unless you want to die. you know what’ll happen if you act up? what you did earlier, with that pretty mouth, we’re gonna do it again. except this time instead of my cock, it’ll be my gun and if you stop, I shoot. And I know you don’t want that, right?”

" no…”

“ yea ? better to be alive. ”

you nodded. because it was true.

"now i have my men waiting for me. but don't worry, you're coming with me.”

“ that's a kidnapping — ”

“ do you think i care ? because listen to me, i don't fucking care. do you know what it means ? that you can pout, cry, scream, whatever tantrum you want to shout, it will not change anything. ”

you shivered when his hands stroked your shoulders, the icy metal of his silver rings brushing your skin. “ don't you want to be cherished ? see that world ? look up, because it can be yours. ”

“ you're not afraid that i can eat you ? ”

“ didn't you see my scars ? i fear nothing, even if you dig those canines in my skin, you will be the only one to be scared of what i can do to you. because babe, be mean to me, i dare you to, and i will be meaner. ”

“ where are your scars coming from, they're huge. and it's not sirens. ”

“oh, it’s a horrible story for a little mermaid like you. stick to your fairytales. so are you gonna come with me willingly or do we have to do things the hard way?”

“ sound like a trap. ”

“ sound like you're smart. ” he mocked.

“ i'm gonna follow you. but don't be too happy, my dad will find you before sunrise. so you're soon a dead man. ”

“ such a mean baby, already wishing that i'm dead. but careful, don't make me correct that mouth myself. it's not the kind of thing you will like. ”

“ because there is a good thing you can do with my mouth ? ” you were curious.

you turned your gaze toward him, and he lifted a brow, not believing your words. “ mermaid, you never kissed a man ? ”

“ show me what kissing is. ”

“ Why would I kiss the mouth that curses me ? ”

“ Should i ask those men on the ship? ”

because of his possessive side, categorically refusing to share you with his crew full of grotesque men, he had leaned down to grab your jaw and press his lips against yours.the feeling was so strange, but your mermaid tail was waving on the cold stone. “seems like you enjoy being kissed. ” he said, as his tongue swirled with yours. “ want to be kissed endlessly ? yea ? then don't make me repeat myself and move that fucking tail to the ship. ”

[pickingupmymercedes]

I want South - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, (p in v), oral sex

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +2K

a/n: That top, those arms, THAT CHEST. Blame Lewis and his ability to get me horny.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

The rhythmic clatter of her keyboard barely registered as Y/N navigated the labyrinthine spreadsheet on her laptop. Hours had melted away since Lewis had disappeared into the steamy confines of the bathroom, a hasty "Good luck with the media" thrown over her shoulder. Between the complex financial reports and the incessant ping of emails, she hadn't even noticed him leave.

Reaching a dead end, she leaned back in her chair, stretching out her neck. A quick scroll through Instagram was supposed to be a five-minute break, a mental breather before diving back into the work abyss. But instead, her breath caught in her throat as her feed exploded with photos. Lewis. In a tank top, but not just any tank top, mind you, but a ridiculously glittery low cut one that seemed determined to defy all laws of physics and hold onto what little fabric remained.

The offending garment offered more real estate to his sculpted arms and chest than it did to any semblance of modesty.

Oh, the audacity of that man. Knowing full well the chaos he could unleash with a single outfit choice, he'd strolled into the paddock like a bronzed Adonis on display. A playful desire to ruffle his feathers bubbled up, even if he was likely neck-deep in an engineer's meeting. Picking up her phone, she crafted the first text.

Y/N: "I want to go south."

A beat. Then another. Finally, a reply popped up on the screen.

Lewis: "What are you even talking about?"

She smirked. Clearly, her cryptic opener didn't land, so time to up the ante.

Y/N: "Your compass, baby. I want south."

There. A hint. A playful nudge in the direction of his, shall we say, exposed assets. Silence again. Maybe the meeting was more intense than she thought. Or maybe – just maybe – Lewis was finally catching on.

Lewis: "Are you stalking me on social media?"

A triumphant grin stretched across her face. He finally saw it. The news articles, the fan reactions, the absolute frenzy his outfit had caused.

Y/N: "Tits out Thursday?" she sent, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. "Or is it guns out all week?"

Another, longer pause this time. The anticipation was delicious, she was having way too much fun with that. Finally, his response arrived.

Lewis: "Wth with people not behaving on main?!"

Y/N: "At least Derik put something on you that covers the nipples. This time."

Suddenly, her phone buzzed violently. Not a text, but a video call. She answered with a raised eyebrow, ready for the fire Lewis was sure to unleash. But instead, the screen showed a face flushed, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

"You're in serious trouble" he said, his voice low and almost husky.

"Oh, am I?" she countered, meeting his gaze with a smirk.

He chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. "When I get back to the hotel, prepare for a south-bound exploration"

The line went dead, leaving her hot under her shirt and a flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

Y/N eventually managed to refocus on her work, the playful banter with Lewis now a pleasant distraction lingering in her mind. But as the clock ticked on, the anticipation of his return began to build.

It was a couple of hours later when the door to their hotel suite swung open, and Lewis stepped in, now wearing a Mercedes shirt and the infamous top in hand. He leaned against the wall, clearing his throat until she looked at him, his gaze intense.

"Hello, miss explorer” he let out with a low voice, holding out the top that had cause do much distraction.

Y/N made a show of looking down at one of his t-shirts she had been wearing since the morning, no bras or shorts under, taking if off and leaving her in only lace panties. With a playful smirk and her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she threw the shirt on the bed and sauntered confidently towards him to retrieve the tank. “Thank you, Eric, I’d say” her voice full with amusement

As she took the top from his hand, she noticed how uncomfortable he seemed in his pants, a smirk playing on her lips. She enjoyed the teasing, reveling in the power she held over him in this moment. Putting on the tank, the piece of clothing hung dangerously low on her frame, the strings that were meant to be all the way to her shoulders acting as covers to her nipples. She could feel his gaze burning into her, and she savored every moment of it.

He swallowed hard at the sight, his eyes darkening with desire as she stood before him, clad only in the top and lace panties. The tension between them crackled in the air, a silent challenge passing between them as they locked eyes.

As Lewis closed the distance between them, Y/N could feel the tension in the air thickening. With each step he took closer to her the more he seemed to tower over her frame, even if they were almost the same size.

His eyes gleamed with amusement at her feistiness, but there was something more, something primal and undeniable simmering beneath the surface. She met his gaze through her lashes, a coy smile playing on her lips as she watched him approach.

His hand reached out, fingers grazing her cheek gently, sending shivers down her spine. Y/N's breath hitched as she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

Lewis tilted her chin up with a feather-light touch, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her heart race. There was a silent question hanging between them, a wordless invitation that neither of them could ignore.

Unable to resist any longer, he closed the remaining distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss. It was like fire and ice colliding, a whirlwind of passion and desire consuming them both.

Y/N melted into him, her hands finding their way to his neck as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the intoxicating taste of him. There was no room for restraint now, no need for words as Lewis lifted her effortlessly, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

As he laid her down on the bed, a last lingering kiss was exchanged before he stepped back, his gaze dark with desire as he pushed his shirt off, revealing the toned muscles of his chest.

Her fingers went straight to undo his belt and push his pants and underwear down, eager to feel his skin against hers. But he seemed in a hurry for no reason, his movements frantic and impatient.

"Hey," Y/N murmured softly, her voice a gentle reminder of the moment they shared. "Let me savor this."

He paused, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of longing and anticipation, he breathed, his voice husky with desire. "I can't get enough of you."

A tender smile graced her lips as she reached out to trace the compass tattoo on his chest, a silent reminder of her first text that afternoon. "I still want South, you know…" she whispered, her touch feather-light against his skin.

His breath hitched at her touch, a shiver running down his spine. "How could I forget?" he murmured; his voice laced with desire. Her fingers continued to trace the intricate lines of the compass tattoo on his chest, each featherlike touch sending a shiver of anticipation through his body.

Lewis sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling her gently into his lap, their bodies fitting together. She was straddling him and had full access to his tattooed chest. He leaned back slightly, allowing her to explore every inch of the inked design with her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.

"South, huh?" he replied, his voice husky with desire. " I'm more than willing to be your guide."

In her inner thigh she could feel his already semi hard dick, slightly jerking each time she moaned mid kiss into Lewis’ mouth. His fingers sent butterflies into her stomach each time he grabbed at her skin, almost as if he was searched for something to ground him to earth.

Unable to resist the pull of their desires any longer, her hands slid down his chest, reaching for his cock, but she stopped short when she heard him moan. "Okay there, champ?" she teased, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

His hands immediately went to her covered pussy, covering her whole pelvis as his gaze held hers, desire burning in his eyes. "More than okay," he replied, his voice husky and low.

She chuckled softly, her fingers trailing lightly along his jawline as she leaned in to place a tender kiss on his lips. "I don’t think I could wait much longer" she murmured against his mouth, her breath mingling with his in the intimate space between them.

Y/n didn’t have to repeat for Lewis to pull her lace lingerie to the side and pull her up on his laps, brushing his tips a few times in her sleek, mixing hers to his own “No need for lube” his smile beaming with pride as he reveled in the fact, he could always get her there, even with almost no foreplay.

“Gloating then, are we?!” one of her hands came to wrap around his in his dick, signaling that she was more than ready and willing to take control. He let her, wrapping his fingers in her hips and paying his full attention on her face, waiting to see it contort with pleasure as she sunk into his hard member.

Her walls enveloped him tightly, her moans sending his own body into overdrive. She stopped and steadied herself halfway through, her controlled breathing a stark contrast to her beating heart. He caressed the skin between her hips and ass to sooth her, his touch gentle and reassuring.

Her head fell to the side as she resumed the descend until their thighs touched and her clit hit his pelvic bone “Gosh, you always make me so full”, she gasped, her voice a mixture of pleasure and desire.

He matched her rhythm with slow, deliberate thrusts upwards, his movements syncing perfectly with hers as they moved together in a dance of passion and desire. With each thrust, he felt her walls clench around him, her moans growing louder everything his dick brushed past that sweet spot.

Just as he felt her walls start to flutter around him, he reached for her clit, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. With one angled thrust, she shattered, her body convulsing with pleasure as she reached her climax, her moans filling the room as he pulled himself up and held her convulsing legs, savoring the feeling of her release still buried inside her.

As Y/N came back from her high, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks, she felt a sense of contentment wash over her. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on her back on the plush covers and pillows, Lewis's face inches from hers, his member still buried deep inside her.

"Hi," he murmured, his voice husky with a sweetly sick smile playing on his lips. With a swift movement, he pulled his top down from her body, exposing her breasts from the straps on both sides, and gave each of them a tender kiss.

Just as she thought he would linger in this moment of tenderness; his eyes grew dark again. Without warning, he started to hammer into her, his movements urgent and frenzied. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she surrendered to him.

His hands held her legs up, allowing him to penetrate her even deeper, his thrusts driving her wild with ecstasy, her nails finding in his chest the place to sink and ground her.

As Lewis picked up the pace, the rhythm of their bodies melded into one, each thrust driving them closer to the edge. A thin layer of sweat coated their skin, aiding the glide of his body on hers as they moved together.

As he approached his release, his movements became more urgent, more desperate, his need for release evident in every grunt. When she felt him start to falter, his thrusts losing their rhythm, his hands reached for her ass, pulling them apart to allow impossibly deeper access to her.

With each thrust, his tip hit her cervix, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She felt herself teetering on the edge of oblivion, her hands inadvertently reaching for his ass to try and make him thrust deeper, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their movements.

And just as she thought she couldn't take any more, she came undone, her body convulsing with pleasure as waves of ecstasy washed over her again. Lewis wasn't far behind, his own release tearing through him with a force that left him breathless.

But as he spilled himself into her, filling her with his semen, they both heard a knock at the door, pulling them both out of their frenzies.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle as Lewis huffed with annoyance, his face flushed with exertion as he glanced towards the door, a mixture of frustration and desire evident in his eyes as he shouted, still deep inside her, that they needed another hour to get ready.

The knocking persisted, growing louder and more insistent with each passing moment, until finally, Lewis reluctantly pulled himself away from her, his body still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. With a muttered curse, he made his way to the door, his movements slightly unsteady as he attempted to compose himself and hide his lower part with a towel he grabbed going for the door

Y/N watched him, now propped up on her elbow on the bed, a playful smirk playing on her lips as she reveled in the sight of him, disheveled and breathless, his desire for her still evident in every line of his body.

As Lewis opened the door to reveal Daniel standing on the other side, a sheepish grin on his face, she couldn't help but laugh as Daniel’s brain processed the state of the room and Y/n wearing the glittery top on the bed, a gasp coming from his throat before he muttered "Right, another hour then?! Make it two.” Already on his way to his own room, hands on his eyes and Lewis closing the door.

“I think we could have some fun with that extra hour” his eyes darkening again as he approached her on the bed, his fingers finding his seed now seeping out of her pussy.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora

[dietmountaindewb8by]

Chapter One

Into the Abyss

warnings: five just being kinda crazy, herb not being as nice a guy as you might assume

please tell me if you’d like to be tagged ❗️ ❗️

tag list: @lv9su ; @groovydazephantom

Five was very loud when he wanted to be, he realized as he walked through the winding halls of The Commission, watching his employees cower and duck their heads into their files or pretend to fix their clothes.

None of that mattered then, however. He reached into his pocket for that very familiar key that he had used every single day he had been in The Commission. The key to the Infinite Switchboard.

Just so he could see your face again, even for a moment. Maybe even find you if he could.

Sometimes he would come across old memories and dive into them. Oh, how beautiful you were. How you smiled and how you laughed and how you were always so kind. To him and to everyone. 

His beautiful, beautiful girl. An angel among demons that crawled beneath her feet–he was a demon that would crawl beneath her feet anyway. A devil cast to the deepest pits of hell searching for that which could bring him salvation, if only for a moment.

Five Hargreeves wanted nothing more than to hold you to his chest, to tuck you into his arms safe and sound and never let you out again. Because his arms were where you belonged–where you still do belong. They were wide open for the ghost of you, gates to a rotting manor that only welcomed its original owner.

You could rip his heart from his chest and he would forgive you in a heartbeat. 

The door creaked open and he quickly locked it behind him. The only other person with a key was Herb, and he wouldn’t dare disturb the owner of the Commission in his incredibly important research.

Even if that research wasn’t important to the company, per se. It was important to him. And if it was important to him then surely the world would fall apart if it wasn’t completed.

I would tear it apart if I couldn’t reach this at the very least, he thought, sitting down in the very same chair he did every day, flipping on the switch that reintroduced him to his sins, to what he needed to do.

Your smiling face greeted him, and for a second–just as always–he smiled back. He turned a dial beneath his right finger, looking back to the dreaded day he lost you. 

November 22, 1963 was a day to behold, that was for sure. It was brighter than usual, not one cloud lingering in the sky and the sun blared down upon the mild Texas landscape.

His gun was aimed for where the president would ride by as you sat beside him, picking at the grass.

“Be careful, Sweetheart,” he said, and you looked up at him for a moment, eyes void. “You’ll ruin your sundress.”

“I think the sundress is the least of our worries today, Five.”

He sighed. “You’re not wrong.”

Five minutes later amidst the chaos that was taking place on the other side of the fence, he took your hand and brought it to his lips before diving through the hole he had ripped in the time-space continuum. 

And then you were gone, stolen from him by the cruel fingers of time.

Five jumped when a knock on the door sounded, his fingers flying to the knife he had stuffed in his pocket at all times.

“Mr. Hargreeves?” Herb called. “Sir?”

Five sighed, dropping his knife before gliding the chair over to the door, unlocking it. “Come in, Herb.”

Herb stepped in through the door before staring at the mess that had become the Infinite Switchboard. Papers were scattered everywhere–some with half-drawn faces, others with numbers and symbols he could only begin to understand. And then there was Five; clean shaven as always, but his eyes held something either dead or dangerously alive.

Either way, he knew there was nothing but trouble to be had with Five Hargreeves.

Nothing but trouble.

“Mr. Hargreeves,” Herb said, watching Five return to his pages, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing, Herb.”

Herb’s eyes flicked to the screen, to you. You in the yellow sundress. You who had cried in Dot’s arms one too many times to count.

You who had successfully escaped Five Hargreeves and fallen into a new hell.

“Trying to find her, Sir?” Herb said with a chuckle.

Five’s jaw ticked before he turned to the smaller man. “You have something to say, Herb? Something funny?”

“Nothing at all, Sir.” He shrugged, before taking a shaky step away from the man. “Just that you’ve been looking so hard and her files have been with us all along.”

Five’s heart jumped. He dove for Herb, taking him by the lapel of his jacket and pulling him up to eye level. 

“Herb,” he said sweetly. “Old friend. Tell me where the fuck those files are.”

Herb gulped. “We have them all. We watch them on Friday nights. They’re quite entertaining–I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“I want them. I want them all–and whenever a new one comes in, I want that too. I’ll decide if they’re entertaining or not.”

“Of course,” Herb whispered before being thrown to the ground, scampering out of the room as soon as he could.

And for the first time in a long time, Five smiled.

[blushstories]

you almost drown on a run | joel miller x reader, hurt/comfort, slight angst

joel’s been quiet since the bloater. you’d never seen one before, but it was clear that he had. passing you molotovs to throw and igniting pipe bombs himself, you tried to ensure a continuous onslaught of fire towards the bloater.

and it was going down — once you ran out of bombs, you pulled out your shotgun. gathering that fire was its biggest weakness, you loaded it with incendiary shells and gripped the gun tightly. fighting against the recoil was hard, and your finger was slipping against the trigger. the bloater’s attention was on you, and after yanking an acrid pustule from its body towards joel, who dives to the side, it begins to charge.

a few shells slip through your fingers as they click into the gun. you snap it shut and fire all of them into the bloater, which is closing the distance between you by the second. your vision tunnels, and you hear joel yell something. the bloater’s hand reaches out but you fall prone to the floor, crawling between its legs and hauling yourself to your feet and sprinting heavily away. there’s a clattering, a bang, and the ground shakes mightily beneath you. you stumble into the mud. the bloater groans earthily, and there’s a puffing hiss as you roll onto your back.

pushing yourself up on your elbows, you watch the green cloud ascend over the bloater. you’re hoping that means it’s died. joel bounds over to you, boots clicking on the sidewalk as he throws his gun over his shoulder.

“get up, c’mon,” he says with urgency, a little breathless. he grasps your hand and with his other pulls you up by your forearm. as you stand, you watch over his shoulder as runner after runner, clicker after stalker emerges from around the corner. you understand his rush as you turn on your heel. he guides you with a hand on your lower back until you’re both sprinting away, low on ammo, low on energy.

joel shouts for you to keep up as you vault through broken windows of empty houses, crunching broken glass underneath your shoes. you duck through somebody’s musty abandoned garage, and slip out again through their back door, and the horde behind you thins out with each corner you slip through.

you keep your eyes at the back of joel’s head, and he leads you past the end of the street, but the road has been destroyed. a large crack has divided it horizontally, and over time it has eroded into a nearby lake. the water has found its own equilibrium in the pit the size of a house, and there’s not much time to think of a clever way to cross it, because there’s a runner catching up to you.

joel points to a fallen tree covering the expanse of the new pond, and you join him to climb it. the nooks in the trunk are sturdy footholds, and the damp bark is soft between your fingers. he speedily balances his way along, and you’re too focused on keeping your feet from slipping so when the runner throws its arms around you, all you can do is shout before you’re plunged into the icy water.

it swallows you whole as you try to wrestle with the runner, reaching into your pocket for your knife. it’s squirming like it’s been set on fire, but you drive the blade into its neck. kicking off of the runner, you break the surface and gulp down the ambrosia-laced oxygen, momentarily soothing the searing pain in your lungs. the water crashes against your ears as you sink again, unwrapping yourself from the runner; your fingertips are numb, though, and your grip almost nonexistent.

the runner’s body catches on something, and you’re yanked downwards by its grip on you. you’re suspended in the dark abyss, desperately trying to prevent any water entering your body; you’ve just stabbed an infected, after all. you kick at it again, and push yourself away, only for something to catch at your calf. it’s sharp, and you can’t pull your leg away. you think its broken skin, but you can’t be sure.

you fold forwards, running your fingers down your leg and tracing it to find something metal. your jeans have been ripped and caught in it due to the force of your escape. you can’t see anything, and you’re trying to pull. you only get resistance and an aching throb in your calf, and a bubbling scream from your lungs.

a particularly sharp tug causes you to exhale too much, and precious air escapes you. you’re slapping a hand over your mouth and hoping, praying, silently screaming for joel to realise you’re not coming back up again. it’s suffocating, and you can’t hold your breath anymore and your breath has exploded and your lungs are flooding and you’re choking without air and you’re floating away.

there’s a thunderous roll of water somewhere above you, and a few moments later there’s support under your arms and a realisation that you’re not moving. you don’t remember the ripping pain that accompanied the jolt of your leg as it was unhooked from an old metal pipe. nor do you remember the desperate race to the surface of the water, and how joel gasps for air himself before he drags you to the side, dragging you across aged tarmac until youre clear of the water, blood starting to pool around your leg. but it's the way your chest doesn't rise and fall that concerns him.

he breathes your name shakily, tapping your chin up and watching water droplets roll off your face.

“christ.” he lifts your chin and starts pushing his own breath into your mouth. once, he waits. twice. his own breath catches in his throat. he tries again, harder this time, and his hearing is foggy.

he glances down your body; “gotta wake up, c’mon,” he’s talking to himself. he leans down again, fills his lungs and pushes the air through, and water fills his mouth. you’re coughing and he’s spitting out water while helping you lean over, emptying your lungs.

even though water is leaving your lungs you’re choking, new air evicts it but you’re gasping and clawing at your throat, coughing so violently that it’s like shards of glass are scratching your throat.

when you’re finally done, you suck in a clear as crystal breath of air, and joel’s smoothing your hair away from your face and looking giddy with relief.

“almost lost me there,” you poke, voice scratchy. a shiver rolls through you.

“not on my watch,” he strokes your cheek lovingly and helps you up.

your leg aches, prompting you to look, “oh my god, joel.”

he follows your gaze and his eyebrows furrow. he takes a quick as flash inhale; “they’ll sort you right out at home. you’ll be fine, okay. gonna get you there.” he takes off his overshirt and rolls it lengthways. then, he wraps it around the gaping slash in your calf and tightens it harshly, apologising when you yelp in pain. he slips his previously abandoned pack on and swoops you into his arms tightly, taking the winding alleyways home to avoid any further encounters. his grip never falters.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Okay so-- i was reading some sagau posts and came across this one where the reader was an army vet and my brain just Did Its Thing--

So now I'm here to inflict this on to you--

Would guns be considered as catalysts. And would they only do Phys Damage.

Me reading this ask:

😶 😐 🤨 🧐 🧐 😰 🥲 😭😭😭 💀

STOP YOU'VE INFLICTED ME WITH PSYCHOLOGICAL DMG FROM THIS ASK 😭

(Also srry took so long to respond, when i didnt realize how short this was/was just sitting over here 😓)

^ For the sake of gun imagery being a lot/maybe staff might hate me for it,

we'll put this gay shit instead (i almost mispelled to "gay shot" lmao)

☆

Sun: Army Veteran Reader, Gender neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: SHORT Headcanons

Stars: everybody bc i think itd be funny

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: gun stuff, mild violence, mild cursing & Trigger Warnings: Gun fun everywhere

THIS ASK HAS ME GIGGLING TO MYSELF LIKE A MANIAC

You're out here having a whole gun they let you take for off-base

And u ofc have a license so u can conceal carry

(idk how non-american gun laws work, but tbh ours are so fucked idk how they work here either, just that an army guy i knew once could have his gun when he got back home)

And ofc ur just paranoid enough (more like it just makes u feel safe)

That when u get yoinked into a portal to a silly little brightly colored gacha game fantasy world, the gun comes with 💀

Id like to add in my silly little "ur in a video game, so video game rules" AU version of genshin so:

The only other gun (ish) wielder (Mika) has unlimited bolts

Sooo I'd think your gun would be the same jfc lol

NO BC YOUD SCARE THE ACTUAL SHIT OUT OF EVERYONE IN UR VICINITY IN A BATTLE

BC GUNSHOTS ARE A DIFFERENT TYPE OF LOUD

When u first stumble into abyss monsters/hostile creatures of the realm, u nearly scare off a Lawlachurl bc every shot's like thunder to these bitches😭

So not only the monsters but the vision holders think u fucking summoned lightning

OMG THE BULLETS ARE SO FAST THEYD PROBABLY NOT SEE IT

ESP BC DISTRACTED BY GUNSHOT LOUDNESS

SO U AIM THIS LITTLE BLACK CROSSBOW (???) AND THINGS JUST DIE (OR GET RIDDLED WITH HOLES) WITH NO CLEAR ARROW STICKING OUT

STOPP- you're becoming a witchy god or smth to all of Teyvat bc it just looks like hella high level magic atp to them LMAOOO

Rumors of you get out of hand and say u just point or snap ur fingers and things get wounded/just die on the spot 💀

Oh another difference between Teyvatians seeing ur gun vs. crossbow (what they know)

Is that guns are wayyyy more destructive

Like an arrow would get shot but it'd bounce off of things like rock or wood or metal, maybe dent a little depending on how close

But a bullet goes thru that shit so easy, and leaves a whole little explosion behind, once again depending on range

(I once saw a Mythbusters episode? of them proving bullets would definitely go thru car doors, like movies lied to u, this is why drive-bys acc work like for gangs)

Lmao, the image of you in like full armor with a Teyvat made automatic gun after showing it to blacksmiths

Makes u just more convincing as a god, esp bc military training

(Ppl like Gorou and Kokomi begging for military tactics/training ur world has done)

...

....Ok.

I'll address it.

But only so u dont think im stupid later.

Yes, the Fatui have guns.

No, this not the same as having a glock LMAO

End of story.

(Also, urs runs on bullets, whereas the Fatui rely on magic/delusions to power theirs, plus they dont seem as fast or destructive as urs, more "explosions aimed at you" than real bullets)

Which,,, u leave the managing of ppl copying ur gun to ppl like the Qixing or smth, but make sure to give them advice on good gun laws if teyvat accidentally revolutionizes bc of ur advanced gun that anybody can wield (non-vision users)

Thats the best ive got abt that

Oh, also enjoy being praised as a War god now.

:)

☆

... dammit i had smth i was gonna tell u guys-

Uh what tf was it, it was important

OH

Next post is the Eldritch God Oneshot! Look out for it :) !!

☆

Safe Travels Kid,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

[hwaightme]

Feel alive

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🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance. 

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included. 

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal. 

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour. 

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think. 

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…” 

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present. 

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?” 

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony. 

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories. 

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton. 

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny. 

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm. 

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul. 

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?” 

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze. 

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer. 

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric. 

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you. 

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing. 

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out. 

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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[autisticlancemcclain]

Pidge stares hard at her twisted fingers. Her eyes have long since begun to burn, and she holds her face carefully parallel to the floor, knees presses to the sides of her head, watching as her vision gets blurrier and heavier, until eventually the tear drops from her eyes and splatters on her glasses.

“How did you handle it?” she asks hoarsely, not even looking up. “The homesickness.”

For a while Lance doesn’t say anything. His breathing is steady and near-silent, quick little inhales and long, shallow exhales. Practiced breathing, when he’s choking back tears. He does it several times a day. Sometimes Pidge can’t stand to look at him. She doesn’t understand where he puts it all, the sadness that is constantly bubbling out of him. Doesn’t understand where he finds the strength to let his voice get choked up in the middle of a sentence and keep going like there’s nothing wrong. She feels hot shame heat up her own body, in the clear absence of his; a secondhand embarrassment at emotion that shouldn’t be advertised so easily, so trustingly, so constantly.

Eventually he sighs. When Pidge looks up there are tears in his brown eyes, as there so often are, but she fights the urge to look away and tucks herself under his open arm, instead.

It’s warm, in his hold. Bony too. But he holds her without fear of squeezing too tightly, winds his long arm around her back and shoulders and presses her face into his neck. He smells, as he always does, of flowers, although Pidge could not identify what kinds, and she imagines that she’s sat under the rows and rows of shelves in her mother’s greenhouse, watching her work. Her hands shake so she winds them around the creases of Lance’s jacket and grips tightly.

“I don’t,” he says after thinking about it. “I carry it with me. I always have.”

Pidge thinks she knew that, in her bones. She thinks she understood that about Lance from the very second she first saw him, two years ago at the Garrison auditorium in September; this boy who slouched and grinned and shot finger guns and laughed like a hyena and cried four times a day. The boy whose eyes were deep and dark and filled with an abyssal pain that hurts to look at. Off-putting.

“That sounds lonely.”

Lance hums. He shifts, resting his chin on the top of her head. She feels the slow drip of his tears, down his nose and plopping onto her scalp, and parcels at how his heartbeat doesn’t change, the ease in his voice. The shaky steel of it.

“It is. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t. Lonely. It’s just something I carry.”

Her breath shudders out of her, big and large and shaking her shoulders. She hears what he doesn’t say: I have gotten used to it. She thinks to herself: I will never get used to this weight.

She says: “I don’t understand.”

Ever so slowly, he begins to rock them back and forth, barest sway of their bodies. His lips press her hairline. Her face crumples and her breathing quickens as she forces down the tears, shoves back the mirroring feeling, the mixing of Lance and Matt happening in her head.

“When I was four my oldest brother moved away. He was getting married. I never got over that, I don’t think. He lived down the street longer than he lived down the hall but I never really stopped missing him.”

He pauses for a moment, and Pidge knows it’s deliberate in the way his whole body stops moving, pondering, before starting again.

“Sometimes I miss him on purpose.”

Pidge pulls away, enough to look him in the face, to watch his sad eyes and slight smile and the familiarity in the uncanny expression, the Lance of it.

“Why?” she asks desperately, hands twisting further in his sleeves. “Why would you ever — on purpose?”

“Because I love him on purpose.” The tears drip down Lance’s face as a steady waterfall and he doesn’t even flinch at them, doesn’t even blink. Lets his eyes fill and spill over again and again like cupped hands under a leaking faucet. “When I miss my mom I love her. When I miss my sister I love her. When I miss my brother I love him. When I miss Keith I love him. When I miss you, I love you.” He gently pulls his sleeves away from her clutched fingers, wrapping his hands around them instead and squeezing. “The grief hurts like a never healing wound. But I’m terrified of not having that. I don’t want to wake up one day without the reminder of how deeply I’ve loved and how deeply it will always be a part of me, that love. I don’t know how I’d ever function without it.”

“You don’t function with it,” Pidge argues. “It — haunts you. I see it in your face.”

Lance shrugs. “I function with it. I function because of it. Every day that I miss them I live because I will miss them until I see them again. It’s an — anticipation, almost. I miss you and I can’t wait to see you again mean the same thing.”

A strange noise bursts out from Pidge’s throat, gut-punching. I miss you and I can’t wait to see you again mean the same thing.

She misses her brother in her bones. Her father in her blood. Her mother in her heart.

Waiting to see them again pulses at every level in her body. That’s — manageable.

“Oh,” she says, and she means oh, in the way you blink your eyes open in the mornings. Oh, I see now. Oh, that hurts. Oh, it’s bright.

Lance squeezes her hands again. “There are worse things than loving so much it hurts you,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Pidge says again. “Oh.”

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • I

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 4.7K

General Fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter One: The Apparition - (EDITED 09-03-2024) This story was a request by an anon! I hope you enjoy my interpretation of the prompt (prompt is here). I am excited to see where this goes! Let me know any thoughts, and if you’d like to be tagged leave a comment :3

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

NOAH

The world was always in a state of grey, the life of the concrete jungle persistently sucking out the souls of its inhabitants with every passing second. Destruction. Crime. Greed. A shattering abyss of capitalism and corruption.

Yet, I don’t think I was meant to be the good guy in this lifetime.

Maybe someday, in another universe, there would be a possibility for me.

But for now, the only thing I could think about was how my heart pounded as the gun sat between my fingers, threatening the innocent ahead.

Destruction, Crime, Greed.

“Noah, let’s go,” Ruffilo desperately pulled at my wrist in an attempt to drag me away. My arm remained still, held in its position, resisting his force.

The woman’s eyes watched me in horror, tears brimming as her back hit the brick wall behind her, arms wrapping protectively around her body in defeat.

My heart raced, yet I couldn’t move.

“I won’t say anything I swear,” She pleaded, lips trembling, saliva foaming from her mouth as she was too afraid to swallow.

I don’t want to do this, but I fucked up.

“Noah,” Ruffilo said through gritted teeth, “We need to go,” he placed a hand on top of my gloved one, in another attempt to have me lower the bad decision.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut in contemplation as my chest heaved, the voice of rationality fighting against the voice of destruction.

You’ve never been able to kill anyone before you moron, why do you think this time will be any different?

My eyes snapped open, leathered finger dancing along the trigger as I stared at her. My teeth barred through chapped lips, a snarl of frustration crawling from my throat as the woman's eyes turned away in fear; as if watching her demise would kill her.

Seeing her in complete terror left me broken. Is this who I am?

The next thirty seconds passed as though I was walking through molasses, my thoughts battling contradictions before I audibly screamed in frustration, shoving the gun back into my pocket as Nicholas and I ran towards the van.

“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming the car door as forceful as possible. The tires squealed in place, burning out as Jolly’s foot pounded onto the gas pedal.

I ripped off my ski mask, throwing it angrily onto the floor of the vehicle.

“You should’ve just left her Noah. Now if they find us we could be charged with assault with a weapon.” The deep Swedish accent was the last thing I wanted to hear. He eyed me sternly in the rearview mirror, and I lingered on his gaze for a moment before turning my head towards the window.

“Oh Fuck off Jolly,” I sighed angrily, closing my eyes as my breathing quickened, the anxiety beginning to set in. The pounding of my heart began to vibrate along my entire chest, and my leg bounced in anticipation, waiting for the panic to subside.

I kept justifying to myself that we’re all dead anyway, so what’s the difference between a God and a loaded gun?

The van sped through the city's veins, a blur of neon and shadows. I felt Ruffilo's eyes digging into me, a mix of disappointment and concern as he watched my tapping fingers against the plastic of the car door. Another fuck up added to the list.

The silence in the vehicle was deafening, broken only by the occasional honk of a distant car or the screech of tires against wet asphalt.

"We need to lay low for a while," Jolly's voice cut through the tension. "I know a place on the outskirts we can hang out at ‘till everything cools down. It’s not pretty, but it'll do."

I nodded absent-mindedly, my thoughts still with the woman we'd left behind. Her terrified eyes haunted me, a stark reminder of the monster I was becoming. Or perhaps had always been.

As we drove further from the city center, the buildings grew more dilapidated, the streets emptier. The grey world outside mirrored the turmoil that had taken over my thoughts, reminding me of the emptiness that seemed to follow me everywhere.

+++++

Y/N

I tied the grey apron around my waist and punched in for my shift. With my hair pulled back into a low bun, I tucked away any stray strands of my bangs. Another day at work, feeling like it was all just slipping away, lost to the endless cycle of capitalism.

Overall, I enjoyed my new job working in the coffee shop. The city was busy, something I wasn’t used to, but the cafe was a comforting environment filled with tasty pastries, and an unlimited amount of caffeine to fulfill any heart's desire.

I sighed as I checked on the coffee pots, organizing them before nearly lining the glass display with more cakes and croissants. Stocking up the cups and lids, I hummed to myself, letting my mind wander into my corporate daydream distractions.

Why are you never real?

Whenever you appear

You leave me with that grace

I am trembling with fear

But I know that you will disappear

“How’s it going Y/N?” My coworker asked, smiling, pulling me out of my trance.

Annika; I have grown quite fond of her, even though I’ve only known her a week.

“Good,” I smiled, pulling a sanitized cloth out of a bucket and wiping down the counters, “yourself?”

“Oh you know, same old same old.” She said, sighing with a sad smile. I matched her as we shared a moment of familiarity, before concentrating again on wiping the surface, the cold cloth running along the faux marble. 

The seating area was bustling with activity; friends catching up, students poring over their notes, and business meetings taking place. I loved observing the vibrant energy that each person brought into the space. A smile formed on my lips as I watched the familiar elderly couple, whom I had seen every morning this week, bid farewell.

I gave a nod to Lauren and Ray as I said goodbye, then made my way to the empty tables. I began wiping them down, ignoring the sound of the door ringing as more people entered. I hummed softly to myself, lost in thought. It had only been three weeks since I left my old life behind, and this was just the start of my newfound freedom.

So let's make trouble in the dream world

Hijack heaven with another memory now

I make the most of the turning tide

It just split what's left of the burning silence

“Sleep token?”

Suddenly, a man's voice interrupted my thoughts and I snapped out of my daze. My face heated up with embarrassment as I realized that Annika must have gone to assist another customer. I quickly apologized and avoided eye contact as I tossed the cloth into the bucket and rushed back to the register.

I glanced nervously at the buttons in front of me, mentally preparing to either hit to go or to stay, as I waited for the man's response. But when my eyes met his deep brown gaze, I was instantly lost in the intensity and mystery within them. My lips parted slightly as I stared at him, feeling a rush of infatuation that warmed my cheeks. His dark chocolate eyes were framed by long, tousled brunette hair that fell just below his collarbone. His arms and neck were adorned with colourful tattoos, giving him an alluring look. And when he smiled, it was almost enough to make my knees weak; the crinkles around his eyes and the lines of his smile were captivating.

However, there was something else lurking behind those intense eyes, and my mind couldn't help but want to uncover it.

He returned my gaze, his eyes carefully taking in every detail of my face. A light blush crept along his nose, making its way across to the top of his cheekbones.

"So, is it to go or to stay?" I stuttered, breaking eye contact and quickly looking away. I could feel the heat rising to my ears and I focused all of my attention on the counter in front of me; trying to act casual but feeling a wave of shyness wash over me as I glanced up at him.

"To go, please," he replied, and his voice was like music to my ears with its slight Virginian accent.

In all my years working in retail and serving, I had never been so captivated by a customer before. There was something about this stranger that intrigued me; a mystery waiting to be discovered. "Just a black coffee, please," he said slowly, almost as if he was unsure.

I let out a shy laugh, “Did you want cream or sugar? Or we have a variety of syrups-” I watched as he smiled, before shaking his head, eyes remaining fixated.

“No, black is fine,” he replied. Something about his gaze, like the colour of October leaves, drew me in and held my attention as time seemed to stand still. As if invisible strings were connecting us, pulling me towards his magnetic presence that I couldn't seem to resist.

“Alright then,” I nodded, feeling a bit flustered as I avoided his stare, “is that all for you?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, digging through his wallet before handing me a bill.

“Can I have your name?” I asked shyly, looking back at him and trying to read his face for any clues about who he really was. Sometimes a name can reveal more than words ever could.

“Noah,“ he said, giving a slight nod and tight smile.

“Noah,” I echoed.

I pivoted on my heel and made my way over to the coffee maker, picking up a cup and filling it with the warm liquid.

Annika slinked up beside me, lightly bumping into my arm. "That's Noah," she whispered, nodding towards him, "He used to come here all the time, but he hasn't been around lately. He's always in a gloomy mood."

I glanced at her, unsure of how to respond.

"And he usually takes his coffee with cream and sugar, so it's interesting to see him trying something new." Annika turned her head slightly, observing the boy for a moment before leaning in closer to me. "Maybe it's because he's so distracted by you that he forgot his usual order."

A tinge of warmth spread across my face as I dismissed the idea with a scoff, "Yeah, right." But out of curiosity, I couldn’t help but glance over at the brunette behind the counter. Just as I suspected, he was discreetly watching us but quickly looked away when our eyes met.

"You should give him your number," Annika whispered mischievously before walking away to assist another customer.

I chuckled softly as I closed the lid and slid a sleeve onto the cup. My hand hovered over the sharpie, wondering if I should do it.

I shook my head gently, shaking away the thought before scribbling his name across the top of the plastic.

"Noah," I said, his name escaping my lips like a delicate sigh. It felt so natural as if he had been the one to breathe it into me.

His inked fingers wrapped around the cup, “You were singing the apparition earlier,” He said, and I watched him curiously, “fascinating, the line about the past.”

Every word felt like it was being taken from my body as we watched each other. Both of us seemed to hesitate, waiting for the other to say something.

The brunette spoke first, eyes gazing upon me for a moment as he turned towards the door, “I’ve never seen you before, you must be new around here.”

Though I wanted to reply, I found myself unable to move or speak. Instead, I fixated on each of his movements as he approached the door, the image of his black hoodie imprinted in my mind.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood," he said with a nod before exiting through the door, the bell chiming behind him.

I stood there, frozen, watching the door long after it had closed behind him. My heart raced, and I could feel a flush creeping up my neck. What was it about this stranger that had me so flustered?

"Earth to Y/N," Annika's voice snapped me back to reality. "You okay there? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I blinked rapidly, trying to regain my composure. "I'm fine," I mumbled, though I wasn't entirely sure that was true. "It's just... did you see him? The way he looked at me?"

Annika grinned knowingly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Oh, I saw alright. And I told you to give him your number, didn't I?"

I groaned, leaning against the counter. "I know, I know. I just... froze. God, why am I such an idiot?”

Annika smiled at me, kneading her fingers into my skin sympathetically. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Besides, he seemed pretty interested in you too. He’ll be back, he always comes here."

I sighed, straightening up and trying to shake off the lingering effects of the encounter. "Maybe. I just... I don't know what came over me. It was like time stopped for a moment there."

"That's called chemistry, sweetie," Annika winked. "And from where I was standing, there was plenty of it."

I busied myself with wiping down the counter, trying to distract myself from the memory of Noah's intense gaze.

But as the day wore on, I found my mind drifting back to those few moments. The way he mentioned the apparition as if he'd been paying attention to me long before I noticed him. As if he was the one to plant the lyrics into my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Noah than met the eye.

As closing time approached, I found myself glancing at the door more frequently, half-hoping he might return. But the bell remained silent, and soon enough, Annika and I were wiping down tables and stacking chairs.

"Why don't you head out early, I can finish up,” She said, wiping her hands on the apron tied to her waist.

I gave her a small smile, appreciating the gesture, “I’d love that. Especially since I have to be at the bar tonight.”

“Go,” she waved me off, and I gave her a nod, gathering my bag.

As I stepped out into the cool evening air, I couldn't shake the way his eyes had locked with mine, the subtle rasp in his voice - it all replayed in my mind like a broken record. Was I going crazy? What was wrong with me?

I shoved my hands in my pockets and started the short walk to my condo, my footsteps echoing on the quiet street. The sky was a canvas of deep pinks and oranges, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon at its 5 pm descent.

It was beautiful, but I barely noticed it, too lost in my thoughts.

Suddenly, a familiar figure caught my eye across the street. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the black hoodie and inked fingers. Noah. He was walking in the opposite direction, his head down, seemingly lost in thought.

I hesitated, my feet rooted to the spot. Should I call out to him? Cross the street? The moment stretched out, feeling like an eternity as I debated what to do. Before I could make a decision, Noah looked up and our eyes met once again.

Time seemed to slow as we stood there, frozen on opposite sides of the street, and a car passed between us, momentarily breaking our connection. When it cleared, I saw the brunette take a hesitant step towards the crosswalk.

My heart pounded in my chest as he made his way across the street. I remained rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak as he approached.

"We meet again," Noah said softly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hi," I managed to squeak out, inwardly cringing at how breathless I sounded.

"I, uh, I wanted to thank you for the coffee earlier," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was really good. Although I forgot to ask for cream and sugar.”

I felt a flutter in my chest at his words. "Oh, I'm sorry about that," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I usually remember to ask."

Noah shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. "No, no. It's not your fault. I was... distracted."

The way he said it, with a hint of shyness in his voice, made my heart race even faster. We stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between us, filled with nervous energy.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," I finally said, extending my hand.

He took it, his touch sending a jolt through my body as his fingers wrapped around my own. "Noah. But you already knew that."

Well, I believe,

Somewhere in the past,

Something was between,

You and I, My dear

Noah’s gaze met mine, our eyes searching for any unspoken words. But he broke the silence with a blunt question: "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

His unexpected inquiry caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but give him a dumbfounded look, my eyebrows furrowing in shock. Slowly, a smile of disbelief spread across my lips and I tilted my head to look at him. A laugh escaped me and he joined in, his own laughter shy and reserved.

"I...I think you should walk by again," I managed to say between giggles, mustering a quick retort. "But only so I can get another glimpse of what you would look like walking towards me on a date." As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed at how cheesy they sounded, but Noah's smile widened at our playful banter.

“So, I’ve gathered that we are both really terrible at flirting,” He said, licking his lips.

I hummed in agreement, “I think that can be a safe deduction from this one-minute conversation,” my eyes following his fingers that now ran through his long chestnut hair, eyes trailing over the flower on the back of his hand, “maybe, you’d like to see how bad a longer conversation could be?” 

I held out my phone, ready to exchange numbers and Noah's eyes lit up at my suggestion, a hint of mischief dancing in them as another smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that," he said softly, passing me his phone as we shared each other’s informatoin. "Very much."

We stood there for a moment, both of us grinning like idiots before I remembered my shift at the bar. "Oh, shoot," I muttered, glancing at my phone. "I have to get to my other job soon."

Noah's face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered. "Right, of course. I wouldn't want to keep you."

I bit my lip, not wanting our encounter to end just yet, “But we could take a walk before I have to go?”

Noah's face brightened at my suggestion. "I'd love that," he said, falling into step beside me as we started walking down the sidewalk.

The setting sun cast long shadows across the pavement, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead. We walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, stealing glances at each other when we thought the other wasn't looking.

"So," Noah began, breaking the silence, "you work at a coffee shop and another place? Busy schedule."

I nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Yeah, it can be hectic sometimes, but gotta do whatcha gotta do…You mentioned earlier that you've never seen me before. Are you a regular at the café?"

Noah nodded, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. "Yeah, I usually stop by every morning…a little bit of stability and sameness in my life.”

“You don’t find that sameness boring?”

Noah shook his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Not at all. There's comfort in routine, you know? But..." he paused, glancing at me with a soft smile, nudging towards me, "I'm not opposed to a little excitement now and then."

I felt my cheeks warm at his words, and I couldn't help but smile back. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

We strolled on, our shoulders grazing occasionally. The slight touch sent shivers through my body every time.

"I was just listening to this song by Deftones you might enjoy," he said as we walked aimlessly down the street without a plan, “Considering you like sleep token.”

"Can I try to guess?" I looked up at Noah, who stood tall above me. Despite his lanky frame, I felt small next to him and my heart raced at our closeness. With each of his strides, it felt like I had to take three steps, his Dior cologne filling my senses.

Why are you never real?

The shifting states you follow me through

Unrevealed

Just let me go or take me with you

"Is it sex tape?" I asked and Noah gave me a big grin, clearly impressed.

"I have no idea how you guessed the exact song," he chuckled, looking at me curiously.

"What can I say," I shrugged, "I'm good at reading pretty boys' minds. And it's a great song, similar vibe."

He playfully raised an eyebrow at me as we reached the crosswalk. "So you think I'm pretty?"

I watched the other side of the street and smiled as I hummed, "Well, I don't think I'd spontaneously go out with just anyone….For the record, 100 percent my type,” I said, looking at him through my lashes.

Noah's cheeks flushed with colour once again. "And what exactly is your type? I'll keep an eye out for them, just for you."

I thought about it for a moment, biting my lip. "Well, they tend to be hot brunettes with long hair and brown eyes," I trailed my gaze down his body, taking in his hands before looking back up to see the snake tattoo peeking above his hoodie collar, "and they must have tattoos...in variousplaces."

A deeper shade of red coloured Noah's cheeks. "Well, I do have tattoos in various places, if you ever feel curious."

I laughed, watching him. We stared at each other for a moment longer, my heart pounding, as his eyes devoured me before the beeping of the sidewalk timer pulled my attention away from him.

“I have to admit, this is probably the strangest thing I’ve ever done,” I confessed, shaking my head in disbelief as we walked along the park path.

“What do you mean?” Noah asked, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets as he looked between me and the path ahead.

"Going on a ‘date’ with someone I know nothing about," I started, trying to keep things light. "For all I know, you could be a serial killer."

Noah chuckled. "Valid point. This wasn't exactly how I expected to spend my Tuesday evening either, but I do find a dash of danger titillating.” 

I grinned at him. "So you're not a serial killer then?"

"Not that I know of. Pretty sure that's not something I would get enjoyment from," Noah laughed, but I noticed he looked away, eyes becoming distant.

“So who are you then?” I asked as Noah and I followed each other down the park path towards the neighbourhood. The wind was picking up slightly, causing me to shiver and pull my sleeves over my hands, fingers intertwining together in my hoodie pouch. We were walking along a path by the inner city river, the leaves of the birch trees swaying as they danced along to nature’s beat.

As I strolled next to Noah I felt an odd sense of comfort, despite knowing absolutely nothing about the man beside me. I eyed him, his hair flying behind him, eyes squinting through the wind.

Noah seemed to ponder my question for a moment, his eyes scanning the water beside us. "I'm just a guy trying to figure out his place in the world, I guess," he said, “I don’t know who I am.”

As the river rushed by, his words hung in the air, washing away memories of the city and carrying them through the earth in a predetermined path.

"Sometimes I feel like a lost soul," He said softly, his eyes distant as if lost in thought.

I nodded, understanding his sentiment. "I think we all do at times."

Noah let out a low chuckle, pulling himself back to reality. "There's much more to your story though," he prodded.

I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to deflect his question. "I suppose everyone has a past."

He looked at me intently, pulling his hoodie over his head to shield himself from the wind. "What's yours? You're not from around here."

I arched an eyebrow, curious about how he had determined this information. "How did you know?" I inquired.

"Your accent," he replied with confidence. "And I haven't seen you around before. I'm pretty familiar with the area."

"Ah, makes sense." I nodded, amused by his observation. "I just moved here from Canada."

"You left the Great White North for this dump of a city?" Noah scoffed, surprised. "You could have gone anywhere in the world, and you chose LA?"

"They call it the City of Dreams," I defended with a shrug. "Plus, I needed to get as far away as possible."

Noah fell silent for a moment, deep in thought. We continued our walk in silence towards the houses.

"Running away from something?" He finally asked, barely above a whisper. Noah's eyes met mine as he tried to read me for an answer.

I let out a sigh, giving him a small smile. "Always."

"Who or what?" Noah prodded further, leaning in with interest.

"Ghosts, demons," I joked, trying to lighten the mood. "And people too."

We shared a laugh, our voices blending into a beautiful melody that I never wanted to end.

"I left everything behind - everything I've ever known," I began, but turned my head away to avoid his gaze.

I took a deep breath before admitting, "My parents were killed when I was thirteen."

Usually, people would immediately apologize and offer their condolences, but Noah remained silent, letting me continue.

"After that, I bounced around different foster homes because no one wants to take in a teenager."

Noah hummed, encouraging me to keep talking. We strolled down the sidewalk, passing houses as we neared my own. I couldn't help but stare at it as we passed by, but I quickly focused on the path ahead.

"Unfortunately, I fell in with the wrong crowd and ended up involved with some really bad people who only wanted me for what I could give them," I said with a hint of bitterness. "But I worked my ass off to get out, and now I have my own place in an entirely new part of this earth."

I smiled at the brunette, feeling grateful for his willingness to listen. He returned the smile and gave me a knowing look, almost as if he understood.

Noah's attention turned toward the houses we passed. His gaze was intense as he scanned each one carefully.

"Sorry for dumping all that on you," I said with an uncomfortable laugh. "I don't know why I just told all that to a stranger."

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "We're not strangers anymore," he said. "More like acquaintances."

I felt reassured by his words and couldn't help but ask about him. "So what about you? You seem pretty mysterious."

Noah fell into silence, his brows furrowed in thought once again. His gaze scanned the grass intently as if searching through memories. Eventually, he turned back to me with a small grin.

“I’m…just Noah,” He said; but as I stared into his eyes, devouring his soul, I saw that he was much more than that. His eyes held a depth of emotion that hinted at hidden truths and untold tales. But I didn't push. After all, we had only just met.

"Well, 'just Noah,'" I said with a playful smile, "I'm glad our paths crossed today."

He returned my smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Me too. More than you know."

chapter two

+++++

Tags: @crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

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@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

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@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[alicerosejensen]

Mistake

Warning: death of the reader; indirect mention of Leon's infidelity.

This is a re-posting since my account was blocked on the same day I posted this.

It was a mistake to let you go alone. It was a mistake to believe that a stupid trip would end well and you would return to his house unharmed. And that was his mistake.

Leon holds you in his arms and the noble ladies from the old portraits look disapprovingly at the one he dared to save. You can feel his firm grip on your hip and under your armpit as he carries you to the evacuation site with a pale, cold-blooded face down which tears are flowing. What should he feel besides the searing pain in his chest from just your bloody appearance? Through the veil you hear his strangled wheeze and quiet orders not to dare to die. His fingers dig deeper into your once tender skin when you feel the cool breeze blowing under your dirty white shirt, the only thing left for you besides underwear. The hair was tangled because of blood and dirt, but for Leon it was all so unimportant. He kept carrying you to save you, promising himself that you wouldn't die.

Not having the strength to scream, you would like to regret your last stupid quarrel because of which you left him because of the influx of stupid jealousy. But you just didn't have the strength to go back to your sad life anymore. Leon's jacket still warmed your body, but the stopped heart suggested that you left this world plunging into a dark space, black as the night itself, thickened in the sky where there is no longer any heat, heat, pain or abyss.

It's a nice strange feeling when death enchants you.

And now you are like a fallen petal of a rare flower, floating between the seasons. If either of you understood each other well, you and Leon would never have parted. But when Leon, after a few shouts of your name, squeezes you in his arms, he realizes that you have gone limp… his heart stops.

You left him alone. Sad and lonely.

"Don't you dare die!" Leon is screaming out of breath, trying to get your heart to beat again. As if, having heard him somewhere from the outside, you felt such pity for him. He put so much effort into finding and saving you. All the last few months of imprisonment were like a requiem before a fateful finale without a happy ending. Leon hugs you to his chest, trying to share his warmth; kisses your thin wrists and dirty face to return to your embrace and kind love. This feeling of hopelessness in his chest was never like what he experienced when Simmons attacked Ada.

He realized that he had lost you.

"Sweetheart" Leon tucked his blood-soaked hair behind his ear. Your hand is in his. Sticky and cold where the wrist does not feel the pulse. "forgive me..."

It was your ticket to hell. With all these terrifying bloody rides for a stupid girl who knows how to hold a gun, just because at the beginning of the relationship Leon took the liberty of taking you to the shooting range. No physical or psychological training. Even if you hadn't died, your brain would have turned into a recurring nightmare for the rest of your life. Fortunately, like any attraction, everything tends to end, and the road to hell led you to the gates of paradise with a white ocean, cool water and complete silence where a small flimsy boat was ready to take you to the other shore.

To your personal paradise. In which there are no mutated monsters, no blood, no pain from wounds, no deaths, no Leon Scott Kennedy, who previously broke your heart.

You've seen enough to make the desire to live leave you, but Leon kept trying to make your heart beat with useless indirect heart massage. You went to the deep bottom, as if she had never been with him and did not love him. Leon's tears are dripping on your cheeks, laying clean paths, washing away dirt and blood from you. The human brain lives for about five minutes after death and your precious seconds are almost running out. This man tore you into a thousand pieces and now he's holding you to him, but it should have been done before. The eternal scarlet sunset would never have caught up with you if the day before your trip and on the day of the quarrel Leon grabbed you in his arms, chaining you to him with hot hugs without letting you go anywhere.

This horror could have been prevented.

But when you were thrown like a mangy puppy, he cherished his love for Ada Wong. No one knows what happens in those last moments when the soul leaves the body, but that very last second of your life without hearing or seeing him, you wanted him to be as hurt as you were when you found out the truth.

One single second before your feet dipped into the water and you got into the boat, and your wish was fulfilled…

You died in the middle of the night, despite the fact that you loved him very much anyway. Every creature has a mate but you don't have anything else. Let anyone but you be Leon's mate from now on. Before that ill-fated quarrel, you could even die for him, only Leon would quickly move away from your unnecessary sacrifice.

How monsters surrounded you from all sides and the light of your soul was extinguished forever. Then why did you continue to love his light half-smile and the expensive suit in which you first met him until the end? It is always cold outside, but inside of which sabantuy is raging. Leon is a man who often contradicted himself and you're just unlucky that he didn't dare to push you away.

There was no point in saving you anymore, but Leon continued to carry your body, pressing it closer to him, as if you were just unconscious and his legs were failing him, as if you were an unbearable burden, although before he always carried you lightly in his arms. He won't have a chance at redemption and he'll always live with the guilt of your death. But if you were alive, Leon thinks that you would be sarcastic to him right now, like Ada would be able to comfort him. And Leon is angry even though he knows it's stupid. You're silent in his arms.

He doesn't care how dirty you are. He kisses your face, squeezing your wrists tightly and for some reason trying to warm you up. His lips will imprint a kiss between eyes, temples, cheeks and lips themselves, leaving him a salty taste of blood. Leon catches you comfortably so that his jacket does not fly off you. your face is pressed against his shoulder, but he's not looking anymore. He thinks that maybe there will be a first aid kit in the helicopter from which there will be no sense. And even when they're taken away, Leon doesn't give you to anyone. He strokes your hair, begging the medic in his team to do something, but she looks at him with an indifferent look and then at the gaping wound on your chest and is silent, realizing that their captain has in fact already brought a corpse.

But in the end, you still end up in a corpse bag where they put you right away, taking you out of Leon's hands. No matter how he tried to take you back, he was not allowed. You didn't have time to see the sunlight and Leon feels like he let you down. Did not save. Shouted at the doctors, shouted at those who without regret stuffed you into this black cloth with a lock hiding from him like those scoundrels who ruined you. And then when everyone cooled down, he was simply confronted with the fact.

If dead, then the body belongs to forced sterilization.

But Leon won't even get your ashes... as if you kept torturing him while he drowned his pain in a bottle, breaking all the glasses. He kept your chiffon scarf close to him on purpose so he could smell you. His weakness... he just wanted you around again.

And all because of one damn mistake he made.

[mochegato]

Devil of the Narrows

Marinette burst through the door, pulling a bubbling Adrien behind her.  “So smart.  So sexy.  That dress…” he paused to picture it and got lost for a few seconds.  “My heart can’t handle it.”

“Go on,” Marinette purred, “tell me more.”

Out of the fog filled abyss, a deep voice floated toward them.  “I would very much appreciate if you didn’t.”

Marinette let out a small scream and jumped away from the ledge just a bit further than Adrien who jumped then immediately lowered into a defensive position and glared at the edge, prepared for whatever came over the side.  When nothing happened for a few long seconds, they looked at each other apprehensively and back to the edge, not wanting to take their eyes off the threat for too long.

Finally, Adrien bobbed his head toward the door back to the building and safety, but Marinette scrunched her nose and removed her shoe, wielding it like a bat as she inched toward the edge of the building.  Adrien groaned quietly, dropping his head back in annoyance, but followed her grudgingly.  If she was going to try to threaten someone with a shoe, the least she could do was have a stiletto on, at the very least a platform shoe, something with a bit of weight or a sharp heel, not a flat.

When they got to the ledge, he held up three fingers, slowly lowering them one at a time until they were all dropped and they poked their heads over the edge, freezing at the sight.  Whatever they were expecting to see on the other side of the ledge, a man, clearly one of the vigilantes, sitting back against a rather macabre looking gargoyle and eating a burger was not it.

Alya would never forgive Marinette for not knowing which of the vigilantes it was.  He was obviously one of the bats, because there was a rather large red bat splayed across his broad, armored chest.  She just couldn’t tell which one it was. There were like twenty of them.  It was hard to keep track.

What she could tell was he was easily as large as her papa, which meant he would absolutely tower over her if he stood and could knock her out with one punch if he decided to get violent.  He was probably an amazing vigilante.  She couldn’t imagine anyone seeing him and wanting to continue whatever felonious activity they were committing rather than running away as quickly and cowardly as possible.

“What the f…” Adrien muttered.

“Who are you?  What are you doing up here?” Marinette called out before she could stop herself.

“How did you get up here?” Adrien added, more rhetorically than actually expecting an answer.

He gave them a flat look and held up a grappling gun in one hand and his burger in the other.  “Saving the day makes you hungry.”  He motioned toward her with his burger.  “Is that a shoe?  What were you planning on doing?  Cobbling me to death?”

Marinette slowly turned to her arm, seemingly as surprised as them to see it still upraised and ready to throw.  She looked away as she lowered her arm, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as she lowered it and put it back on her foot.  “I used what I had.  It’s not like we were expecting to have to defend ourselves while on top of a skyscraper,” she grumbled.  “We were expecting it to be creepy but deserted like it usually is.  We were not expecting any cryptids skulking on top of buildings.”

He ran his tongue over his canine and clicked it as he studied her.  “Didn't mean to disturb your make out session.  But please... do not ignore me and continue.  In fact, feel free to go somewhere else for that.  I’d prefer you not besmirch my favorite spot and desecrate my friend to your depraved behavior.”

“We were not coming up to make out!” Marinette exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch and volume.

“Besmirch?” Adrien asked.

The man gave her an exceptionally unimpressed look and kept eye contact as he took another bite.  “We weren't!” she insisted in utter affront.  “We were coming up to discuss the best approach to him asking out his crush, if you must know.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked between the two of them.  “I did not.”

"Interesting that you thought he did," Adrien noted, his mouth quirked up in an amused smirk.

Marinette gave him a wide-eyed, pointed look.  “Shut.  Up,” she hissed.

“But, just do it.”  The vigilante leaned forward, bringing his face into a sliver of light cast by the roof lights.  “You’re probably overthinking it.  It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture or choreographed.  The result is almost definitely going to be the same whether you do something over the top or simple and simple is almost always from the heart, which is usually appreciated.”

“Yes!” Marinette exclaimed.  She motioned toward the vigilante.  “See?  I tol…”  She turned back to him instantly, trying to make sure she was seeing what she thought she saw.  “Are you… are you wearing a scarf as a mask?”

He leaned back into the shadows.  “…Yeah.  Gotta protect the identity, sweetheart.”

She continued to stare at him incredulously for a few more moments.  “Who are you supposed to be?  Daredevil?”

He scrunched his nose and bobbed back in surprise.  “Who?”

Adrien leaned over the ledge and quirked his head to the side to check him out from a better angle.  “Charlie Cox was hotter.”

She quirked her head to the side in exact imitation of Adrien to study the vigilante.  After a moment she shook her head and glanced back at Adrien.  “That is objectively false… but very funny.”

The vigilante leaned forward again; face scrunched in annoyance.  “Who the f…”  He jumped up instantly when the skyline was rocked with an explosion.  “Get home,” he ordered firmly as he pulled out his grappling hook.  “And ask them out.  Life is short,” he added just before he jumped into the void.

><><><><><><><><>< 

The aftermath of the explosion kept the entire team busy for the next few days; chasing down leads, tracking henchmen, finally capturing the Penguin, returning him to Arkham again, and keeping a heavy watch on other criminals trying to take advantage of the distraction.  So it was a while before he was able to return to his spot, but as soon as he settled in, full meal in hand, a voice floated over to him.

“Daredevil!  You're back.”

He let out a long sigh and shook his head as though his lips weren’t already quirking up in amusement.  “This is my spot.”

There were a few moments of silence during which he was able to take his first bite before he looked up to meet her arched eyebrow.  “I've been coming up here every night for the past few weeks.  You’ve only been here once. This is not your spot.”

“I've been coming up here since I was 13,” he scoffed, cheeks puffed out from his bites of hotdog.  “This is my spot.”

“That seems like you abandoned it,” she shrugged.  “I found it, nurtured it.  So now it's my spot.”

He narrowed his eyes and pointed his hotdog at her.  “I was on a mission.  And I didn't abandon it.”  He motioned behind himself.  “It was being watched over until I returned.”

She hummed and examined him closely, eyes skimming him over from mask to boot before returning to meet his eyes with an accepting nod.  “Glad it turned out well...I guess.  It was a good thing, right?  Your mission helped not the jerks?”

He snorted a laugh, almost spitting out half his hotdog.  “Yes.  The mission was to stop some very bad guys.”  He leaned toward her with a smirk.  “And we succeeded.”

She smiled back but then let her gaze drift to the skyline, allowing them to sit with each other in silence, only the wind whispering between them for a while before she returned her attention to him.  When he’d finished with his first hotdog, a self-satisfied grin spread across his lips.  “You just going to keep staring at me?  I mean if you do, I understand.”

Instead of scoffing or stuttering like he had expected, she cocked her head to the side.  “I don’t understand,” she stated, motioning toward him.

He looked down at his armor and especially the bat emblem on his chest and nodded in understanding.  “Not everyone understands becoming a vigilante.”

“Oh no, that I understand,” she waved him off like the assumption was ridiculous.  “I mean,” she motioned toward him again, or more specifically, motioned toward his head, “it doesn’t make sense.  It’s contradictory vibes.  You have,” she motioned toward his suit.  “And then you have,” she motioned more pointedly toward his head.

“Like,” she indicated his suit, “high tech,” she indicated his scarf, “low tech.”  She pointed to his suit, “impeccably made,” his scarf, “I think the person was drunk,” his suit, “thoroughly thought out,” his scarf, “I honestly think you might have just grabbed that as you ran past some tourist.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times until he finally huffed out a breath through his nose.  “I have a mask, you know.”

“You do?  Where is it?  Can I see it?” she demanded more than asked.  She was almost jumping in excitement as she looked all around him to try to catch a glimpse of it, only settling when he held it up for her to see.

“But as you can see, it doesn’t allow for things like eating or drinking.”  He looked at her from the side.  “Doesn’t really facilitate conversations either.”

She couldn’t stop the eyeroll she gave him.  “You’d hardly come up here if you wanted conversation.”

“Maybe I came up to converse with you.”  His smile was just on the right side of teasing, infectiously so.

Marinette shook her head with a brilliant grin.  “You said you’ve been coming here for years and a week ago was the only time you’ve seen me.”

“I’m an optimist,” he shrugged.

“You’re certainly something,” she chuckled as she looked away to collect herself.  When she looked back at him, her gaze was curious.  “I know why I come up here.  I work here and the roof is the only place to get away from people.  But why do you come here?  Why this spot, I mean.”

His grin shone even in the dim evening.  “Best gargoyle in the city right here,” he crowed, patting the gargoyle behind him.  “He kept me company many a night when I was a teen.  One of the best conversationalists I’ve ever met.”

She looked at him, amused by how proud he was of his gargoyle friend.  “So you did come up here for a conversation after all.  Should I leave so you two can get to it?”

He snickered and took a bite of his second hotdog.  “He is a marvelous conversation partner and listener,” he acknowledged.  “It might be hard for you to compete.”

“Not to ruin a friendship, but technically, that's a grotesque,” she corrected.  Her eyes were narrowed, but her voice teasing.   His eyes shot to her, lips pinched and brow scrunched in disapproval.  "Gargoyles have waterspouts.  That's where they got their name," she elucidated, adding in a gurgling sound to solidify her point.  "No waterspout means it's a grotesque.  Just a statue meant to look creepy."

He turned to look at the grotesque like it had personally betrayed him before returning attention to her.  “Expert huh?  That what you do?  Architecture?”  His voice was slightly grousey but still polite.

“No,” she acknowledged, “not an architect.”

He harumphed and finished the rest of his second hotdog in one bite.  “Not an expert then.  I’ll keep my faith in my friend.”

“Kind of an expert,” she shrugged as she tried to cover her snort at his boyish pout.  “From Paris so I know a thing or two about gargoyles and grotesques.”

He took a large bite of fries, chewing it noisily while shooting her a heatless glare.  “What do you do then?” he asked when he’d finally swallowed.  “You said you work here, yeah?”

“Graphic design.  I just started at an office on the 40th floor a few months ago,” she answered with a smile.

“Ahh, a tortured artist,” he nodded knowingly.

She gasped dramatically.  “I'm not tortured.”

“Pixie Pop, you chose to live in Gotham,” he pointed out, his voice and look both equally flat.  “You're tortured.”

“You run around in a poorly tied scarf and an attitude,” she groused.  “You're tortured.”

“Never said I wasn't,” he shrugged completely unbothered as he took a long drink of his soda.

They stayed in a comfortable silence for a while, the wind whistling quietly between them until Marinette finally broke the silence.  “You lied.  He’s a terrible conversationalist.  Hasn’t contributed at all.”

His snicker at her comment quickly become a full blown laugh, head thrown back, eyes closed and all making him miss her amused, contented smile at his reaction.  When he finally looked back at her, the portion of his face that was visible was bright.  “With all your criticisms of my mask, I almost expected you to say fashion designer.”

Her smile strained slightly and her eyes slid from his to the horizon.  “Once upon a time, another lifetime ago,” she answered flippantly.

He watched her, wanting desperately to get the story that was hiding there, but held himself back.  He was just going to have to keep visiting her until he felt like they knew each other well enough to ask her.  But until then, he needed a distraction.  “How's it going with blondie?  He man up and ask his crush out?”

All the light returned to her face.  Her lips eased into an excited smile.  “He did!  They're going on a date tonight!  You should have seen it.  He was freaking out after she said yes.  It's adorable.  But he took your advice, well, our advice because I told him the same thing, but he actually listened when you said it, to just ask her out and not overthink it.  Overthinking is my job.  His job is to look cute.  He keeps forgetting that.”

“Does he ever get upset you’re trying to take his job?” he asked before his brain caught up with his mouth.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, now wishing he still had one of his hotdogs he could shove in his mouth.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head.  “I couldn’t do his job, any of the jobs he’s done.  I love kids but I don’t think I could handle an entire classroom of them, and I definitely wouldn’t have been a good model.”

“Ohhh.  He was actually a…” he stopped mid-word and his hand flew to his ear.  “Copy.  I’ll get on it.  I’m only a few blocks away.”  He stood and shot her a two-finger salute, “Have a good night, Pixie Pop.”

She nodded.  “Be safe, Daredevil.”

He glared back at her over his shoulder, lips pursed into a thin line and maintained eye contact as he put his full face mask on with a harumph.  “You too, Pixie Pop.”

><><><><><><><><>< 

It didn’t take her long to do the exact opposite.  Less than two hours, in fact.  But it wasn’t her fault.  It was just Gotham.  It was bound to happen eventually.  And for Marinette, the inevitable happened on her walk home from work that night.

And, okay, maybe it was her fault a little bit, because she should have known better than to walk home so late at night, especially all alone.  But the time with Red Hood had pushed back her work until she had to stay late to get to where she needed to be on the project.  But in her defense, most muggers could see she didn’t have any money and left her alone.  This one clearly wasn’t as bright as the others.

“We’re going to do this quick and easy, right, darling,” the man jeered.  His knife glinted in the streetlight.

It wasn’t nearly as scary as he thought it was and she didn’t have any money on her anyway, so this was really a wasted effort on all sides.  “It would have been quicker if you hadn’t started,” she droned.  “Do I look like I have money?”

Her skin crawled at the leering, lingering looks he was giving her.  “I can take it out in other ways.”

She wrinkled her nose and stepped back.  “Ew.  No.”

“It wasn’t a question.”  There was a menacing curve to his lips as he slowly stalked toward her.

“And yet you got your answer,” a deep, chilling voice crept from the shadows.

The man whipped around; knife poised to attack right up until he saw who stepped out.  As soon as the light hit Red Hood’s mask, the mugger held his hands up and backed away slowly.  “Hey man, nothing happened.  No need to…”

He tried to dart away mid-word but ended up running head first into Nightwing’s chest.  “There’s definitely a need to,” Nightwing responded smugly.  He grabbed the mugger by the jacket and tied him up quickly, stepping purposefully between Red Hood and the mugger.  “I’ll take him in,” he said pointedly, mistaking Hood’s anger for his general hatred toward anyone who preyed on women rather than fury over the mugger having threatened this particular woman.

“You make sure the civilian gets home safe.”  He didn’t bother to wait for Hood’s acknowledgement before he nodded toward Marinette and shoved the mugger toward the other end of the street.  “Have a good night, ma’am.”

“Thank you!” she called after him, but she kept her eyes on Red Hood as she spoke.  She continued to watch him as he examined her intently, his eyes running over her, lifting her arms to verify she wasn’t hiding anything.  “I’m okay,” she promised quietly.

After a few more moments of examination, he finally released her arms and motioned for her to lead, only moving when she started walking.  She snuck a peek at him from the corner of her eye until she couldn’t take the silence anymore.  It wasn’t a comfortable silence.  He was walking far too stiffly.  “Thank you, Daredevil.”

She could hear him let out a long, tortured breath before shaking his head.  But her comment had the desired effect.  His whole body relaxed and eased into a lighter gait.  “Not daredevil.”  He might have been trying for stern but didn’t make it.

“Debatable,” she shrugged, shooting him an easy smile.

He stopped walking to turn towards her and cross his arms over his chest, almost obscuring his red bat.  “It is not.  And you can thank me by calling me by my name.”

“Oh, please don’t give me your real name,” she sighed in mock exasperation.

“I meant ‘Red Hood’.”

“Red Hood…” she repeated slowly like she was feeling how the name sounded on her tongue.

“Red Hood,” he confirmed.

She quirked her head back and forth a few times examining his upper body.  “You call that a hood?  Shouldn’t it be like Red Mask or Red Scarf?”

“No, not like…” he flustered.  “Like Robin Hood.”

A dangerously excited smile spread on her lips.  “Please tell me you also have one of those hats, the,” she motioned vaguely around her head, “bycocket hats he supposedly wore.  He wouldn’t have, by the way.  That was just a Hollywood costume designer’s idea.”

He snorted and started walking again, almost chuckling as she fell into step beside him but only coming up to his shoulder.  “Sorry to break your heart but no.”

She pouted and slumped down.  “That’s unfortunate.”

“But,” he leaned toward her and she could feel the smile hidden beneath his mask, “my best friend did.”

She gasped and perked back up, eyes wide in excitement.  “No!”

“Yep.”

She was almost bouncing.  “Show me!”

He chuckled and shook his head.  “Let’s get you home and you can look it up yourself.  His name is Arsenal, but at the time he was called Speedy.”  They walked next to each other quietly for a full block, Marinette happily swinging her arms and shooting him covert looks every few seconds, Hood, unable to see her in his periphery due to the mask, looking over at her almost as frequently, before Marinette looked a bit too hard and ended up tripping.  Hood snorted at the show of clumsiness but instantly reached out to keep her from falling, not letting go until he could verify her shoes were firmly on the ground.  “So, what happened back there?”

She looked up at him, confusion clear on her face.  He was a vigilante in Gotham, surely an attempted mugging wasn’t an unfamiliar sight.  And his tone was far too teasing for it to be a straightforward question.  “Hmm?”

He nodded toward her feet.  “The guy came at you and yet both of your shoes are firmly on your feet.  What?  Are sneakers not as good weapons as flats?”

She barked out a laugh so loud the sound echoed off the buildings around them.  “You’ve seen Gotham streets.”  She gave a dramatic shiver.  “Rather be mugged than take off my shoes.”

Hood chuckled and shook his head.  “Fair.”

They continued walking again, the comfortable silence descending upon them for a few more steps until her racing heart demanded she speak.  “You know, usually, I get a date before someone walks me home.”

“Usually, you aren’t getting walked home by a vigilante,” he pointed out smugly but all his confidence dropped when Marinette snorted.  “What was that for?”

“Happens more often than you would think,” she snarked back.  His steps faltered slightly, and he whipped his questioning eyes to her.  “Heroes though,” she added as though lost in thought and turning to face him, though she gazed into space as she spoke, “not vigilantes, and back in Paris when Paris had heroes. They at least knew my name though.”

He scoffed.  “I know your name.”  She could feel his grin under his mask.  “Pixie Pop.”

She groaned and swung ahead of him.  “That’s what you’re sticking with, huh?”

“Unless you can give me something better,” he shrugged.

“Marinette.  My name is Marinette,” she replied.

“Marinette,” he repeated, almost reverently.  “Nice to meet you, Marinette.”

She had to stop walking before her knees gave out on her.  She somehow managed to turn to face him, eyes wide at that one word and the devotion he was able to convey even through the voice changer.  It took quite a few moments before she was able to recover enough to note where she was.  “Oh, this is me.”

She walked up the first few steps to her apartment building, knees still shaking slightly, but suddenly turned back toward Red Hood before he could step up, leaving them on the same level, which she took advantage of to lean forward and kiss him on the cheek of his mask.  “I can’t believe I miss the scarf,” she grumbled playfully as she looked up at him through her lashes.  “Thank you for walking me home.”

He nodded a bit dazed.  “Right, of course,” he agreed breathlessly.  He cleared his throat lightly and shook out his shoulders, continuing on with a lot more confidence.  “Wouldn’t be much of a vigilante if I let the fair citizens of Gotham get hurt.”

She hummed and rolled her eyes.  “Just business, huh?”

She was clearly being playful, but she was now leaning away from him like she was unsure, and he couldn’t have that.  He leaned into her space to whisper, “Maybe a bit more.”

She grinned.  “See you tomorrow at the grotesque?”

“I will never call him that…” he groused playfully for just a moment before brushing a strand of hair behind her shoulder, fingers brushing along her shoulder and upper arm before falling back by his side. “But yes.  It’s a date.  I’ll bring something to eat.”

“I’ll bring dessert and some wine,” she rasped, only able to form the words after swallowing thickly.

“Can’t wait,” he nodded and forced himself to take a step back.  “Have a good night, Marinette.”  He kept looking at her for another few moments before taking another step back and grappling away.

“Have a good night, Red Hood,” she whispered into the empty night.  She then twirled around with a squeal.  She had a dessert to overthink.  She was definitely going to have to have a group conversation to plan the perfect dessert and wine combination for a date with a vigilante.

Inspired by this image. Not even sure where the person got it from

[iliketangerines]

friends with benefits

a/n: you can find part one here

pairing: lyle wainfleet x afab!recom!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), orgasm denial, doggy style

you can’t fucking believe you’re in his dorm this time, fucking like rabbits after a particularly boring reprimand from General Ardmore about gun safety

your hands claw at the sheets as Lyle grips onto your hips, fucking into your from behind and smushing your face further into the sheets with each thrust

his cock bullies right into your sweet spot, making you whine and moan, and your pussy clenches around his cock tightly as he reaches one hand down to rub at your clit

he smirks down at you, reaching his other hand to tug at your tail, and you keen and arch your back further, a jolt of pleasure exploding in your head and making you see stars

Lyle laughs at the realization and tugs at the tail again, and you whine and jerk your hips back onto him, trying to get him to fuck you even deeper somehow

you pant into the sheets, hands gripping tightly onto his bedsheets and ripping holes into the sheets, serves him right being such a cocky bastard

your tail whips in the air as Lyle pulls at it one more time, using it as leverage to fuck into you, and it makes you let out a gasp and bite into the pillows

you’re hurtling toward the end of the cliff, ready to hop off and dive into the abyss of pleasure, and you can feel the familiar haze filling your head at the feeling

it’s so close, just within reach, but then Lyle pinches at your clit and stops fucking into you, just burying himself deep inside of you

irritation fills you almost immediately, your orgasm fading away, and you turn your head and hiss at him, asking why he had stopped, though you’re sure you don’t look nearly half as intimidating with your baby hairs plastered to your forehead and your hips covered in his finger-tipped shaped bruises

the cocky bastard looks at you and tilts his head, taking his hand on your tail and rubbing at the base of it with his fingers

your back arches into the touch instinctively, and curses fly from your mouth as a sort of fog fills your head, pleasure tingling up your spine and leaving you limp

he laughs at how submissive you grow in just such a short time and gives you a shallow thrust to knock you back into your senses

you blink away the haze and glare at him, and he mumbles under his breath that you’re such a spitfire but the grin on his face shows how much he loves it

giving you another shallow thrust to keep you on the edge of dissatisfaction and teasing, he asks if you two are just going to keep having ‘one night stands’

he’s having this conversation, now, while balls deep inside of you? you cannot believe his fucking nerve, and you growl at him and snap at him, asking why this couldn’t wait later

Lyle rolls his eyes, saying that you were just going to run off the second the both of you were finished, so why not have this conversation now, besides you look much prettier like this

his comment makes your ears flick in irritation at how right he was, you were just going to avoid him again after this quick fuck and then make another empty promise to yourself that you weren’t going to fuck him

you push back against him, fucking his cock deeper into you to make him groan, and you breathe out that you guys can be friends with benefits or situationship or whatever the fuck it is, just no strings attached

he smiles down at you and says perfect before starting his ruthless pace again, fingers rubbing at your clit in tight fast circles

the sudden onslaught of pleasure makes you whine and turn your head back into the sheets so that your sounds were muffled

your hands grip onto the sheets as you try to control yourself, trying not to seem too desperate as he fucks into your needy pussy

his cock bullies and stretches all the right places, and it feels like you can’t breathe as he brings you over the edge of teasing, plunging you into blinding hot pleasure as your orgasm rocks through you

it floods through you, bursting every bubble and filling every thought of yours as it wrecks your body, and you pant and whine into the pillows

your chest heaves as the pleasure ebbs away, and Lyle groans as he buries himself deep into you and cums, filling you with warmth

neither of you move for a moment, your tail lazily flicking as you ride the aftershocks of your high, and Lyle just moves his hands to knead at the plushness of your ass

but finally, as the reality of the situation sinks into your body, you growl at him to get off and push yourself up onto your shaky arms and crawl away from him

his cum drips out of your cunt, but you ignore the feeling and start to dress yourself, listening to how Lyle flops onto his own bed and shuffles around to stare at you

you roll your eyes as he props himself on his elbow and places his head in his hand and simply turn around as you pull on your t-shirt

his voice rumbles at he stretches himself out, reaching over to his drawer and pulling at the knob and then throwing you something

catching it, you look down at your hands and find the pair of panties that you had thrown at him and that he took last week

he smirks at you and says that he believes those belong to you, but he’s not sure, just has too many people come here with him

scoffing at him, you tell him that none of the other recoms wouldn’t even entertain the thought of being with him and open up the door to leave

you look back at him and say same time next week, but the slight lilt at the end of your sentence makes it sound more like a question

Lyle grins at you and says of course, dropping his voice to a low purr as his tail curls into the air behind him

one more time, you roll your eyes at his antics, feeling like they were about to fall out of your head at this point, and you shut the door behind you and walk back to your dorm

you two were only friends with benefits, no strings attached, nothing less, nothing more

[falling-star-cygnus]

...i've gotten four asks about this sorta thing -> which i'm super grateful for!! thank y'all so much for wanting to see more of my writing!!

i've just sort of been putting these specific ones off until i felt i could adequately display it and even now I feel iffy about the characterization, but I really didn't want to seem like i ignoring y'all either :( -> Masterlist

i have some semblance of a plot now, so... i sincerely hope you all enjoy? this might be the push i need to get out of my funk, and i put in the very best effort for all of you!!

"You were a WHAT?"

"Is now really the time to be surprised!?"

The Ethereal- they kinda looked like one the Ballerina Twins actually, if the Ballerina Twins had galactic glitchy orbs for heads and rainbow glowy nervous systems- warbles at them impatiently. Anby's barely keeping them at bay with her sword.

It's practically a toothpick compared to the giant weapon Thanatos was wielding... They raise their shield-

Billy fires.

It doesn't land, of course it doesn't, but the smaller Demara doesn't get bludgeoned either so the android counts it as a win.

Especially when the bullet ricochets off the sign previously behind the larger than necessary Ethereal and back towards him. Billy tilts his head left just in time to miss it, and pivots on his heel when Thanatos shrieks and flails back. Bullseye.

"It's showtime!" he announces, and lines The Girls up somewhere where their jaw would be. Only about six of the bullets- 12 in total, the android was counting- actually hit before they teleport away again.

Billy reloads.

None of them, except the Boss, used the right typing to properly take Thanatos on.. but there was little to be done until they could carve an escape route out.

The Hares' ready their weapons, turning in slow circles as they wait for Thanatos to appear again. Were they gone..? He knew better than to assume they were, of course, but-

"Billy- behind you!" Nekomata points; he whirls around.

And takes a blade to the head.

There's not much to say for this part, aside from pointing out how cliche and underhanded it was to get him from behind like this, but bits and pieces float around to the surface with just enough clarity to be worth mentioning.

The pavement cracking under the android's weight.

Sparks fluttering out of the cleaved out gash.

Thin oil leaking out of his head like a halo.

Isolation.

Billy stands in the inky abyss of his own mind. His memories- his memories of the Hares'- play out before him like a movie: braiding Anby's hair, putting Nicole's into pigtails, napping in the sun with Nekomata on his chest, warmth-

Fighting as a team, Anby helping him up, Nicole calling his name, the restaurant they all went to after successful raids, fighting alone, Being alone in that truck bed, sand clogging up his joints.

Chill.

The memories fade away, leaving the android with the stilted thought of:

Don't- take them.. from me.

Nothing.

Billy Kid wakes up, and points the nearest weapon- a gun, by the feel of it- at their forehead. The hands reaching for him still, too pale to be anybody from the Sons.

Calloused enough to be Caesar's, though, so they must be some form of blade user. Electric, if the Lichtenburg scars on their finger tips have any weight to them.

The android sits up, ignoring the stab of pain behind his right video processer. He could deal with that later, after figuring out where the actual hell he was. And dealing with whoever it was that moved him.

They're small, surprisingly so, but Lucy and Piper were also small so that didn't exactly mean anything of value. Brilliant white hair, amber eyes, and green and black tech wear.

And a backpack packed with enough thrumming energy to kill the Dead-End Butcher.

Definitely a threat.

Billy Kid doesn't lower the gun, even as he's sure the human's fleshy arms were getting tired of being raised. Or maybe they weren't. He knows their type, he's cut from the same cloth himself.

A weapon.

"Billy, d-"

"How do you know my name," he interrupts, praying to a god he didn't believe in that he wouldn't have to shoot someone so small, "and why are you only using part of it."

He was Billy Kid, the feared enforcer of the outer ring. The only people that occasionally just called him Billy were the other Sons of Calydon. Not strangers.

"We work together," his potential captor calmly says, lowering their hands by their sides, "We're friends. Partners in crime."

"The hell we are."

"We are," they insist.

He doesn't buy it. Billy Kid didn't have friends, he was an android. A weapon and tool for whoever his boss was. Big Sis, the drifters, whoever had him before that.

He cared about them all, more than he should considering what he was made for, but he wasn't built to receive that kind of care in return. Pain spikes behind his processer again, and his free hand instinctively moves to grasp at it.

The stranger jolts forward as the gun dips.

Billy Kid shoots on instinct, even as something like worry[?] coils the wires in his lower torso too tight. There's a click, but in the end nothing but dry fire. And relief[?]

Billy Kid curses at the opening he's provided, and braces himself for the inevitable attack. He doesn't know where the other gun was- because there had to be one, Burnice only ever made things in pairs- and..

Why did he assume Burnice made these...?

Small hands, calloused and scarred, gently- why was he being treated gently- bat his hand away from his video processor. The empty gun is sandwiched between them.

More carefully than he deserves for shooting at them, the stranger inspects something on his face, and the android swings his lanky legs over the side of- it looks like a cot[?] to make it easier for them.

"You took a bad hit to the head," they inform his forehead, only pulling away when Billy Kid starts to get twitchy at the proximity, "an Ionized - Thanatos. It most likely messed with your memory bank."

"Sounds convenient," he scoffs, lowering the gun to his side, "Most likely messed with my memory bank?"

"It definitely did, we were friends," the stranger presses, strangely insistent, "What's the last thing you remember?"

They take off their backpack as the android thinks back on it. Whether to prove they weren't a threat or gain his trust to attack later, he wasn't sure.

What he was sure of was the fact that the harder he thought about it the harder his head pounded. Everything dating up to the past year and six months was just- blank. Corrupted files that spat static and made him want to lie down for a while.

More than that, he felt... lonely, for some reason. Like a big chunk had been carved from his sternum and left to burn in front of him.

"Billy?"

"I don't remember you."

And oh. He'd take it right back if it meant that look never crossed their face again.

It's barely there for a second, but it's a look of pure hurt. Hurt that makes something close to guilt roar where his mechanical heart sat. He never wanted this stranger to look at him like that again.

He never wanted anyone to look at him like that, to be honest. Fighting was fun- it was what he was built for- and the thrill was something that almost nothing could replicate- but...

Flashes- memories- of Lucy and Piper flit through his head, images and phantoms of them tucked into his sides on warm days and colder nights. A rough hand carding through his hair.

...being sent.. off?

“I’m-”

The door cuts him off with a bang!

"What's taking so long!? Is he ok?"

"Nicole! Anby told us to wait-"

Long pink hair and calculating green eyes bully their way into the room. Something in his programming wants to stand at attention all of a sudden...

The stranger- the white-haired stranger, because now there were three- moves away from the confused android. It looks like they want to say something but apparently thinks better of it and turns towards Billy Kid.

"I don't think I should be the one to say it," they- the thiren said her name was Anby[?]- announce, with all the enthusiasm of a dry rock. Which seems to be her MO, endearingly enough. Endearingly?

The pink haired- Nicole puts her hands on her hips.

"Say what?" she demands, before turning her critical gaze onto the android, "Are you ok or not, Billy?"

Again, shortening my name... Who are these people?

"All systems are operational," he reports anyway, because despite her brash words she sounds worried, "Except my memory banks, apparently."

Side-eye.

Anby's nose just barely scrunches at his tone.

"What do you mean your memory banks?" Nicole prompts, gaze flicking between the two.

"He doesn't remember us."

The Cunning Hares freeze. Silence rules the small space they've tucked themselves into- which... kinda looks like a garage? A nice garage compared to whatever you'd find in the Outer Ring.

Much too nice to be anywhere close to the Outer Ring.

"Where did you take me?"

Nobody answers for a good while.

Until the thiren lets slip:

"...it's so weird to hear you talk like that.."

She shudders from her fluffy ears tips to the sleek finishes of her tails. Were they prosthetics? Why were they blue at the at the base-?

What was wrong with the way he talked?

And why didn't she answer his question-

"Not- not in a bad way!" the thiren is hasty to tack on, "you just... you don't sound happy anymore.."

...happy? He wasn't built to sound happy. He wasn't even supposed to talk much outside status reports and communications. Although- sure, the android often broke that somewhat unspoken rule when Piper and Lucy needed a bit more help to drift off at night, or when Burnice needed someone to bounce a new design off of, or if Lighter was talking about something that happened while he was out in shops, or-

...you got the idea. Caesar hadn't explicitly banned him from talking with the other Sons, not by a long shot, he just- didn't want to push it.

The silence surrounding the ragtag four stretches into something distinctly uncomfortable.

"That.. aside," Nicole- who he assumes is the Boss- eventually starts, "We.. ahem. We got your wound patched up just fine, but... we ended up needing some help to get you back here."

Billy Kid tilts his head.

It made sense, of course, he was an android made of reinforced metal. And while he didn't doubt the strength of these people- especially Anby- he had an itching feeling that their strength was.... not particularly rooted in the weight-lifting sense.

So who-?

"Well. This isn't exactly the reunion I was hoping for."

....there was no way.

Caesar, the Big Sis of the Sons of Calydon herself, walks through the- admittedly abused looking door. Billy Kid shoots to his feet.

And severely underestimates the refractory period required following the repair of a head wound. He stumbles.

A sturdy arm catches his middle with ease.

"Easy, Kid," Caesar reprimands, hauling him back to his feet, "There's no reason to do that, I'm not your boss anymore."

Her words are oddly quiet, as if the other three in the room weren't supposed to hear. Big Sis had always been good at that. Quietly being reassuring without being coddling.

That achingly hollow feeling returns.

From behind Caesar's large frame, he can see the Hares' lower their hands slowly. Their faces are oddly stormy..

Anby bullies her way between them.

"Quite the team you've found yourself, by the way," Caesar continues as if she hadn't, "I'd ask you to fill me in, but.."

...right. Her pale eyes lock onto his, and-

She gives him a single nod of approval. Something loosens in his wiring.

"You'll be alright, Kid."

"Of course he will." Anby cuts in, squaring her small shoulders, "Even if we have to remake all the memories he lost, Billy will always be a member of the Cunning Hares."

And-

Billy finally believes it.

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 1

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/148132144

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

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"Trapped in the abyss, I long for you in this delirium. There's so much to say, but I'm silent. Too much time has passed since I held you, and now I fear that my love will just break you. So, into the darkness I go to protect you. Yet, no matter where I roam or how far I fall, half of my heart is always with you. "

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Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong people. Wrong everything.

Wrong wrong wrong.

I never should have volunteered to go on this trip!

Over and over, that mantra loops in my mind, cranking up the pressure of my rising anger so tight that my teeth grind together painfully. Sulking in a petulant silence, I wrap the worn hotel quilt tighter around my shoulders to keep out the chill. The furnace is blasting, but it's not enough to warm me up after a thorough dousing in freezing rain. 

I'm on high alert despite my misery. My gaze never strays from the man across from me on the narrow couch. Wariness and suspicion keep my back and shoulders tense even as I shiver in my sodden and frozen clothes. My eyes follow his long fingers as they absentmindedly manipulate the phone screen held between a pair of large hands.

Sharing the raggedy couch with me is none other than Sylus, though his demeanor is a far cry from mine. Despite the glowing and hissing Linkage wrapped like a manacle around his wrist, he sits with his legs crossed and his body relaxed. His blood red eyes take in a virtual Auction on the TV while his free hand makes sales and purchases on his phone.

A gun sits beside him on the armrest, but it doesn't concern me. This man needs no physical weapon to be terrifying. It is his Evol that's the true threat. That, and his ruthless and calculating nature. It's not a struggle to remember just how cruel and merciless he can be, even as he looks perfectly divine and statuesque while sitting still.

Yet, it's not his past or his reputation that has me wringing my hands and forcing myself to breathe deeply in order to stay calm.

It's an internal moral battle that has me on edge - one that's been tormenting me for months.

It's the struggle between knowing I am less than three feet away from the most dangerous man I've ever met and also admitting that I find him impossibly disturbingly attractive. Not just his looks. One doesn't need to have good vision to appreciate this man's allure. It's the conundrum that makes up all that he is.

A dangerous man who has taken lives many times before. A man that forced me to point a gun to his chest and shoot. A man whose mere name is enough to make monsters fall in line. Yet also, a man that's saved my life. A man who smiles at me and teases me. A man I've danced with on more than one pleasant occasion. 

A bottomless, tempting, mystery.

Outside, a storm howls and thunders just like my thoughts. Periodic flashes break through the murky grey skies, each noise grinding on my nerves. I've had a bad day already; worse than bad. But, I dare not wonder how it could possibly get worse. That's what got me in trouble at the train station in the first place when I stepped out into a blizzard without any kind of weather gear to learn that the staff had misplaced my bags and luggage.

I'd wondered, then, how things could get worse.

Precisely one hour after, fate dropped this confounding man into my path. Then, precisely ten minutes after that, our Evols had locked us together.

With a crack of lightning, my patience snaps.

"Oi...Sylus..."

He doesn't look at me as he answers. "What is it?"

His voice is soft, like velvet; he sounds bored, though I'd never been able to read any of his thoughts or predict any of his actions.

I hate how calm he is.

I hate that despite running beneath the rain to make it to the hotel, he seems to be a lot more dry than me. His hair isn't dripping wet like mine, though his grey designer sweatshirt does cling to his muscular chest more than I'm comfortable observing.

I clear my throat.

"You've spent the last two hours calmly bidding on who knows what while we're trapped here. You've bought enough weapons to stock an armory. Just how the hell are you so relaxed?"

Still tapping away on his phone, Sylus maintains a calm and neutral expression. "It's not like there's anything I can do to remove this at the moment," he wiggles his Linked arm, tugging on my own manacle in the process.

I grind my teeth to the point of pain, forcing down my irritation as water drips from my hair onto the quilt. "Fine. Time for you to answer some questions, then."

"Ask away," he hums in that composed and arrogant tone that always riles me up. He sounds about as interested in this conversation as a tired Hunter recruit at orientation. And no wonder; despite the murky weather, it is only 2:00 PM. For Sylus, it's the middle of the night. He's likely exhausted, but I'm not feeling particularly empathetic at the moment.

"First question. I travel to the Arctic, 3688 kilometers away from the N109 Zone. I lose my luggage and get caught in a ferocious rainstorm on my way to the hotel. I then bump into you. Why?"

He finally glances at me, and my heart leaps into my throat when the emptiness in his crimson orbs twinkles with a hint of amusement. The corner of his full lips turns up just enough to transform his expression from annoyed to mildly entertained. On Sylus's face, this looks like a kind of hunger; like a hawk catching sight of a mouse.

"I'm also curious," he drawls, making me squirm in my seat. "I would have thought that the Hunter's Association would take better care of their employees."

I glare at his flippant reply, and he rests the side of his head gracefully on his hand, leaning against the nearby armrest.

"I don't often take vacations, and yet here I saw a familiar face. A lost little dove that needed my protection, if you will."

I huff, wrinkling my nose. "I already told you. I'm the farthest thing from a small animal that needs looking after, especially by a predator like you."

The amusement lingers in his gaze, and I press on.

"Second question. I'm here for a symposium with the Arctic Hunters in this hotel. What about you? Are you here to turn yourself in?"

"You didn't book the entire hotel. I have the money, and they had a vacant room. Why can't I stay here?"

His calm and steady logic sours my mood even farther. Seething now, I raise my Linked arm.

"Third question. Why does this blasted tether's duration increase every single time?" My anxiety eats away at my bravado, and my voice wavers. "What if it doesn't go away when the event starts later tonight?"

Sylus doesn't seem bothered by that prospect. He shrugs, his eyes fading back to those of a bored bystander. "We can go together. Probably."

I can't help it. I snort at his proposal. "Oh yeah, I should definitely introduce my Hunter friends to the renowned leader of Onychinus."

"All you can do is pray for divine intervention, then. Remember piety is key," he advises, his voice overflowing with sarcasm.

I give him a withering glare. "That's rich, coming from you."

Feeling defeated, I stare at the Evol Linkage that's impossible to cut. "This thing didn't bind us together for no reason. There has to be a way to break it."

Sylus tilts his head, frowning. "How? You were asleep the last two times it untethered itself. You even pinned down my arm. It was very inconvenient."

Heat rushes up into my cheeks at the memory. I try not to think about how close I've gotten to this man over the last half a year. To say he makes me uncomfortable is an understatement, mostly because it is not the kind of discomfort one feels when one is close to an enemy. Instead, it's the kind of feeling that makes it impossible to meet his gaze directly for too long. The kind of frustration that has my eyes lingering over his long-legged muscular form far too often.

I hate being close to him. Hate the way his hair, even when mussed, falls perfectly over the side of his face. Hate the sculpted line of his jaw and the attractive ridges and dips of his neck and his shoulders. My fingers squeeze into my palms, remembering how it felt to wrap measuring tape around him during our escapade in the boutique a few weeks back.

"You've been staring at me quietly for some time. Isn't there a fourth question coming?" He leans back against the pillows, and I have to wonder for the hundredth time whether this arrogant and sly man can actually read my mind.

"You have a point, Sylus," I concede. "What if we recreate the circumstances of when the Linkage disconnected itself? We should be able to figure out the trigger, right?"

Sylus glances at his phone, dismissing me. "That sounds more like superstition than science. Do you expect me to lull you to sleep?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

He lets out a short breath, rubbing a furrow between the wings of his graceful eyebrows. Pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose, he waves his hand in the air. Black mist rises up and swishes around the room, shutting all the blackout curtains and leaving us in near darkness. The only light remaining is a small desk lamp. He glances at me, curled up in my quilt as far from him as possible. His eyes glitter as he motions for me to come close.

"Alright, then, sweetie. Time for bed."

There's a sudden intimacy in his voice. It cuts me to the quick, stealing my breath and numbing my mind. I can hardly formulate an immediate response.

"I'll get water on you," I grumble, glad for the darkness; glad he can't see how red my face must be. That's another thing I hate. His pet names for me. At least, I try to hate them. Lately, hearing them makes my heart beat just a little faster.

"I'm not perfectly dry myself," he says, running a large hand down his chest.

"Still..."

"Then you should change. Unless you want to catch a cold."

"My luggage was lost, remember?" I wrap the quilt tighter around myself. "Besides, there's no way I can change while I'm chained to you."

I inwardly curse as I shiver again. This time, Sylus notices. His smile grows, and he gestures for me to approach again.

"Come on, kitten. Last time I checked, I'm not going to melt if I get some water on me." His voice deepens as he adds. "I'll even warm you up."

I squirm in my seat again, now entirely against moving anywhere near him. Something still hangs in the air between us, the same charged atmosphere that I experienced while taking his measurements and asking for his help picking out a dress at the boutique.

Seeing my reluctance, he rubs his fingers on his lips thoughtfully. "Alright, then. Suit yourself. But I somehow doubt you can fall asleep when you're shivering like a rabbit in a snare."

My eyes narrow. "Stop comparing me to small animals. It's rather insulting, considering that I fight just as well as you do."

It's a lie, of course. Sylus's power is incomparable, but I can hold my own at his side for the most part.

I try to cross my arms angrily, but the Linkage stops me. Though I yank hard on the chain, Sylus might as well be a boulder. His wrist doesn't move an inch.

"Just calling it as I see it," he continues to tease, his gaze unyielding and unwavering. "The way you look now," his eyes scan me up and down, "reminds me of a grumpy, hungry, and very tired kitten."

My eyes can't help but follow his hand as he continues to stroke his full lips. Hypnotized, I hardly hear it when he asks me a question in turn.

"You are hungry, aren't you? We've been here several hours, and I doubt someone as frugal as you would have splurged to buy something on the train."

My stomach chooses that moment to let out a rather loud groan of protest. Mortified, I sink into my quilt and look away from him. Sylus chuckles softly.

"I can order room service, at least."

"No!" I rush to stop him when he reaches for his phone. As I lunge for his hand, he grabs my wrist and pulls me into his lap. It's awkward. It's embarrassing. He's as large as a full grown grizzly bear, and he makes me feel completely helpless and tiny when I'm close to him. It's a thrilling kind of feeling, and one that I also really truly want to despise...

...but can't.

I squirm to get away from him, but he holds fast. In moments, I'm settled in his embrace, left with no options for escape.

"Shall I sing you a lullaby?" he asks sarcastically.

"Please don't. Being draped over you like this is bad enough."

We sit in silence for a time, my heart beating faster and faster as his body heat begins to seep into me. He's like a furnace, and soon I start to overheat. His chest undulates with deep steady breaths. His toned abs burn into my back; his huge arm wraps around me, shackling me in place just like the Linkage on my wrist. I can smell his aftershave, and it does terrible things to my rational mind.

"Sylus, I can't do this. I'm uncomfortable. The couch is too small. Let's try something else."

"As if," he sighs then yawns.

With his hand laying casually on my stomach, I can't relax at all. In an attempt to steer myself back in a morally acceptable direction, I run one of my fingers across the back of his hand. His palm is like two of mine. His skin is a mixture of smooth expanse and rough spots at points where it would normally rest against a weapon in combat. His knuckles are rough, too. Realizing that I'm taking liberties, I scramble to move my hands away and mutter an apology.

"Did you find something interesting on my hands?"

"Just remembering how much blood is on them," I say spitefully.

Instantly, I regret my sharp tongue. I squeeze his thumb apologetically and nearly jump out of my skin when his free hand strokes the ends of my hair.

"Then, I suppose it's a good thing you're not squeamish." His voice is softer now, but I don't trust myself to look up at him.

"This really isn't going to work," I tell him again. "Please, Sylus. Let's' try something else."

"I give you an inch...and you take..." his voice drifts off.

Silence, then.

"Sylus?" I whisper in the darkness.

No way. He did not just fall asleep while in the middle of a sentence. The tension drains out of me all at once, and I rest my head against his chest so I can see his face. Sure enough, his eyes are closed, his face relaxed in repose. He's resting the side of his face on the hand that was just stroking my hair, long black lashes fanning out on his regal cheekbones.

He's devastatingly handsome, like an artist sculpted his features from the finest alabaster. 

My chest tightens. All my frustrations aside, to think that a man like Sylus could fall dead asleep in a strange room with a strange woman tethered to him is unthinkable. Either his confidence exceeds my expectations or...

He trusts me.

I let that sink in for a minute, frustrated when the knowledge leaves me even more confused.

In the last six months, we've been through quite a few ordeals and crazy situations together. He's become a rather constant presence in my life, enough for me to worry when I didn't hear from him for several days. Enough, too, for me to dream about tending to his wounds.

But, even after spending all that time with him, I'm still processing all the things he makes me feel.

He scares the hell out of me. But, I feel absolutely safe with him. I can rely on him in a pinch. If I ask him to, he will clear obstacles out of my path. But, too often, he ends up being an obstacle and a source of strife himself.

I stroke the back of his hand with my fingers, making circles as I mumble to myself. "Every time we meet, something bad happens. Usually for me. You must be the harbinger of trouble."

"Hmm?" he stirs, opening his breathtaking red eyes to give me a disapproving look. His brow furrows, sensual lips curving down in mild irritation. "Stop chattering and go to sleep," he rumbles down at me. "This was your idea, after all."

We lapse into silence again, but nothing changes. Now that my head rests against his chest, I can hear his heartbeat. It's slow and steady, but it sounds different than any heartbeat I've heard before. It's almost like there's an echo behind every beat.

His necklace catches my eye, and I can't help but bring my hand up to fiddle with it. I toy with the chain for a moment then slide my finger upwards to the neckline of Sylus's sweatshirt. It's just a normal piece of clothing with a cut that isn't any lower than an average shirt of its type. But, the way it fits on Sylus is borderline criminal. The casual cut leaves his neck and collarbone exposed.

Entranced, I tap the pad of my finger against the base of his throat. His neck is muscular, but also long and graceful. A steady pulse flutters against my fingertip, and I quickly lower my hand, shocked that I allowed myself such liberties. I can't help it, though. This man absolutely confounds me, and despite my best judgement I can't help but want to know everything about him.

I take a deep breath as quietly as I can.

"Sylus, I can't sleep."

"I can," he retorts calmly. "If you'll let me."

In the face of his indifference, my irritation grows. I want to retaliate, but while I'm thinking about a way to do so, one of his eyes opens to look at me.

"Today's patience is wearing thin," he frowns. "Though I don't dislike your explorations, it's better if you just calm down and go to sleep."

A large hand presses my head against his shoulder. My cheek brushes against his sweatshirt, releasing a cloud of scent. Manly. Clean. Sharp.

Calm down? As if!

My heart is thundering in my chest now, and I don't think I can stand being this close to him for another second. I renew my efforts to squirm out of his grasp, my actions greatly annoying my oversized human pillow. In a single powerful motion, Sylus gets to his feet and lifts me into his arms. Not like a princess, but like a sack of potatoes that he practically tosses over his shoulder.

"Put me down," I demand, but he doesn't bother to listen. Two or three steps with his long legs takes us to the bed. He throws me down onto it then leans over me, pressing my Linked wrist into the mattress. His leg settles between mine, and I stop breathing entirely. With my free hand, I push against his shoulder.

His other hand takes control of my wrist, and he guides it down onto the mattress next until I'm completely pinned beneath him. His grip doesn't hurt. He's somehow careful not to cause me pain, yet he is as unyielding as a dam against rushing water.

"You've been letting these hands run wild for a while now," he murmurs, his gaze unreadable. "Is it my turn for exploration?"

"What are you talking about?" I ask, breathless.

"Should I do to you what you've been doing to me for the last hour?" His crooked smirk returns. When he tilts his head, some of his bangs fall forward, giving him a rough and tumble or "just out of bed" kind of appearance. Alarm bells go off in my head. I have to get away.

Now.

I'm a Hunter.

He's a king of the criminal underworld.

There could not be a worse match-up in all of history.

But, the thought of pushing him away now hurts. What I really want isn't escape. I'm no fool, even if I am terrible with love and with relationships. The closest I've come to intimacy in the last few years has been a battery powered quick fix lying in a dusty box under my bed. Even so; even without having a wholesome understanding of what it means to yearn for someone, I can no longer deny that I want this man more than I've ever wanted someone before.

It's unhealthy. It's ill advised.

"Please, Sylus," I breathe, and his eyes slip to my lips. His dark pupils dilate.

"What are you asking me, kitten?" he murmurs, letting go of my wrists to slide his hands up until our fingers wrap around one another. "The terms of a contract should be clearly stipulated."

"Let me go," I beg him.

He doesn't miss a beat, as though he already knew what I was going to say.

"That's not what your eyes are asking me," he counters.

"It's what I'm asking," I insist, my heart squeezing painfully.

Something yanks on the Linkage, then, and before I can react, the same force pulls Sylus towards me. I gasp as he presses into me. In a blink, he brings up an arm to rest on his elbow, keeping most of his weight off to avoid hurting me. He sighs, glancing at the Linkages. Somehow the chain between our wrists has disappeared. The manacles are interlocked, forcing Sylus and I into even greater proximity.

"What have you done now?" he groans. My body grows taught at the vibrations of his voice in my ear. So soft. Languid. Like a lazy afternoon in the sun.

"N-Nothing," I insist. "You threw yourself at me."

"Then how do you explain this?" he gestures with his head to the Linkages.

I honestly have no good answer. Right now, it's all I can do to stare at the corner of the ceiling so I don't meet his gaze. "I don't know what happened, but they're like two snakes trying to devour each other," I mumble.

Desperate, I try to move myself out and away from him. To my horror, the manacle around my wrist tightens even more. I yelp at the painful pressure.

Sylus's low chuckle ruffles the fine hairs at my ear. "You know, sweetie, the more a snake's prey tries to escape, the more tightly it gets strangled."

I shiver, closing my eyes. "That's within your control, then, isn't it? Please, you need to move first. Let me go."

He shifts marginally, his shoulders tensing. "Hm, looks like someone is about to walk in."

I finally look at his face. "What? Walk in where?"

"I'm saying we're about to have a guest."

"Stop trying to scare me. Do you enjoy being an as--"

Past the wall of the bedroom, I hear the sound of a scraping key card over the white noise of the TV. My heart leaps into my throat, body breaking out in cold sweat. Oh no! I'd forgotten that we have assigned room mates on this trip, too. It must be Lois, the young Hunter girl I'd met at headquarters a week ago. If she sees us like this --

I buck beneath Sylus's hold, now putting everything I have into getting him off of me. Fortunately, he decides to cooperate. I manage to push him off me and scramble to the edge of the bed. I look around wildly, my heart pounding. The hotel room has only one exit, which means we need to hide. I spot the closet a short distance away.

"Get in," I hiss violently, yanking on our Linkage and stuffing us both into the tiny space. I slam the door shut and struggle to breathe. At this point, I'm in serious deep water. Even if nobody knows that this is the the Sylus, I will have a witness that saw me bringing a man to my hotel room on a business trip. My reputation will be ruined, and I will likely face temporary suspension. Just imagining the spreading rumors makes me want to vomit.

If someone sees me like this, I won't be able to clear my name even with a redemption arc.

"Ellara!" a cheerful voice resounds from the living area. "Are you here, girl? I can't believe you missed the first part of the presentation!"

I stay silent, chanting prayers to whatever deity would listen in my mind.

"I heard you lost your luggage. Poor thing, but you can borrow some of my clothes if you want." Her footsteps and voice grow louder. "Tara's downstairs waiting, come on!"

My back cramps, and I look down. In my rush, I sat down in an awkward position on the ground. Something hard digs into my back and shoulder blade. Worse yet, Sylus is right on top of me. His size makes this space feel like a broom closet. Our noses are nearly touching, and his breath fans against my face. Some of his hair tickles my forehead.

For a split second, I lose myself in his red eyes.

Not a romantic red like a fading sunset.

Red like fresh blood.

And right now, those eyes are filled to the brim with displeasure.

Memories flash of my first few days with him, back when he tried to use those terrible eyes against me. Of the voice in my head begging me to devour him. The way he used his frightening black Evol to move and manipulate my body to his whims.

I struggle to inhale. Claustrophobia assails me.

Panicking, I push my hand against his chest.

"Sylus, move. I can't breathe."

"Ordering me around, are you?" He glances at my hands; his frown intensifies. "Why are your hands shaking?" He seems genuinely bothered by my fear, but I don't have the capacity to process that right now.

I yank on our Linked wrists for emphasis. "I can't move until you do," I tell him.

Still frowning, he accommodates my request. He shifts his body, wrapping his arms around my waist. I gasp when he lifts me up and sets me on top of him so his legs can stretch out and give me room to move. Somehow, I end up in his lap yet again.

"No, Sylus. This isn't--" his hand settles over my mouth. Huge and hot. He presses a finger to his own lips in turn.

"She's coming. Shh..."

Lois calls my name again, and this time she's in the doorway of the bedroom. My palms grow sweaty. There's no way she won't look inside the closet. My hands tremble where they grip Sylus's shirt. He glances down at them again, then at back at me. His fingers force me to look at him.

Being the sole focus of his gaze is an experience I can't put into words. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff faced with a huge red tidal wave. Any moment now, the wave will push me back, and who knows whether I'll fall to my death or find salvation?

Leaning forward, he whispers in my ear, "If you're anxious, just close your eyes."

His hand slips from my face, but his thumb grazes my lower lip in passing. His huge palm presses me forward to rest against his chest.

His heartbeat pulses against my ear, body heat enveloping me like a blanket.

Ba-dum lub-dub, ba-dum lub-dub, ba-dum lub-dub...

Steady.

Slow.

Just like it had been when he was sleeping.

My trembling slows, breathing evening out.

His free hand reaches out and presses against the door right as Lois approaches the closet.

"Ellara? Are you here?" I hear the rolling of luggage wheels. "Well, no matter. I'll just leave this here for her for when she gets back." She tugs on the closet door. Again and again. I squeeze my eyes shut; it feels like she'll never stop.

"Why isn't this opening? Is it stuck?"

She pulls harder, but she's no match for Sylus's strength. If she wants to open that door, she'll need to tear it off its hinges.

"Gotta call maintenance, I guess," she sighs. Like salvation, her phone rings. She picks it up, engaging whomever it was in conversation and padding back out of the bedroom.

I breathe out raggedly.

Beneath me, Sylus makes a sound of amusement.

"Your mental fortitude is terrible in situations like this," he observes.

"If we're seen--"

"So your reputation matters more to you than your life?" he asks. There's no judgement in his voice, just curiosity. "You were never this afraid when we were faced with a hail of bullets and assailants."

This is different. Completely different. But now is not the time to try to explain it.

Sylus smiles. "If we're discovered, I suppose we should just confess."

"To what, exactly?" I hiss defiantly.

His fingertips snake down the nape of my neck to the base of my spine. My eyes go wide when those same fingers sneak beneath the edge of my shirt and slip inside. In a blink, he's caressing my bare skin. I suck in a breath as my whole body breaks out in goosebumps.

"What are you...doing?"

Without answering, he keeps going. His fingers move up. Higher and higher, until his knuckles graze the underside of my bra. Splayed open, his fingers span almost my entire back.

Our eyes lock, devouring each other much like the Linkages around our wrists.

A single moment hangs between us in time.

And then his fingers slip beneath the barrier between us.

My breath hitches in my throat.

My skin pulses with anticipation.

My lips part, my mouth opening on a protest. His crimson eyes sear into me, daring me to speak, daring me to try to stop him. They aren't asking for permission; there's really no need. He already knows what my body wants, and he's prepared to ignore my lips trying to stop him.

Outside, Lois' voice fades away. Keys jingle. The front door to the hotel room slams shut. Silence fills the air, broken only by the humming of the furnace and my labored breaths.

I can't tear my eyes away from Sylus's lips. They're so close now. It would only take a single motion on my part, a single adjustment to my posture to taste them.

With a herculean effort, I keep myself still.

When our eyes meet next, his are hooded and burning. A volcano simmers beneath - boiling lava waiting to erupt.

"So what's it to be, kitten?" he teases. His fingers move a little higher, pressing up against my breast. "Should we continue?"

"Nn..." I could hardly recognize my own voice as a needy mewl rips itself from me. I slip forward, just that much closer. My resolve is breaking, bit by bit. Or maybe mile by mile. My body grows restless, sore, impoverished.

 "Your hands are cold as ice, but you feel quite warm here now." He rocks his hips against me, and I close my eyes against a pang of dizziness. Warm fluid floods my panties, my body betraying all my morals.

I whimper when the tips of his fingers nudge against my nipple. A need so deep, raw, and painful slams into my groin that I can't help but throw my head back. His huge hand supports me as I sigh in pleasure, keeping me from falling.

A breath against my chest and then cold air as my shirt is lifted up. Lost in wave upon wave of desire, I gasp when his lips press right between my breasts. He plants a hungry kiss there. Then another, his silvery hair tickling my skin. Hungry, but gentle. So very gentle.

He breathes me in then exhales, and the rolling of his hot wet breath has me gripping him tighter.

Then he stops. Leans back.

In a haze, I glance down to find him smirking, his sharp eyes narrowed and challenging. He tilts up his chin in that arrogant way of his, daring me to protest.

We have to stop. This is madness.

Really, Ellara? Making out with the Sylus in the middle of Hunter symposium in a damn closet?

I need to push him away. Push him away. Push him away.

I wince as the Linkage tightens painfully on my wrist. Bruising. Aching. Punishing me for going against the wishes of my heart.

"Sylus, we can't do this," I whisper. "I'm a Hunter, and you're..."

"I'm what?"

"You're the leader of Onychinus..."

"Is that all I am?" he asks, placing another kiss on my shoulder. "Does that title define me?" Another feathery kiss. "Are you just a Hunter? Or are you not Ellara as well?"

"Of c-course I am," I gasp. "B-But...we...this is..."

"Alright, then," he says, his expression still amused. He pulls back, and it feel like someone reached in and ripped out a part of me.

"If that's what you want."

It isn't, and he knows it well.

Anger floods me. How dare he play with me like this? How dare he act like he could stop now when we've already clearly crossed a line? When I need him this much? Furious, I grab the collar of his shirt. Why am I always the one being toyed with? Am I just another amusement to stave off boredom?

I want to shout at him.

I want to wipe the smirk off his beautiful face.

But, more than that, I deeply, desperately need to kiss him.

And so, that's exactly what I do.

I pull him towards me, molding my mouth to his.

He's shocked. His whole body tenses. But, I'm over it. Over all of this. No more stops. No more hesitation. I'm pretty sure I will spontaneously combust if I don't get a taste of him immediately. With a lustful moan, I run my tongue against his lips. He immediately grants me entry, and my mind goes blank as we vie for dominance.

His mouth is smooth and molten hot.

His saliva is slick and sweet.

He tastes like peppermint and heaven.

He tastes like home.

I'd spent so many cold and hollow nights imagining what a perfect kiss might be. Secretly, I thought nothing in reality could measure up.

What an idiot I was...

Without breaking away from me, his fingers move again. I can't hold back a ragged moan as he plays with my nipple and rocks me against him. Gentle, yet insistent. Rhythmic. Constant. His touch builds like a crescendo; my blood surges and sings, breasts seeming to swell as bliss shoots from my chest to my fingers and toes.

I try to move back, nearly overstimulated, but he holds me still. His mouth absorbs my wanton moans as he unhooks the back of my bra with his free hand. At last, we come up for air. I curve into him like an eager she-cat when he palms both of my breasts and presses his mouth to them. My hands bury into his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp.

Worried that I'm hurting him, I hesitate. He nips at my neck, making me squeal.

"I'm not afraid of your claws," he purrs against me. "Do what you want. I won't break."

A pressure grows and hardens against my core, assuring me that despite Sylus' outward composure, he's just as affected as I am. I cry out when he pinches me, nearly cumming at the sound of his deep voice humming a note of approval. He licks his way up my neck.

"All this just from my tongue and lips on you? Looks like my little kitten is pent up."

I let him have that victory. He's not wrong, after all.

I'm climbing to the pinnacle so fast that I'm dizzy, but I've plateaued. My hips begin moving on their own, my body seeking him, searching for pressure - any pressure - to ease the agony between my legs. He knows what I need, but he denies me, choosing to focus on just touches, kisses, caresses. His hands and mouth drive me to delirium until all I can do is hang onto his hair and his shoulders and beg.

"Sylus..." I rasp.

He smiles against my breasts.

"Sylus- ah!"

I almost want to cry when one of his hands glides down my thigh and stops just short of touching my center.

"...need you...need this..." I bump against his growing erection. 

"Are you sure?" he breathes, nipping at my ear. "You want me to do you right here?" 

"Nnn...yes...yes..."

I shudder when his finger passes over my apex, his touch dulled by layers of clothes. I try to lift myself up, but I'm clumsy, uncoordinated, weak with want. It's cramped in here, and there's no room for either of us to move much. Frantic, I buck my hips and whine. When I reach for the door, Sylus grips my hand and brings it to his lips.

"Patience, sweetie," he coos, kissing my knuckles. "I'll take care of you."

He settles his hands on my hips and lifts me up. The buckle of his pants clinks as he undoes it. Next, he reaches up and tears a hole in my leggings. I'm too far gone for any kind of outrage at my lost garment, especially when his pulsating cock brushes up against my bare skin. I'm so drenched that I slip and slide against him.

His hiss of pleasure thrills me.

I can feel every inch of him as he moves. He's huge, and for a moment I feel a flash of trepidation. Then it passes, and all I can think about is how badly I need him to ruin me right now.

"Sylus..."

His hands squeeze my ass, spreading me wide. "I know, kitten. Breathe."

With that, he slips into me. He's gentle. Slow. Careful. But, I'm still overwhelmed. My thoughts white out. All worries, hesitations, moral tugs of war. Everything dissipates into the breathtaking sensation of him filling me. There's some pain, but its a passing thing. Not worthy of note, not when he pulls me down into a kiss and fills me with his tongue as well. My nails tattoo my ecstasy into his shoulders, my insides squeezing him so tight as I climax that he has to break our kiss so he doesn't bite down on my tongue.

I wiggle on him, wanting him to move, needing to know what it feels like for him to scramble me up inside.

"Easy," he warns. "Are you alright?"

"No," I confess, drinking in the blood of his crimson gaze like a ravenous beast. But I can't find the right words to describe my need. "More," I plead. "Just...more..."

"Reckless as ever," he chuckles, but he's out of breath too.

I watch the Adam's apple move on his gorgeous neck as he swallows. I move my hips again, urging him to take me, break me, whatever he wants. His hands tighten their grip on my hips. I dearly hope he leaves bruises. I don't want to forget this moment for days. Weeks. Not ever. It's so perfect. He's so perfect.

With a snap, the Linkage around our wrists shatters.

Sylus doesn't give it a second glance. The moment we're free, he moves my body around.

"Relax," he breathes into my ear and kisses it. "Turn this way." Without pulling out of me, he shifts us around so my back faces him. I rest my hands against the opposite wall, whimpering when he spreads my legs open and positions me on my knees. He hulks over me, one big hand holding my waist while the other rests beside mine on the wall.

He starts to move, and I can no longer stop myself from making obscene sounds of bliss. Every thrust threatens to split me in half, the friction making me dig my nails into the wall. His cock hits me so deep inside that I swear I'll shatter into a million pieces. But, the pain is indescribably wonderful, and as my body adjusts to take in his size and girth, only pleasure remains.

"Ah...mmn...ah...Sylus...Sylus!"

"That's it," he huffs right into my ear, licking every nook and crevice. "Scream for me." His fingers slip from my waist to torment my clit. I shatter on the rocks, losing track of what's happening. He pounds into me until I feel him start to swell even more.

"Mmn...ah...yes!...please...please...inside me...give me all of you..."

His rumbling chuckle throws me over another edge as he explodes into me. He's breathing hard, his heart pounding against my back. His hips keep moving as white hot cum leaks down my thighs. He nuzzles into the crook between my neck and shoulder. Kissing my skin. Grazing his teeth on it.

We float in a haze, surrounded by our breaths and heartbeats. He doesn't pull out of me for some time, and I try to process what just happened. I'm joined with him in the most intimate way, and I've never felt anything more natural.

His sensual lips rain kisses on my back, his hand stroking my belly, my chest, my arm - helping me come down from the most incredible high of my life. 

"Sylus..." I whisper, my arms shaking. "I can't move."

"I have you," he soothes, pressing a kiss to my temple. I gasp when he pulls back. The sound of his belt clicking as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

"I'm going to move us now. Trust me, alright?"

I nod weakly.

The world tilts and spins. Vibrations of Evol pulsate through me. I remember this feeling, though the last time it flowed through my body it was like an aggressive snake. This time, it's warm and reassuring. Sylus's arms wrap around me. I smell that delicious aftershave again. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe this is just his smell.

Just as his kiss tastes of home, his scent smells of safety and security.

Wrapped up in his embrace, nothing can hurt me.

The closet disappears, and before I can make a single sound, Sylus is standing in the middle of the bedroom with me in his arms. He pulls the sheets and blanket off the bed and wraps them around me.

"Two more jumps," he smiles, and my heart flutters at the softness of his gaze. No longer like blood. More like a deep ruby wine. "I'm on the top floor."

Again, my surroundings spin and whirl like a hurricane. Colors blur together. It's disorienting, but I'm not afraid, trusting that the one holding me won't let me fall. When it all settles, we are no longer in my hotel room. Instead, we're standing in some kind of penthouse suite. I blink as I look around.

"Is this your room?"

"Did you want to stay downstairs?" He raises a brow at me.

I shake my head. "No. I guess I'm just wondering why we didn't come here sooner."

"And miss out on nearly getting caught?" he teases.

Again, I give him this one. Despite how terrifying it was when Lois nearly found us, the aftermath was...well...

I can't really be mad at him, and I'm too tired to try.

"Your hands are still like ice," he frowns. "Let's get warmed up." He pads to the bathroom as I poke his chest.

"You're not cold at all, though."

The master bath is a sight to behold. White marble with contrasting black and gold swirls. Frosted glass etched with patterns of rare flowers accents the rich colorations around it. The shower alone is larger than the walk-in closet in my apartment. Taken aback, I'm still marveling at the decor as Sylus sets me down on a nearby loveseat.

He starts when I wince and make a sound of pain. I shift in my seat, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt. Immediately, he's kneeling in front of me, his hand cupping my face. Those deep ruby eyes take me in, searching for the source of my discomfort. My heart races to be the focus of those slanted sharp eyes.

"Was I too rough?" he asks.

My hand covers his. "I'm alright. It's just...been a while." I smile at him and stroke his hair. As he closes his eyes in pleasure at my touch, I'm completely at my wit's end. There's no logic or reason that can stop the tenderness running through me now. There's no reason I can think of to push this man away any longer.

This man.

Not the Sylus of Onychinus.

Not the king of N109.

Just a man.

An incredible, wonderful, and mysterious man.

"A hot bath will help me feel better," I tell him.

He glances at the tub, stopping my heart with his special half smile. "I think we'll both fit in this one."

I pull him down for a long slow and thorough kiss. "Then, what are we waiting for?"

.

[shadowy-lie]

"He who fights with monsters, should look into it that he himself does not become a monster...And if you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you."

-Friedrich Netzsche

The words, quote, mocked him from where he sat infront of her. The clock on the wall ticks away as the seconds pass. He had made his choice, he had made it clear to her that he was saying anything. That there was no reason for these pointless-his words- sessions; "I don't need any goddamn therapy." Were his exact words.

His eyes fell back to her. She hadn't said a word since his statement, not even looking up at him. She'd wasted no time pulling out a fucking blank book and a pencil to do whatever-fuck-knows. The continuous scratching of the pencil on the paper made him huff in annoyance. The sound muffled by the plain black balaclava he was currently wearing . She didn't stop, hands maneuvering the pencil deftly across the paper. His hands cross over his chest as he shifts to a slouching position on the off-white colored couch, as he looks back up at the quote hanging on the back wall. His left eye twitches as he unwillingly re-reads the words again.

The silence irked him. He preferred it, but in this situation he found it irksome the current scenario brought back the three times she'd randomly showed up in the mission briefings, only to sit down and sketch away in her book silently. Price voiced his concerns to Laswell about it, but she waved him off saying: "It won't last long." But she stuck around.

Training, mission briefings, personnel recruitment, she was always there. An ever present presence on the base. It annoyed him. He hated that he didn't have much of an effect on her as she had on him.

He was known for being off-putting. Large frame, almost always clad in dark hoods and pants with an even darker mask that hid his cold, signature glare-

Loud sequential beeps filled the silent room, breaking his reminiscing-dont call it that. It's an observation. Their-his- session was over. An entire hour wasted in silence. The beeping continued for another five seconds, before slender fingers tap the top of the digital clock, silencing it. Red zeros blink repeatedly before disappearing altogether.

Blood rushed to his head, ears ringing as his eyes found her looking at him, staring at him, waiting for him to move. He almost missed the way her head tilted to the side, towards the door. Those eyes, a deep, rich blue-Indigo? They pulled him in, like a vortex, a whirlpool, A black hole, a shapeless abyss. Those eyes and that damn, polite as fuck, smile bore down on him as he stood up. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pant, hiding the way his fingers twitched rapidly, as he made his way over to the stark white door. He almost didn't want to touch it.

It was clean, the entire room, she was-is-too, unlike him. He was tainted, scared. He dared to look back at her. She was back to drawing again. He could make out a crude image of what it was, but he wasn't an artist. He couldn't understand her like she could apparently understand him.

Harshly, he opened the door, walked out, and slammed it shut. He didn't mean to, he just couldn't stay in that room any longer. He needed to leave.

Huffing, he marched into the training room-the in-house gym. The newest additions to the task force, two Sargents, occupied the treadmills each, to their own devices. Good. Carefully, with practiced movements, he tugs off his dark greyhoodie, mindful not to accidentally remove his balaclava.

Tossing his sweater to the side haphazardly, he wastes no time dealing a devastating punch to the sandbag. It was loud, the sound rang in his head like a gun shot. The sandbag swung slowly, mocking him. He punches it again, twice, in quick succession. It jerks on its chains, swinging faster, like a dead body hanging on a noose in the wind. It's getting harder to breathe, he's sweating profusely under the mask.

"Fucking hell..." He mumbles, British-Manchester- accent coming through thickly. He hisses, gloved hands clenched tightly into a fist. Another punch, another gun shot. Images flash behind his eyes. His past. It's unsavory, more than any one person should have to go through, but he did, and he survived, he lived, he's fucking alive!

He give the sandbag one last punch, sending it flying across the the gym floor, sand pouring from a hidden tear in the leather fabric. "Christ..." he hissed lowly, feeling the sweat running down the expanse of his shoulders.

Deep breaths.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Her words rung in his head like a church bell.

Again, slowly.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Loud and insistent. He couldn't help but listen to them.

Once more.

Inhale.

Exhale.

His breathing steadies.

He remembered where he'd heard them. She was comforting an operator who suffered from chronic panic attacks. Her voice was soft, smooth, and comforting, but steady, strong, balanced and firm. He'd never admit it to anyone, but it sent an unwanted shiver down his back and fluttering in the pits of his abdomen. He was still sweating and can feel the eyes of the Sargents staring at him.

He paid them no mind, yanking his sweater off some random part of the floor and trudging out, her words still echoing inside his skull like a broken record.

"Just can't leave me the fuck alone..." he mumbles through gritted teeth. Dark, menacing brown eyes narrow like needles, an arrow tip, a sniper finding an opening to take a shot at a target.

Bang. Head shot.

He hated this. Hated her.

That was a lie. He didn't hate her. If he was being completely honest, he prefered her above the other bloody bastards. His eyes lock onto a familiar warhawk. Dumb as fuck hairstyle. He rolls his eyes as the Scottsman, dreading another pointless, fruitless, attempt at a proper conversation.

"There ye are, LT! Laswell sent me to get ye." Soap, Johnny McTavish, bounded over to him with a shit eating grin on his face, picking away at dried beef jerky.

"Fuck off, Johnny..." he growled under his mask, shoving past the Scottsman.

"Aww, c'mon Ghost. We s'posed tae be getting some new help...PMC's."

The statement made him freeze in his tracks. Fire, bullets, and Graves' betrayal flash like lightning behind his eye lids. Slowly, he turns his to stare down then Sergent. "More bloody PMC's?"

"Aye, Laswell says they're our new 'hunting dogs', Wha'ever that means." Soap shugs, sauntering to Ghost's side. "Who knows, maybe we'll actually get some new enforcement, eh?"

Ghost sighs, shoulders slumping before tensing up again like usual. "Fuckin hell, Mctavish..." he hisses, pinching the bridge of his noes. Brown eyes harden and deepen into black pits, black holes, a shapeless abyss.

Soft mummers drew his attention to the two Sargents. They were looking at him, probably for the last 10 minutes. He saw them, and they saw him. It was awkward.

"She ought to be there too, I bet..."

Ghost stiffens, shoulders bunch up even more as he mutters obscenities under his breath. He forgot that she was an entity that made her presence known by just existing.

She was like a parasite. A deadly and unpredictable attachment he wanted to be rid of.

A want and a need are two different things, remember that, love.

He heard her say those words just a week ago, to a soilder who apparently had enough of the military life. Who wanted to leave, but consulted her for advice on the matter. She expressed indifference, but the way the soilder's face contorted into one of confusion, pain, regret and a plethora of other emotions.

He drags a gloved hand down his face, groaning loudly. He dreaded meeting, Soap knew it and even the new recruits new it. It radiated off him in waves.

Sighing softly, he continued the walk to his side of the barracks. Secluded, but not to far from anyone- perks of being a high ranking officer. Once inside he roughly sits down on the edge of the sorry excuse for a bed, the springs crying out under his weight, the mattress sinking, and the bed legs bending. How it hadn't completely given out yet will always be a mystery to him.

His lips felt raw-he'd been chewing on them for a while and the worn fabric of the old mask rubbed on them, irritating the flesh.

He wasn't nervous. Not in the least. Not like he was going to admit it to himself. The only reason why he was even considering going to that meeting was because it was Laswell, and she could get real finicky about information being spread word of mouth; "Miscommunication kills, Lieutenant..." a warning from experience or words of advice, regardless, he knew better than to test the formidable CIA agent.

His left eye twitches, annoyance and resignation comes through in a harsh sigh, broad shoulders sagging, if only slightly.

A change of appearance- sweats aren't exactly fit for a mission breifing, into something more fitting of the rank, his signature skull balaclava mask hiding an already shrouded identity-the embodiment of a ghost.

A broken mirror sits idly in a corner, shards missing and whatever remained had web like cracks, warping his image-his identity had been warped long ago, for a long time. He squints and huffs, tension rises in his shoulders, biceps contracting, trembling and stiffening under his skin.

He grunts, gripping the flesh and kneading it slowly as he leaves his room, lightly rusted metal door creaking shut as he steps out, Soap already waiting with a small grin on his face.

"Took ye time gettin pretty jus f'r me, LT?" he teased, head tilting to the side smugly.

"Gotta keep up appearances, Johnny..." Ghost hummed in response, making a beeline towards the briefing room, the Sargent sauntering beside him.

The hallway his mostly quiet, lower rank officers either in their barracks or out on the field running drills with their CO. A familiar feeling of...familiarity bubbles up in his subconscious, the base of his throat tightening, becoming hot and tingly. His strides become longer, faster, eager to get away from such...baggage.

"Ease up will ya, LT, no' everyone's big as you..." Soap chuckles, breaking into a light jog to keep up with the tall man. Ghost lets out a muted grunt, eyes darkening even more as he tries to swallow down that burning sensation that rises to the muscle in his jaw, the nerves sparking alight like whelding iron. The tension in his shoulders return 10 fold, neck muscles straining under invisible pressure as he reluctantly slows down so his Sargent can keep up-which was good, else he'd have passed the room to the meeting.

He steps in and almost freezes in the doorway.

His mouth dries as his eyes find her form in the furthest corner of the room.

He'd seen her not even an hour ago, but this was the first time he'd ever seen her out of her signature white coat-it was always buttoned close...but now?

He blinked as he took her in, Soap passing before his line of sight briefly before he's watching her again.

He instinctively glares at her, cold, steely and unyielding. If she noticed, she doesn't give it away. She remains still, hands clasped behind her back like the professional she was-certified, if you wanted to be literal.

She stood poised, face set to her default neutral, her eyes blinking at random intervals hiding that all-encompassing abyss behind lazy eyelids. It shouldn't- never mind.

His mind was drifting, as she described it from one of her many observations. She must watch him as well, not many can get away that.

His eyes twitches under the mask, irritating and annoying. He stood off to the side-as usual-with sniper eyes already scanning the room for the 5th time in under 2 minutes-

Could be undiagnosed anxiety, possibly paranoia, or even PTS-

The auditory hallucinations-his thoughts damnit-come to a halt when he feels movement to his left. He looks, eyes moving first before his head-useful.

Kyle Garrick, callsign Gaz, walked over(read sauntered) to him, gloved hands gripping onto the straps of the tacticle vest, dusty blue cap and sunglasses on, a signature part of his appeal.

"Garrick."

"Lt."

Acknowledgement and nothing more.

"Never seen her out that coat. Feels strange." Gaz started talking. Low and under breath, head leaning to Ghost's direction as he himself casted his eyes to her.

"..."

Acknowledgement and nothing more small talk.

"What'd you think she's here for this time?" Garrick was, unfortunately, a talker. Observant, but a talker, a conversationist.

"Can't say that I know, Garrick." Simon Riley, Callsign Ghost, was the furthest thing from a talker-telling terrible dad jokes served to "break the ice" more than anything.

"No' even a hint?"

"None."

Not like he would have gotten any. The woman was hard to read and her eyes were hauntingly expressionless-much like his own, if he chose to be honest.

Movements infront of him made the skin at the back of his neck prickle, suppressing a groan.

"McTavish."

"Agh- take the piss, Lt."

Ghost just huff and rolls his eyes.

"She looks like a statue..." Gaz suddenly speaks up, taking a step back and closer to Ghost's side, eyes trained on where their in-house therapist was still standing. Motionless.

"Thought she'd be sittin' down already, marking up 'er lil whats-it-called.."

Sketch book. His mind supplies. His lips utter in turn. Out loud, under his mask, and not as muffled as he would like to think.

The group goes silent, but it's loud regardless. He knows they heard him, but his demeanor gives nothing away.

No shame.

No embarasment.

All hidden beneath a homestitched mask. Carefully curated to hide and keep hidden.

Gaz shuffles on his feet before his eyes find where she now currently stood, arms folded and face set to a fierce neutrality.

She was -is- beautiful, yet unfairly intimidating.

"She's like a statue..." he murmured, filling the silence, drawing attention back to their hired confidant.

McTavish nods silently and Ghost grunts, unwilling.

Metal doors slam open-a normal occurrence- and Captain John Price enters with Laswell and another personnel, in-tow carrying a stack of intelligence papers.

Busy, bloody, body. Ghost squints as the person went around handing out papers to the team before approaching the lady therapist.

The trio-Ghost, Soap, and Gaz- watches on silently as the personnel stood before her with the same papers in hand.

Without missing a beat her hands unfolded to receive the Intel.

A breath isn't wasted before the personnel is out the room, door slowing closing behind them.

There is a dull chill that envelopes the room. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz watch on as she makes swift movememnt to a further corner of the room, almost floating across the floor.

She finds the corner adjacent to theirs, already skimming through the papers as Laswell began the meeting with standard exposition of the handouts.

"Why's she here?" Soap cuts in suddenly, crossing his arms as he asks the obvious question. Laswell only spares him a glance before sighing exasperatedly.

"There is a reason, and I'll tell you after the the debrief." She bargains, but Gaz speaks up next.

"You've never given us a proper answer, miss." He starts, respectful as always. "I heard that this mission is gonna have a lot more personnel involved, people we don't work with. So with all due respect...why is the shrink here? What use is she to this kind of thing." He too crosses his arms.

Ghost had only been half listening to the current conversation. His eyes were trained onto said shrink. Her form seemed incorporeal in the corner she stood in.

If Ghost wasn't a trained and battle hardened soilder, as a skilled sniper, he wasn't sure if he would be able to trust what he was seeing.

He'd noticed, for quite some time, she wasn't actually reading the information provided-just as he didn't, the papers taken away from him by his much cheerier counter- she was actually looking at them.

Abyssal blue locking onto each person in the room. Soap, Gaz and Laswell remain unaware. Price, who hadn't said a word since entering the room, remained occupied with the handouts. Simon Riley stands motionless, as usual.

But he notices her gaze. It's cold, almost unfeeling as it passes over everyone present.

.

.

.

[vasito-de-leche]

a little prompt, if you don’t mind

what about mercenary!reader and symbiote!Pavia? it’s just Pavia’s ult/wolves kinda remind me of Venom and i think it would be fun to imagine him being something like Venom

;R1999 PAVIA - "under your skin"

Symbiote!Pavia x Mercenary!Reader 2.5k words body horror What you and Pavia have is nothing more than transactional—you need him to make a living, and he needs you alive to ensure a comfortable life. It's taken some time to get used to these changes, to share everything you have with him for the sake of convenience: your home, your food, your job. And most importantly, your body. Perfect symbiosis, or dysfunctional parasitism? You've yet to figure out where you two stand. One thing is clear, though; he's the best at getting under your skin.

i just want you to know that this prompt speaks to MY SOUL bc i love venom and pavia so fucking much. you dont understand how hard i think about the concept of a symbiotic relationship between symbiote and host. so I went extremely self-indulgent with this one <3

as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

Bang!

A clean kill.

The only reason you watch as the body drops to the ground is out of respect for the work you do, nothing else. You've done this a dozen times, and you will do it a dozen more -- the gun in your hand has become a reliable friend rather than a tool for mindless murder, its familiar weight a fleeting comfort in the tedious routine. A shame it came from the most annoying person you know.

Screaming ensues as everyone surrounding your target runs around in panic. You remain, eyes locked on the target. When someone moves their body, attempting to cradle that lifeless corpse, you see it; a bullet right between their eyebrows, the perfect shot.

You feel a tug, but it comes from within your chest cavity. Something squirms inside you, pulling you back, and you understand this as your cue to slide back into the shadows. It begins with a single step backwards, then another, until you feel the texture under your shoes shift -- what was once solid ground is now a dark, velvety mass, floating upwards and fading away like smoke. It licks at your ankles, providing an initially cold sensation that permeates your clothes, and then it continues upwards to your calves, your knees, your thighs. The gun slowly dissolves into slime, taking the shape of what you assume to be a hand, horrible and sticky fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you downwards.

By then, you feel that burning sensation, and then you're dragged into the abyss.

"That was a lousy shot."

A voice echoes in your mind, it is not your own. It feels like a thousand ants marching alongside your cranium. Or rather, what you assume to be your cranium -- in this current state, you can't separate yourself from the embrace of the void. The voice might as well reverberate all around you.

You scoff and insist. No, it was a perfect shot.

"Perfect my ass. You were off by 2 centimeters," the biting remark makes you clench your jaw. You don't reply. The voice does the same, it remains still, only a semblance of white noise, but you understand its silence as a smug victory.

Suddenly, vertigo takes hold of you. It only happens for a split second, always unannounced, but you know better than to brace yourself. Doing so, as you've learned, would only make you nauseous, dizzy and weak -- instead, you let go and the shadows gently coax you back into the light before dissipating in the air.

You find yourself in front of your apartment door, an odd and anticlimactic way of ending a productive day. What, no snack run today?

"Not feeling it today. So you either open the door on your own, or I'll do it myself. Get a move on."

Some of these threats tend to hold more water than others, but more often than not, they're just empty words and loud, useless barking. And so you've learned to ignore them all -- however, you feel a faint prodding inside your back pocket, like a tentacle in search of something. Right, your keys. The roll of your eyes and the slowness in your movements are the only means of rebellion you have against this annoying entity in your head, it continues to breathe down your neck, impatient as ever, until the door opens and you step into your safe haven.

"Finally! Guess there's some activity in that brain dead head of yours."

You're forced to make a bee-line for the kitchen and the fridge, puppeteered by a force much more stronger, much more ancient than every insignificant emotion you've ever felt: the damn parasite inside of you is hungry.

As you both scan the leftovers -- your leech of a roommate seeing through your eyes, smelling through your nose -- the voice returns, this time in a more playful tone, less grating than before.

"Scusi, what's with the silent treatment today?" You bite the inside of your cheek and it laughs at you. "Don't tell me, wolf got your tongue? Are you mad that I saw right through your poor, shitty technique?"

A suffocating presence crawls inside you, starting from somewhere below your rib cage and making its way upwards through your esophagus and trachea, shifting until you feel the prodding of cold, slimy fingers in your mouth. They are tasteless and you can still breathe, your body not even bothering to perceive this as an obstruction or an intruding force that must be coughed and spat out. They are careless in their movements, pinching the tip of your tongue and pushing against your clenched teeth in an attempt to get you to open up.

And the worst part is that this is nothing but a mocking gesture, you've come to understand this over the years. To you, this is no different than someone poking at your sides, childishly asking for your attention. You obediently open, enough for a single digit to slip out, one you recognize as the middle finger. It presses down on your lower lip.

And then you bite down, hard.

It dissipates instantly, it is absorbed back into your body through every inch of skin it makes contact with. There is a new sound in the back of your mind, one you weren't quite expecting. Your parasite laughs, amused, no trace of that usual condescending tone.

"Good, you still know how to use that petty mouth of yours. I don't have to worry about teaching you how to chew down your food."

This makes you stand up straight, turning your head and glaring at an empty space, where you assume this presence would manifest if it chose to stop taking residence in your body, "I'm not eating while you're still in there. If you want dinner, then get out."

There is a beat, a momentary silence. You don't give the parasite any time to bargain, "I'm serious. Use your own damn mouth if you're so hungry. I already have to do everything on my own, I'm not going to start spoon feeding you, too!"

The reply comes out faster than you expected.

"Fine."

For a moment, your vision doubles and your body feels like it's being painlessly torn apart. For a moment, you have two sets of eyes, two sets of arms, two sets of legs and two minds. You are both yourself and him, simultaneously. It is like someone is cutting your soul in half, shoving each part into two different bodies.

It is over in the blink of an eye, and there is a presence looming behind you, made from the same material that took you here, the same material that often travels in your veins and every other crevice, nook and cranny available between your organs and bones. The lights of your apartment flicker, and you take notice of his shadow cast over you.

His predatory gaze burns holes in the back of your head, and in the stillness of it all, you hear his steps, the sound his leather pants and the shifting of his shirt fabric as he steps closer -- until you feel his chest against your back. An arm slides into view, closing the door to the fridge and resting there, preventing you from escaping. It is decorated with all the useless, silver jewelry he's taken from your targets, a hand covered with tattoos you've often traced with your very own fingers in the past.

Oddly enough, you do not feel like prey. Not anymore. Your instinct tells you that you should, but truth be told, you could not care less. Especially when you feel his chin dig into the top of your head, his weight pressing lazily on you.

"…But in exchange, I'm cooking tonight. You got 10 seconds to get outta here." He shifts, and his cheek nuzzles into you as he yawns, like he's ready to move on from this conversation.

"Huh?" You slide from under him, finally looking at the parasite concealing as a man -- one you recognize as the bane of your existence, Pavia. "Uh, like hell I'm trusting you with the food! I've seen the stuff you put on your pizza."

"Like you're one to talk! You add too much salt to everything you make. If you wanted to ruin your liver, you should've just let me eat it from day one. 5 seconds left before I throw you out. C'mon."

"Do you even know how to cook? Any actual recipes that don't require winging everything?"

"Does pasta with a side of 'mind your fucking business or I'll make us eat rat poison' sound good to you?"

"I swear if you put anything funny in the food--…"

"Time's up. Out!" Pavia picks you up, manhandles you even, and tosses you out into the living room. As soon as you land on the couch, the door to the kitchen closes and you're left all alone.

It's easy to forget that you have no fucking clue as to who or what Pavia even is.

No last name, no records, no personal information at all. You've touched him before—he looks and feels just like any other person. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn he bleeds the same way you do. But there are times when that outer layer of normalcy is peeled back just enough to remind you what you're dealing with. Sometimes, the outline of his form darkens, as if the light around him couldn't affect him in any way, and his eyes go dark, so very dark.

You've seen him in this form, unhinging his jaw to uncomfortable degrees and revealing endless sets of saw-like fangs and teeth. His nails have grown longer, thicker and sharper than expected in many occasions. You would find those on the ground, like a wild dog who has never known, let alone needed, a trimmer.

And most importantly, you've allowed him entry to every pore of your body, every piece of cartilage, every muscle, every vein.

That's when you get a small glimpse into the eldritch monstrosity living under your roof—sometimes, he's a thick fog. Sometimes, he's an oozing pile of slime. Sometimes, he's the big, bad wolf. Sometimes, you can't even understand what you're looking at when he manifests in front of you. Regardless, you're certain of something.

Pavia is darkness, eternal and haunting as the night.

He is also a huge, ungrateful, bastard.

"Hey! Where'd you leave the gelato!? This freezer's a damn mess!" His voice is heard, muffled. It doesn't carry the same cadence and weight as it does when you hear it from within your mind. He sounds more annoying, in fact.

It's a strange experience, to have him coexist right beside you as if he weren't some sort of parasite, one hair away from eating your organs. But at least like this, he cannot read your mind nor attempt to puppet your body like a moron in broad daylight. You don't answer, fully aware that he's only trying to piss you off and lure you into another argument -- as if he'd ever lose sight of his precious dessert, anyway. Instead, you busy yourself with the usual routine; finishing what is left of your work, contact your employers and whatnot.

Soon enough, the kitchen door opens and Pavia slides into the room with a single plate of warm food. You look at him, eyes wide in indignation. Oh, he wouldn't …

"Huh? What, I thought you didn't trust me to cook, so I just made something for myself. There's some leftovers from your poor excuse of a lasagna, though." The smarmy expression plastered all over his face as he licks the sauce off his spoon is unbearable, and you rush to the kitchen either to find the biggest knife to drive into his chest or to resign yourself and eat those leftovers.

And then you see it, another plate resting by the counter. Full of delicious looking pasta.

Son of a bitch.

"Bring me some of that orange juice you bought yesterday while you're in there, yeah?" Pavia never gives you time to settle down, demanding your attention and your frustration time and time again, unable to form a single coherent thought nor opinion about him.

He's annoying, that's all you've been able to figure out so far.

He's annoying, and he's made a mess out of your kitchen to cook this meal for both of you. He's annoying, and stingy when it comes to sharing his favorite snacks and desserts, but he never attempts to steal your own. He's annoying, and he offers you a power beyond your wildest dreams, to get rid of inhibition and embrace the abilities of an eldritch beast. He's annoying, and he hogs all the fucking blankets at night, planting his cold feet against your legs or back to add insult to injury.

He's annoying, and he's calling out to you once more, telling you to hurry or else you'll miss "that one stupid show" you like, that he'll switch channels if you don't sit down with him to eat. You sigh. The nerve, the hypocrisy. You know the things he likes to watch -- he has no right to criticize your taste like this.

"I'm coming, calm down! Christ …"

You notice that he never lingers nor invades any of your usual places, always picking the same spots for himself, and this is ironic in every way possible given his fickle nature. There's no doubt that as soon as you two retire for the night, Pavia will make a show out of sliding back into your body, to rest with the warmth of your blood and the soothing rhythm of your heart. And you will tell him to fuck off and sleep on the couch, reminding him of that one time he got a little too comfortable, clutching your heart in his claws, causing you to believe you were having a heart attack. Then, morning will arrive, and you will find Pavia either sprawled out or gone, but never truly leaving you alone. You will feel him, that inky slime, both cold and warm in your veins. You will go to work, and you will return home to start all over again. This is the routine, one you stopped questioning a long time ago.

This parasite who gets under your skin, both figuratively and literally, is annoying. He's annoying when he teases you, forcing you to admit that he can cook a mean pasta. He's annoying when he laughs, loud and boisterous, at those stupid moments he often criticizes in all of your favorite shows. He's annoying when he gets clingy, using you as a pillow because he can't be bothered to reach out for one of the many other pillows scattered around.

He's so very annoying when he looks at you with a curious gleam in his eyes, obviously noticing the way you've chosen to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Time stands still as you simply look at each other, as you lose yourself in those bright, sharp eyes.

You stick out your tongue at him, and Pavia blows a raspberry at you. Sure, he might be plenty annoying on his own, but together you're both insufferable and unstoppable.