#-that you could barely see how many bullets hit the center

[irisbaggins]

Me, thinking I've over-estimated my skills and have gotten rusty: it'll be fun to try again :)

Me, when I realise I've got nearly triple the score average:

[bahrtofane]

after pleading and much excitement on kylians’ end, you finally bite the bullet and take him with you to your hometown of algiers. 

kylian x algerian!reader

word count : 1.3K+

watch it: fluffy fluff fluff, mild over thinking and angst if u rly rly dig deep for it 

luv my country fr fr

—--

theres a small dent on the wall from where you banged your elbow so hard you swore you broke it. you were around 10. it's been years, and the little spot still stands. you never forget to run your thumb over the ridges, the cool wall warming under your touch.

It's been years, but the wall holds the memory, a mirror of you. each flick of your thumb ignites the scene inside your head over and over, you swear you can feel your elbow sting. you remember the way you hissed sharply and called for your mom, who came scuring from the hallway. and how your cousins all lined up to see the damage and soon teased you for being a baby. screeching at the 'crater' you left in the wall. your aunt snapped a picture of the comotion while she laughed hysterically, hand on her hip, head tossed back while the rest of the family filled in to check out the commotion. 

you were given a wet towel to keep in your elbow till the swelling went down. and the teasing never stopped, in fact you're bound to have it happen at any second. your cousins called you bulldozer for years, some still do. that's even your contact name in a few of their phones. 

it's so silly how such a little moment from so many years ago carries on. wasn't even your funniest moment in full honesty. you have much better ones. 

it's been years, and it remains one of your many contributions to your grandmother's little flat. cozy and quaint in the center of algiers. today you bring a new addition, kylian.

you joked about taking him once, just a passing comment while you showed him pictures from your last trip. he hummed, latching onto the idea like an excited puppy to a chew toy. bothering you with itineraries (as if you need one in your hometown?), your texts are a wall of flight screen shots at this point. and of course bombarding you with questions every second he got the chance. 

"should i pack light?"

"what cities will you take me to?"

"do you think i'll need to bring a lot of security?"

in truth, you were hesitant to bring him along.

 going back home is a feeling you can never get enough of. from the moment you step off the airplane and the familiar smell of your country hits your face, to your first dip into the mediterranean, a homemade meal, singing out of cars in the dead of night while you race through the city. 

bringing him is an intimate ordeal. your country is your first love, first home. she raised you in a sense. 

she is a part of him, the same as she is of you. but having him in your grandmother's home? introducing him to your very lively extended family? you don't know about that.

you were worried about your sanity as much as his. you know the questions will be never ending. he's your fiance now after all, wedding in the works. this is only going to add to the disaster that is wedding planning. you know you're going to have to squeeze in promises of inviting your 2nd cousins aunts cats neighbors gardener. 

and how could you forget, he's kylian. kylian mbappe. there's no way you're bringing him to the heart of algiers and going to be free to roam the streets as you please.

you know you'll never be able to do so on your own again once the media puts two and two together. good by freedom. it's easy in resorts or fancy hotels. everything can be arranged. but not here. 

you and kylian value your privacy dearly. french media has barely ever gotten a proper look at your face and you intend to keep it that way. but you don't think you can get away with that here. you want to show him real places that hold history and the people. not just fancy villas on the coast that cost more than you want to think about. 

he pleaded with you anyway, even after you voiced your concerns. "i have an agent and security for a reason. just take me and the rest will come easy. don't even worry."

you frowned, "it'll be in the summer, when everyone else and their mother is going."

"i just want to see it you know, authentically. i want to experience just a part of what you did growing up." he confessed, shy. 

and so you caved. and here he is. leaning against that same wall you rammed into all those years ago, fanning his face with a pile of notebook paper he found lying around after a long day of unpacking the gifts you bought for your family. 

he's had a long day of posing for pictures and videos, all of which you rolled your eyes at. it's nearing sunset, and you press your forehead against the familiar cool wall of one of the living rooms. it's going to be where you sleep for the next 2 weeks or so. 

the couches convert to beds and you get to play the age-old game of war with the mosquitoes that torment you. you haven't told kylian yet. he needs to be ambushed in the middle of the night for the full authentic experience. ha ha ha. 

you look back to where kylian is sat on the couch perpendicular to yours, hes given up on the fanning. hand under his thighs while he watches what he can of the balcony. you can see the sea from here. in all its beauty. the gentle wind it brings flutters the curtains while you hum. 

tomorrow he meets the rest of your family and you can't help the butterflies that pool in your stomach at the thought. your fiance, meeting the rest of what makes this house a home. you can't wait. for now though, all you want to do is nap.

you get up from your couch, sliding on your socks to press up against his side. even if its pushing near broiling temperatures. he doesn't complain, only bringing his hands to cup your face gently, giving your nose a peck. 

"its so beautiful here, " he sighs, "thank you for bringing me."

you hum into his lips, giving them a firm kiss, "you're welcome my love. i'll show you around tomorrow. it's time for my post flight nap."

he gives you a lazy smile, "yes please i was waiting for you to bring it up. it's past my nap time." he pouts.

you roll your eyes and throw one of the couches throw pillows against his chest. he manages to grab it, hurling it back at you. and while you're distracted he curls his hands against your side, tickling you till you yelp and thrash in his hold, back pressed against the couch while you gasp in between laughter. 

he finally lets you go and collapses on top of you, kissing any skin he can reach.

"okay get off, it's too hot for that." you groan.

he at least listens to that, peeling himself off you and retreating to the far end of the couch while you set up yours for what you know is going to be top 5 naps of your life, easy. 

against the gentle breeze and city sounds, you're lulled to sleep. in your vision you see kylian getting ready to do the same, reaching over to press one sound kiss on your forehead before settling down into his little bubble. 

you could do this forever you think. you're glad he came.

[bakvrue]

a man's strength

izuku x reader

provocative imagery, strength kink, izuku and reader are married and in love (feverishly so), mostly fluff with horny sprinkles, for my lovely mimi, ~1.3k wc

The cheers from the audience echo through the back halls of the late night studio and you make yourself comfortable in the green room.

This isn't the first time you've sat backstage while your husband smiles and waves at the large crowd. The host, a newcomer who has just recently snagged the prime slot, ushers Izuku over to his seat but when he goes to sit the applause continues.

Who wouldn't want to keep cheering for the number one hero? But your husband plays it down, laughing it off coolly and thanking them before sitting down.

Izuku could barely talk on stage in your first year of high school, turning into a defective robot, but years of experience really does make all the difference.

The host, Lux Larson, plays off of the audience spectacularly. The topics they discussed before the show are a hit with the audience, and the banter they have with Izuku and their band leader is actually funny. It's refreshing.

They laugh like old friends and Izuku tells harrowing stories of recent rescues, he talks about being a husband and you. Pink dusts his ears when you're brought up but the conversation naturally moves on to talk about the new hero initiatives Izuku is promoting. And before long the interview is over.

“Mr. Deku, thank you so much for being here tonight.” Lux sticks their hand out and Izuku happily accepts, shaking it with a smile. “The grip strength on this guy. Wow. More with Deku right after this!”

You hear a buzzer and people on set start moving all at once and you're confused when your husband is led from his seat to the large open area. He still seems relaxed, he must know what's going on, but you don't.

Your eyebrows furrow, the smile on your husband's face is enough to make you suspicious.

A knock pulls you from your mind before you can start to theorize.

“Mrs. Midoriya, your presence is requested at the center stage.”

You follow the assistant through the maze of hallways until you're standing behind the cameras.

The large open stage now has a large sturdy stand holding a glass window. More are off to the side with a variety of thicknesses, and a dawning washes over you.

Izuku jogs over to you the moment he spots you, his smile is so big, he's so excited.

“Izuku, is this why you were practicing your punches in the mirror this morning?”

You cock an eyebrow at him and as much as he would love to bask in the playfulness of your voice right now, he's on a time limit.

“We'll be starting soon, I want you to be front and center to enjoy the view.”

“What do you mean enjoy the—”

A buzzer goes off and he kisses your forehead.

“Watch me,” he whispers softly into your hairline before he walks back to Lux.

The lights dim and a producer counts down until Lux takes over.

“Hello and welcome back! We're still here with Deku and we're about to see the Pro's strength in action. What we have in front of us is a single pane of bulletproof glass. Have you ever punched through glass like this?”

Izuku's hands are in his pockets as he leans down to talk into the microphone Lux is holding, “I've punched through many things but I can't say that I’ve ever punched through bullet proof glass on purpose.”

“I can't imagine any of us have either,” Lux laughs. “Normally punching through glass is very dangerous, and we do have medical staff on standby, but how are you protecting yourself?”

Izuku takes off his suit jacket and begins rolling up his sleeves as he says, “I'll be wrapping my arm with one of my quirks, it should shield my skin from loose glass and prevent me from breaking anything.”

Lux laughs, “Break anything? I don't think the studio can cover breaking you. Are we sure about this? Audience, what do we think?”

The audience cheers and your husband has the audacity to turn and wink at you.

Lux points their finger at the audience, “If he breaks it's you guys that are footing the bill!” The producer hands safety glasses to the two on stage and Lux pats Izuku on the back before backing up. “Whenever you're ready!”

The band gives him a drum roll, “Now kids, don't try this at home.”

He gives you a half smile as he turns to face glass in front of him. The drumroll gets faster and so does your heart, pounding in your chest as wisps of black whip curls around his hand and wrist.

He pulls backwards, the muscles in his back causing his shirt to strain as he pushes them to their max. Electricity crackles in the studio as he punches. His fist collides with the glass, and you watch almost in slow motion as the glass cracks and gives way. His punch goes clean through, an almost perfect circle missing from the center of the shattered glass.

You gulp, realizing just why your menace of a husband wanted you up here. You shift your weight hoping the spark inside you doesn't turn into a raging fire.

Izuku is talking to Lux, probably talking about the breaking points of bullet proof glass and replaying the slow mo footage of the break.

You can see it playing on screen, and while the two of them are interested in the way the cracks in the glass all converged to a single point, you're too busy staring at the bit of forearm not concealed my black whip. Thick, powerful ropes of muscle…

You refocus on the two talking, Lux is pointing out a rip in the seam of Izuku's shirt, to which your husband decides to rip the shirt even further, pulling at the threads until they break.

Now shirtless, he lines up to punch a new piece of bullet proof glass. This one is three times thicker than the last.

His body braces again, but this time you can see every muscle tense in his back. His shoulder pulls back, and he thrusts his fist forward. The glass cracks under the force as his tricep bulges. He plunges his fist harder and deeper, feeling the glass resist him before it breaks to his whim.

The crowd claps at his strength as you struggle to stand. Your cheeks are heating as you watch the replay. The slow motion video shows just how easy it was for him. Like a knife slicing through butter.

You step back farther into the shadows behind you, covering your face. And Izuku knows. He smiles at you and you hope and pray to god that he does not come over here, that the cameras don't record the absolute hunger that must be sitting behind your eyes.

The third and final pane of glass is moved into position. A level eight. It's eight times thicker than the first and made to withstand 5 shots of an ak47.

Izuku once again braces himself for the punch, his bare back glistening under the hot studio lights.

His fist closes, and he presses it against the glass focusing on his breathing.

A drop of sweat trails down his back and he pulls his arm back. He breathes deeply before unleashing his power on the glass.

His fist collides with the glass. The force pushing and bending the thick glass around his arm, until it snaps and shatters.

The leftover shape reminds you of what a drawing of wormholes look like, except this one is broken to pieces in the deepest part of the pit.

The pure raw strength of your husband is enough to break through the strongest of security measures. You feel dizzy.

You reach your hand out towards the wall behind you and look at your monster of a husband. He's laughing with Lux before they send the program off to commercial break.

Thank god the dressing room has a lock, if you'll even make it that far...

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part 18

Summary: Clashes with the Royal Army finally take place. Other sides of Enjolras revealed…and new developments take place for Enjolras and his gal.

Notes/Warnings: 18 & above please. There are two collages…enjoy! Wound/Blood, War violence…briefly mentioned…

“My sweet angel. So brave coming to see me.” Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir. My angel. Mon ange.

It is not necessary that whilst I live I live happily; but it is necessary that so long as I live I should live honourably. - Quote from philosopher Immanual Kant

Thank you, for reading! Be nice! Feedback is welcome! Want to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️ and of course…Enjoy!

Glancing skyward, Enjolras saw scarlet flags flapping brilliantly against the clear morning sky. With the right push all of these men, women could all raise up their anger fueling them. Perhaps, their voices could would finally be heard. A smiled curled his lips. His heart lifted in hope. The gods, were on their side. Reaching up, absently he gave your ribbon a gentle tug.

Moving among the throngs mourners and his comrades, he gave the nod. In a breath, they reacted. Easily six of them took over pulling the carriage that carried the casket of General Lamarque. There was practically no resistance. Elation began to fill him. Perhaps, all of this would be easier then any of them thought.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the sheer number of those that turned out. There were several men and women, old and young alike crowding into the city center. This was exactly what they needed.

The further and deeper they moved into the city, Royal Guards rode high above on their white horses. The numbers of them grew. He knew they would there but his stomach began churn at saw how large their presence was.

A crack of thunder, made him look around. There was no storm clouds. His his grew when he realized that what he had heard was a bullet cracking out of his barrel. He watched as a lieutenant of Royal Army slid from his saddle, a scarlet spot over where the man’s heart should be grew as he fell. Panic hit the crowd moments later, screams fill the sky.

As he began to back up, he watched the small groups of the Royal army. It did not take them long before they came together and formed bigger, tighter bunches. One a fair distance away drew his sword, calling out a command and they began riding at anyone in their path. Guns were pulled from their holsters, swords are drawn and people are running different directions.

Despite his heart thudding hard in his chest a steadiness comes over him. He grew focused. He urged the men and woman around him to run.

“We have to get out of here. Run!” He commanded.

They listened and he ran with them. Looking back when he could, many anguished, terrified faces filled his line of vision. Though none of them were the faces, he hoped to see. The faces he wished to see belonged to Courfeyrac and Grantaire; he knew Gavroche was as sneaky and small. He knew how to get himself out of a scrap. Yet, he did not spot them anywhere.

As he neared the end of the city center, hoping for the best he chose one of the narrow streets closest to him and began to run down that one. Deep down, he knew the army would struggle there, they just had to.

Hearing his name he glanced up ahead of him. He saw far off, very far off his two friends. It brought little comfort, they needed to survive today to fight another day. He kept on running. Around him, men and women continued to run.

The screams around him rose, glancing over his shoulder he saw the Royal army were riding hard towards him. A man close to him stood fear obviously consumed him.

He had to do something, he pulled the man aside, the Royal solider drew his sword and he drew his gun. The galloping of the horse filled his ears. He aimed, he he shot and the sword came down.

Before he even knew what had happened, he found himself on the ground. He barely was aware that the old man managed to scramble up and he ran off.

Pain ripped at him. That’s when he saw his hand, the solider’s sword contacted with the back of his hand. There was a deep slice across it.

Glancing back, the warmth of triumph filled him as he saw people throwing rocks and other stuff down upon the Royal Soldiers from their windows. The people were fighting back. Reaching for his pistol, not entirely sure how but he did manage to holster it the best he could.

Sitting back he pulled his scarf free. He glanced behind him once again before he quickly wrapped his scarf around his hand. Biting one end, he made a tight knot. That would have to do.

******

Certain the soldiers and their horses had run off, he took a deep breath. Grantaire, came up to him almost gave him a fright as his arm wrapped around his shouldlers. “Enjolras, we did it. We survived.”

He nodded. He tried to gather his words

He felt his friend step back. “Your hand.” His voice cracked. “What happened to your hand?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be alright.”

He ran off ahead. His heart picked up with his new idea of what the should do.

“Citizens! Citizens!” The words were sharp and stronger then he had hoped for. “Now is the time to make our stand!” He continued, the people cheered and rose their fists skyward.

******

The moon was full and bright in the inky sky. He had survived another day. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he was grateful not more were killed in this scuffle. Yet, his core group of comrades had made it out alive and for that he was grateful.

Lingering in the doorway, he eyed the barricade they had built. It was solid. He wished there was a way to spy on the royal army. But it was much too dangerous , the risk was too high. They would just have to remain at the ready.

“Enjolras, you scoundrel get over here.”

Raising his eyebrows, he turned in the direction of the voice. It came from the doctor who was in their ranks and believed in their cause.

Pushing, himself off the doorframe he went over to the older man. He noticed he had gathered a few of their supplies. They shouldn’t be waste it on him.

“I’m sure its nothing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He settled on the desk besides the supplies. The worn wood was scratched and creaked under his weight. Many a night had they poured under candle light, looking at maps. Tracing the the lines of streets and roads; with a steady finger as they would discuss away around the royal arm.

“You’ll see nothing to worry about.” He gat gotten you used to the soft throb of pain. It would pass. There were greater things to be worried about.

The man had a natural gentle touch as he took his hand. He smiled at him. “You tied this good.”

Ejolras shrugged. He had to keep fighting. He had not had the time to stop and think if it had been a good knot. He gritted his teeth as the man tugged and finally loosened the knot.

“Enjolras.” The man shook his head. “That is quite the gash.”

But his eyes to grew seeing the wound. It was far worse then he expected, that was proudly why it had still hurt.

The man handed his scarf to Gavroche who had wandered up. “Go and soak rinse that in the water barrel.”

“We shouldn’t, we may need that.” Enjolras spoke up.

The man waved him off. “I can get more from the Seine. When we do.”

He shook his head. That was a risk that may not be worth taking but Enjolras remained silent at the moment. One did not argue with a doctor.

“Well, alright. Let’s get this done with.”

Enjolras, would not look away. He watched as the man pulled the stopper from small glass jar. The scent of the alcohol is strong and stung his nose.

“It’s going to sting.” The man warned.

He shrugged.

The man poured and then rubbed the wound clean, along with what blood had dried.

“That’s a rather clean blow.”

“You read my thoughts, just grateful he didn’t take off my hand when he slashed down.” He gave the man a half smile.

“Yes. Those swords can be either completely dull or as sharp as a razor, all depends on the man who wields them.”

“This one must not have cared too much.” The man gave a short, choked off chuckle. “Alright.” He made quick work of threading a needle. “You may not want to watch this bit.”

“I need my hand.”

The man rose an eyebrow. “I did this on the battlefield, my boy.”

“I know.” Enjolras grimaced.

******

He opened and closed his hand once the man was done. He smiled. “You are a miracle worker.”

Just as the pain of the stitching began to lessen it strengthened as they wrapped and tied his scarf around it again.

“I know where my talents lay.”

“Glad you are on our side.” He clapped the man on the back.”

******

Going to one of the side rooms in the warehouse, Enjolras went to think. He snatched up scrap of bread and cheese. Barely, chewing them before swallowing. His stomach finally reminding him, he had forgotten to eat.

He needed a moment, away from the others. The quietness of the room gave him a chance clear his head. Eyeing his wrapped hand and simultaneously was grateful for the doctor but also relieved he had not inquired about the ribbon tied to his jacket.

Thoughts of you finally bloomed in his mind. You had taken root a while back but now, he knew body and spirit. These thoughts, these memories of you were different. He welcomed them.

Because of you he remembered the quote, General Lamarque had taught him from the works of Kant, “It is not necessary that whilst I live I live happily; but it is necessary that so long as I live I should live honourably.” With you, he easily could envision both. Which he was very aware was a rare occurrence in one’s life.

Yet, he struggled. Not with how he felt for you but with if was right to establish himself and make himself your…gritting his teeth he turned to Gavroche’s voice interrupted him. He was truly like a younger brother at times. He would only allow this from him. If Grantaire or Courfeyrac did this, he’d brush them off.

As he turned, his boots echoed in the small room.

“What is it?”

“The girl. Y/N is here.”

“What?” He stormed past Gavroche, just barely missing him.

There you were, talking with Grantaire. The man always talked to people. You were clad in a fresh dress, your hair soft and scarf around your shoulders just like the first night, he saw you here. His heart lurched painfully.

“What are you doing here?”

He watched as you turned to him. Your eyes moistened. He sighed at his tone.

“I…I…” Your words did not come.

He easily closed the distance. He grabbed your arm, careful as he did. “Excuse us Grantaire.”

“Come with me.” He gently pulled and you easily came.

He went back to that side room with you, only this time he closed the door.

“Enjolras.” Your voice was soft as his name poured from your lips.

“Answer me.” He realized he had not let go of you. He didn’t necessarily want to. Gently he grazed your arm with his thumb. Your softness was electrifying.

“I heard explosions and screams. I grew worried.”

He drew his wrapped hand to your other arm without thinking. He could watch as surprise and concern washed over your face.

“I’m alright.” He immediately said. “I told you, I’d come tonight. I would meet you by our willow.”

“My worry consumed my heart.”

Letting your arm go, he cupped your cheek.

“Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir.”

His heart squeezed as you leaned into his hand. Your lashes laying gently on your cheeks. He stepped closer, his body brushing yours.

Enjolras was very strong. He could resist lot in this life but you, you tested that. Right now, he wanted to kiss you. Closing the distance, he chose to do so. He sighed into the kiss as he felt your fingers nestle in his hair.

He needed this, this quiet softness. It ended the struggle he was tearing himself apart with mere moments ago.

The door swung open. “Enjolras, they’re coming!” One of the comrades announced and ran back out. His heart stilled.

He nodded, “Stay here. Do not leave this room, no matter what.”

“But, but..”

“Listen, stay here. I can not bare the thought of anything happened.”

He turned and ran away then, grateful he had cleaned and oiled his gun after this morning. Spotting a rifle, he grabbed it along with the bullets that sat beside it.

Quickly he ran to the barricade, climbing it easily his eyes grew seeing the Royal arm walking through the shadowy fog that had rolled in.

“Ready your positions.”

The barricade creaked as people took their positions. He glanced around and saw people in windows and rooftops. They had a strong advantage.

A street away, they formed their positions, some stood others knelt. They raised their rifles.

“Get done!” His shout came from the pit lf his stomach.

Soon bullets burst into the night, the slammed into the wood and stone alike.

The air was tense. “Wait for my signal!”

One of the guns went off behind him. “Hold onto your powder!”

They had to wait till they grew closer or they would have no chance.

“Wait for them to advance!” He glanced through some openings before him. His stomach churned.

He could hear as one of the leaders, card out. “Charge!“

“Hold!” He waited a breath. “Hold.” They needed to get just a touch closer.

“Fire!” He finally shouted and jumping up, he took aim. Not breath later, others join him.

Smoke filled the air. The smell was bitter and sharp. Bullets whizzed by, were random screams coming from both sides. He was caught up in aiming and pulling the trigger. He managed to nab a few.

Soon a smile spread across his face. The Royal army began to group together but withdraw.

“They’re falling back. Keep it up!” He scream. Their advantage had won them this round. They didn’t stop the offense till only the fallen is what remained.

Cheers erupted! Shouts of victory filled the small alley.

*****

Your heart pounded as you managed to reach the warehouse door. Your heart skipped at the memory. This was where you had first met Enjolras. He had to be there. The bar had been shuttered. If he were not here, you would make way to his loft. Though the idea of going there without him made you uneasy.

Taking a breath when you were outside the warehouse; you made a small wish. It was just as heavy as it had been that first night. You were grateful that tonight, rain was not falling from the sky.

Slipping it the warehouse was bright with all the torches and candles that flickered. Men you didn’t recognize were busy with various tasks.

“My dear, Y/N what do we owe this pleasure?” You knew the voice and noted as you turned to it, that his words did not have a slur pulling on them.

“Grantaire.” You smiled. He must be sober, you reasoned. “I am here to see Enjplras.”

He took your hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Oh our fearless Enjolras. He is here, I assure you.” He said with a grand air, that almost made you chuckle of you were not so concerned.

Gavoche came up, his youthful exuberance coming off of him in waves. “Y/N, you’re here! Why? Enjolras?” A huge, bright smile was splashed across his face.

You nodded and brought your scarf tighter around your shoulders. “Yes, I am.”

“I know where he is, I’ll go and fetch him.”He ran off.

Grantaire, smiled. “He’s a good kid. Very quick, very stealthy.”

You nodded. “Strong too, he helped me home from the market one day.”

“What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, as it reached your ears.

As you turned to him, heart picked up speed as tears filled your eyes. You knew you should have stayed home but you couldn’t.

“I…I…” You words twisted in your mouth.

He easily closing the distance, the sound of his boots caused a soft hush to fall over the warehouse. His hand was warm as it just slipped under your scarf to grab your arm.

“Excuse us Grantaire.” You did not resist as he pulled you. “Come with me.”

You did not falter or stumbled as he tugged you to a room a part from vast openness around you. He managed to close the door as the two of you went in. Finally he stopped, his eyes moved over you. As the silence sliced through you.

“Enjolras.” Your finally having the strength to utter his name.

“Answer me.” His grip lessened but he did not let go of you. As you felt his thumb gently graze your skin, it stole your breath. It had felt like it had been an age since he touched you.

“I heard explosions and screams. I grew worried.” Your voice cracked.

You felt as his other hand drifted up your arm but when you saw how it was wrapped, you felt as if someone had hit you, like some had hit you hard. Blinking, you met his eyes. You didn’t even know what you could possibly say.

“I’m alright.” He immediately said. “I told you, I’d come tonight. I would meet you by our willow.”

“My worry consumed my heart.”

Letting your arm go, he cupped your cheek. Sighing, you leaned into his touch. His gentleness, was almost too much. Your worries had caused you so much pain.

You closed your eyes eyes. You did not want him to see how your anguish still battled within you despite him being in front of you.

“Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir.”

You felt as his body against yours. A soft sound came from you, as you felt him kiss you. You wilted against him. Reaching for him, you nestled your fingers into his soft curls. You melted further as you felt the warmth of him sighing. You could have sworn that through his shirt, his vest and your dress, your chemise that you could feel as his heart hard in his chest.

The door swung open. “Enjolras, they’re coming!” A comrade of his announced and ran back out.

Your body stiffened, your worries once again filling you. Your eyes met his they were darker than you had ever seen them.

He nodded, “Stay here. Do not leave this room, no matter what.”

“But, but..”

“Listen, stay here. I can not bare the thought of anything happened.”

********

As you paced back and forth, his kiss lingered on your lips. You could heard so shouting, you were sure it was Enjolras. But you could not be sure.

Once again, your stomach churned. Part of you had wished now that you had stayed home. But seeing him, that kiss had helped but what if he gets killed out there and that would be your last kiss.

You couldn’t take this. You would were going to be ill. Grabbing a chair, you sat down. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

When the shouting and loud bursts filled the air, you tried to ignore them. Desperation filling you, making it hard to breathe you ran to the door that you had used to enter the warehouse. It was far heavier then ever before. It would not budge for you. You could not take it. It was too much. There were so many anguished cries and screams. What if one of them was his?

These all at once all grew silent. Swallowing, you crept back into warehouse. Your heart pounded in your ears.

Exuberant cheers, cries of delight finally traveled to your ears. With your heart leading you, you found yourself at the doorway that ushered in all those good sounds.

Careful, you peered around and seeing that it looked safe; you took a hesitant step out. Surprise over took you and you placed a hand over your heart.

Gun smoke swirled in the night air, you saw many bright and large smiles. You watched as joy washed over Enjolras’s face as shouted in what appeared to be a victory. Slowly you began to draw closer.

You stopped as something else came over his face. “Marius, watch out!” He screamed.

You covered your mouth when suddenly you could have someone shoot their gun. Blinking, distantly you wondered if that really happened. Either way you began backing up.

Your heart stilled watching Enjolras. There was such a difference in him. Silently you watched as he walked down from where he had stood victorious on the top of the barricade.

What was he doing? What if the guy tries to shoot again? You clamped your hands over your mouth as you kept backing up.

He stopped, and with not even a flinch you watched as he aimed and shot. A scream came up from the pit of your stomach but it was muffled by your hands. You turned and ran back into the warehouse.

******

He slipped the gun back into his coat. As he saw, Marius kneel beside Epione, he realized he had better return to you. He easily, moved between those that lingered. Shock still fresh in their hearts with this attack so close their base. He made his way to you and slowly opened the door to the small room. You were pacing.

“Mon ange?” He managed. Inwardly, he was trembling. He longed for a drink.

@aftertheglitterfades @sebastianstvns @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @lluviamg06 @samunson83 @craftyhufflepuff @julieteagk @gretavankleep37 @little-wormwood

[fiixer]

is there any kind of job you won't take?

" Y'know, most people don't ask stuff like that unless they want something reeeally weird."

That was generally how it worked, in his experience.  Either a potential client was going to ask for something bizarre, or they were too nosy for their own good, perhaps as a poor attempt at small talk to get a chummy vibe going with him.  Jordi has had a few of both in his time, the latter of which never worked, but he had to admit the attempts were adorable.  "I'm good with weird and all.  Cash is cash, I usually don't care how I have to get it, but believe it or not,  I do have standards - I know, it shocked the hell outta me, too, but there it is.   So, yeah, there's a few jobs I won't take - but, I also won't let anyone else take them, either."

What that means will come in time.

"Kids. I don't deal with shit involving kids.  And I don't mean like, holding a kid for ransom, scaring the hell out of them…that kind of thing is alright.  Not my favorite, but it pays, so I can't complain.  No, no, no, when I say 'involving kids', I mean putting them on the business end of my .45.  And before anyone starts spewing bullshit like who would do that - " For that, his voice climbs a derisive octave or two, only to drop back to normal in barely a breath. " - people do.  Not a lot of people, but people.  I've had one."

It's one he doesn't think of often anymore, now that so many years had passed.  Thus far, it had been one of a mere handful that he'd refused, and one of two he'd turned down because – well, he'd rather not get into the reasons why he'd shot them down.  Introspection sucks, he'd not here for that mess.  Oh, no, instead he's thinking an explanation is in order here.  A man like himself doesn't say no to paying work without good reason, after all.  So, guess what?  It's story time.

"I don't think I was in Chicago a year when this guy contacts me.  Says he wants to get back at his ex-wife.  They split the year before, she got their kid, she was seeing another guy and I dunno, some other bullshit, I stopped listening by that point.  I just remember thinking This is why I don't do the relationship crap.  It gets messy way too quick and then you end up with freak shows like that nutsack who can't leave shit alone.   Just thinking about it gives me a headache…" Trailing off, he comes to a pause.  A breath, and then a tense, albeit distant,  "Where the hell was I…?"

Chicago, relationships…divorced creep.  Ex wife, job refused because -

"- oh, yeah.  So, anyway, we meet, he tells me he wants to 'teach her not to fuck with him', but he doesn't want her dead, because everyone points fingers at the ex when stuff like that happens.  He just wanted her fucked up.  Not physically, 'cuz that would heal too quick and, again, everyone always thinks it's the ex.  He wanted to fuck with her head, permanently, and how'd he wanna do it?  By hiring me.  Not to mess with her or scare her or whatever- that'd be fine, I'd done it a thousand times before.  Nah, this asshole wanted me to take out the five-year-old she had custody of.  Yknow, really hit her where it hurts."

In theory, Jordi's previously mentioned tactics - ransom, threats, etc. - usually worked just fine, and probably would have in that instance, too.  Most parents would lose their minds over that kind of stuff, but a client wants what a client wants.  His part in the deal was to listen and do what he's paid to, no questions asked or input placed.

"I said I'd take it.  Told him to pay me upfront and then, when the job was done, I'd clean the mess and he'd never have to see me again, and y'know what?  He did.  Transferred it over, didn't even question it, and after he did, I was about to head out to get the job done, but before I could, the craziest shit happened.  I stood up, went to leave, and the next thing I know, there's a bullet right in the middle of his forehead - fuckin' dead center.  The second one wasn't too far off, either; think it was like…in his eye or something, I dunno, hard to remember now, but I do remember, with all of his blood flying around, some of it ended up on my jacket.  My brand new Patagonia, can you believe it?! "

The audacity of some people. Even as a corpse, the guy was a dick, which could have almost been respectable if Jordi wasn't on the receiving end of things.

He really liked that coat, too...

"So, I popped the fucker a third time, went home to change, and took myself out to a nice dinner on the lakefront.  I got my money, and no one was around to claim I didn't get the job done - which actually reminds me, you breathe a word of this to anyone, just know, I got three bullets on me just for you, got it?  Cool, cool.  But, uh..yeah, that was that."

That one felt good.  If pressed, Jordi couldn't put a finger on exactly what made that particular request much different than the countless others he'd handled; maybe it was just because it was a kid involved, maybe he'd started going soft a little sooner than he'd noticed.  Whatever the case, it was a hard limit on his end.  What should have been a meeting like any other had left a hollow pit in his stomach the whole time the guy talked, after he'd revealed intentions and explained exactly what he wanted Jordi to do.  Such a pathetic waste of space, that one, drawing a target on someone who couldn't fight back...

As far as he's concerned, he fulfilled a contract, albeit an unspoken one, for saving some random woman he'd never meet the hassle of her ex-husband's existence, and spared a kid the trouble of being caught in the middle of that whole disaster. Look at him - making the world a better place, one well-placed bullet at a time.

"Moral of the story is, a job like that?  Nope, won't take it, and anyone who comes to me with shit like that it's gonna end up like ol' what's-his-face…I can't remember it now, it's been a while.  So far, that one's been the only time I've been asked to off a kid, but if I know anything about people, it's that someone, somewhere out there, is just fucked up enough to want it, too."

[skylarmoon71]

Josh Porter (Grimm) - Chapter 5

“LET HIM GO!!”

Josh’s body is tossed and he hits the wall. You panic, because Trubel is unconscious on the ground. You never thought your lead would end up here, confronted by a Siegbarste. Trubel told you how dangerous they were. 

There had been a manhunt due to the fact that the last group of officers that confronted him had ended up mangled. You all had been in the area following the reports. That’s what led you to the warehouse where he was hiding out.

Now with nothing but your gun to protect you, you’re scared.

Scared that Josh and Trubel could die, that you can’t save them, that this monster is going to kill so many more people if you don’t stop him now

“What are you going to do with that little gun?”

He’s taunting you. He knows you’re at a disadvantage. If any of your bullets land that would be luck. You can’t even get your hands to steady long enough and he grins wickedly.

“Take your best shot.”

He extends his hands, and you glare, raising your hand as you aim for his head. You empty the clip. Every shot right at the center of his skull. You’re not sure how many bullets you’ve fired, but the last click alerts you that you’re empty. He steps forward and you take one trembling step back. You wait for it, his attack, but he manages one more step and his body caves. He falls like a tree, the weight of his body almost shaking the ground.

You barely take a breath, because you’re still in disbelief. It doesn’t really register that he’s dead until you see the blood. You finally release a breath, and in an instant you’re racing over to Trubel and Josh, desperately praying that they’re okay.

~

“Miss, please get back into bed, you’re badly hurt.”

“I’m fine!”

You can recognize that voice anywhere. Stepping into the room, you smile. Trubel looks up, wearing a grin.

“I’ll take it from here. She’s a bit of a sucky patient.”

The nurse nods in agreement, exiting the room.

The second you walk over to Trubel you feel relieved. Aside from her busted lip and the bruise on her forehead, she seems fine.

“I heard you took the orge down. Emptied your clip. I hope that bastard felt every bullet. “

Trubel slips off her hospital gown, reaching for her pants and shirt to get dressed.

“Have you seen Josh yet? He took a lot of hits.”

You shake your head.

“He was unconscious when they brought him in. I was about to head back over there.” When she has her pants and vest on she turns to you.

“You’re still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. Did you sleep here?”

“Didn’t get a whole lot of sleep.” You muttered.

She takes in your somber tone, nodding.

“I get that. Let’s go check in on him. He’s tough, he’ll pull through.”

You nod, about to head out when you realize something.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“Nah, I never liked hospitals anyway. They’re overrated.” You can’t help but laugh. Some things would never change.

It takes a few minutes to get to Josh’s floor. Relief washes over you when you see that he’s indeed regained consciousness. Trubel practically runs to his side and he smiles when he sees the both of you.

“See, that orge didn’t stand a chance against us.” Trubel boasts. 

Josh laughs and it’s then you take in his state. He’s barely seated upright. He looks like he’s in pain. His face isn’t too battered, but you can only imagine what injuries are hidden under his gown.

He notices the way you distance yourself. So does Trubel. She steps back.

“I’m gonna grab some actual food, do you want anything?”

You shake your head and Josh just chuckles.

“I think just liquids is all I can take right now.”

“Got it, I’ll grab you a beer.” She fixes her jacket as she heads out.

Once the door closes, his gaze settles on you. Moving closer, you feel that uncomfortable feeling settle in your stomach.

“Don’t scare me like that again.” You lecture.

He’s smiling.

You’re concerned, because he was practically used as a punching bag before you finally subdued the guy.

You knew you shouldn’t be worried. Despite his lack of combat training, he was surprisingly good at holding his own. You figured it had more to do with his abilities as a Grimm. His ancestors were basically hunters after all.

You exhaled, closing your eyes as you did a little prayer. He noticed.

“Hey, I’m fine, look.”

You opened your eyes, and he reached for your hand. You stood as he pulled you closer, placing your hand right over his chest.

“See, my heart is beating, everything is functioning just fine. No need to call the calvary.”

You smiled despite your worry. You could see that, but it was still scary. He was knocked unconscious by a freaking orge no less. It was pure luck that you were able to take down the monstrosity of a man. It took about eight bullets to the head before he’d stopped basically tearing through the room.

“Josh I-”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

You sigh, taking a seat on the bed. There was no reason to blame yourself, you knew that, but you still feel responsible. You’re the one who brought him in on this. Convinced him to use his skills to stop Wesen.

At the time it felt like what needed to be done, but now you’re having doubts. You’re a bit terrified that one of these days you’re going to get him killed. At the end of the day, he’s still a civilian. He didn’t sign up for this. He didn’t take an oath to protect and serve. This shouldn’t be his responsibility.

“Even if you hadn’t asked me, I’d still be out there.”

Your eyes lift.

“I told you, I wasn’t about to just sit around and let innocent people get hurt. I spent most of my life afraid of just about everything. When I lost my dad I realized that I needed to stop being scared. Bad things will happen, I can't avoid every problem. But these abilities, with them I can make a difference. I can help people. With whatever time I have left on this earth, that’s what I want to do. Even if it’s terrifying.”

His resolve is admirable. You were a cop and the things you saw made you want to crawl into a hole sometimes. You can’t imagine what it’s like to be him, to see it all, whether he wants to or not. With a soft smile, you shake your head. It’s clear that nothing you say is going to change his mind. You just close your eyes, pressing your forehead against his.

“You better not die on my watch, you hear me.”

He chuckles.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a few more moments, you stay like that. You need that closeness. Especially with how many hits he’d probably taken. Your mind just barely registers his hand at the back of your head, stroking almost comfortingly. When you pull back, your eyes open, and so does his. 

For a second you linger there, lost in the look he wears. You’ve never realized just how beautiful his eyes are. The emerald hues of his irises display a naivety that’s somewhat comforting. You swallow, and for a split second your eyes stray to his deliciously pink lips.

“Maybe it’s the pain meds but..right about now I’d really like to kiss you..”

The little mutter has your heart stirring. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same. But he’s hurt, and the last thing you should be doing is this. You’re also more aware of how good his fingers feel, running through your hair. With a careful breath, you close your eyes and pull away.

“Get some sleep.”

His arm falls, and you spare him one last smile before you exit the room. 

[sauntering-down]

(slams back an entire can of sparkling water) all right this one is for the haters*

*joking. i was never that invested in this particular trilogy so, Asexual Rage aside, reading through it again and not taking it remotely seriously was actually super fun.

there's a character limit on bullet points and i can't indent them, which is annoying as i was going buckwild with those things on gdocs. anywayyyy this'll be a bit disjointed as it was disjointed to begin with and i'm gonna skip all my irrelevant Nonsense. here we go!

Book One!

Oh, i’m so glad this kicks off immediately with Will and Jem being… like that.  Will does Something Cool and instantly gets annoyed because Jem wasn’t there to see it.  Lord.

so the thing i remember most about Will is that he’s an absolute asshole.  Like, yes, he believed he was cursed to kill anyone who got close to him, but genuinely the only reason i didn’t hate him more than Jace Back In The Day was thanks to his… Relationship™… with Jem.  he was SO unpleasant otherwise.  that’s gonna be fun to re-experience.

Oh, Tessa.  Tessa, Tessa, Tessa.  I remember nothing about you except you’re some kind of weirdass warlock-thing.

Tessa’s brother Nate is a Bad Guy.  not the Bad Guy, though - genuinely do not remember who or what that was.  Even Sebastian had more staying power in my memory and he sucked.

oH RIGHT NOW I REMEMBER, Tessa gets kidnapped right after arriving in England and Will finds her!  That’s how she winds up at the Institute!  This is like reconnecting with an old friend, one you can’t fucking stand! 

I’m on page 18 and i’m already sick of hearing about the clockwork angel

“Tessa had many times tried to get a better look at the globe - something about the way the continents were laid out had never looked quite right to her, especially the space in the center of Europe - but the sisters always kept her away from it.” - if the Dark Sisters didn’t want her seeing it why did they just leave it there all the time where she could look at it

Tessa hitting Will with a jug is hilarious though.  I wish she’d hit him harder.

“He had the most beautiful face she had ever seen” of fucking course he did.  Everyone in these books is beautiful, unless they’re specifically hideous.

Oh god and here we go.  The dialogue in these books is just. painful. Because it’s constant endless snarky snappy witty-comeback-to-everything dialogue.  It’s so fucking annoying.  All of these characters wind up sounding exactly the same because of it.

Ah yes, the uber-creepy Silent Brothers with their lack of eyes and sewn-shut mouths. thank goodness Jem gets to stay pretty when he becomes one, right??

Sophie! \o/ she was one of the better characters, i do remember that.  She has a terrible facial scar, but she would have been pretty without it.  Thank god!!!

Omg i had completely forgotten about Jessamine.

I had NOT forgotten how incredibly disdainful these people are of mundanes. Ugh

Namedrop for Magnus.  He used to be my second-favorite character, but… yeah, idk, the older i get the more i wonder what the entire fuck attracts centuries-old immortals to teenagers.  Teenagers are so annoying.

“Tessa couldn’t help wondering what Henry Branwell did” weapons-grade lunacy.  And we respect his craft!!

I’d also forgotten Thomas existed.  Pretty sure he dies.  Fortunately, he’s also good-looking.

Jem also asks her if she’s an orphan within two minutes of meeting her.  Dimly reminded of Magnus dropping his Tragic Backstory on a group of random teens he’d never met before. And Isabelle casually outing her brother to someone she barely knows (yes, i know Clary asked, but in that position my response would be “how the fuck is that any of your business???”).

(screenshot to break up the bullet-point blocks since evidently there's a character limit on them! who knew)

“Jessamine giggled, the dressmaker smiled limpidly, and Tessa considered racing out into the street and ending it all by throwing herself under a hansom cab.” you know what. That’s fair. Kinda feeling the same

Just let Henry infodump, Charlotte, you married the man.

“She knew - she had been advised enough times - not to force on Henry affection he probably did not want.” waaaait, was theirs an arranged marriage?  It’s been so long since i read these.

“Henry rarely, if ever, took the lead in conversations with strangers.” he's so relatable

Jessamine gets a point for being the only goddamn person who isn’t a shithead about MUNDANES. Because she grew up like one and wants to be one, true, but that’s The Trauma.  And her attitude in this case is a little refreshing.

“‘You know, that’s not necessarily true,’ Henry said, unable to restrain his inner pedant.  ‘There’s an issue of translation from the original Aramaic -’” Henry is my new favorite character.  Neither snark nor social skills in this entire man! <3

“Can’t blame her, really.  Can’t count on me to be sensible.” oh, Henry, be kind to yourself. you are honestly the most likable character in this entire book so far.

“So Downworlders could be beautiful.” yes, yes, everyone’s beautiful. So what else is new

Reading these now is Wild because Back In The Day Henry and Charlotte seemed like Adults and shit, but. They’re like fucking 25 or whatever.  I’m older than these children.

“Perhaps it meant Will actually did have feelings after all.  Not that it had anything to do with her, whether he did or not, of course.” i’m too aromantic for this.

Oh, Charlotte’s twenty-three.  These are babies.

Thank god Tessa conveniently gets access to Camille’s ‘inner voice’ just in time for this party-slash-raid.  Imagine if this was hard.

I admit Will biting a vampire is funny.  Love it when Dudes are Unhinged.  Too bad about his everything else.

Gabriel arrives just to be a dick to Will.  still valid.  I would bully him too.

We’ve hit our first Teenage Makeout Scene.  Skimming time

Jessamine, immediately: welp guess i’ll marry Nate then. He’s not even conscious but at least he’s a mundane

Jem, about Will: “I love him as if he were my brother.” k

Honestly though, Sophie is the GOAT.  puts up with so much shit.  I would let her bully Will too.

Nate’s awake and as coherent as he ever gets.  He’s a Bad Guy but he ain’t compelling in any way even when he’s supposedly Just A Guy, that’s for sure.

“Don’t think you know Jem better than i do.” 😏 buddyfriend you’ve probably known a lot more of him than she has. wink wonk

Jem kisses Tessa’s hand. It’s supposed to be romantic but i ain’t programmed for that nonsense so mostly it’s just funny.  Will is Jealous, of course.

And the cook’s dead.  We hardly knew ye.

Oops Mortmain’s a Bad Guy and also Nate sucks.

Tessa’s angel necklace comes to life and attacks the automatons.  Iirc this is because there’s some bit of an actual angel in it.  Probably Ithuriel, nothing good ever happens to the poor guy.

Jessamine kicks too much ass and has to be knocked out.  Thomas holds the line while Tessa gets Sophie the hell out of there.  Pretty sure this is the last we’ve seen of Thomas.

Ey, it's Church!

One thing i do remember about CoHF was Jem pretty much just stealing Church at the end of it.  Might be the funniest thing that happened in any of those books.

Nate sucks.

Jessamine concussing him with a lamp is a Truly Beautiful Moment.  Love that for her.  I wish you’d kept your character development, kid.

Will is Cursed (supposedly) and has to be dramatic about it.  Pretty sure he’s going to be an absolute c-bomb about it in like one chapter, too.

Yeah, here we fuckin go

Jem is the only person Church likes. valid.

Oh god the jade pendant Will gave Jem… we could’ve had it all.  Instead we have whatever the hell this is

…epilogue from Magnus’s POV.  i don’t deserve this suffering.

Book Two!

Prologue. Will talks to ghosts. K.

He wants an anti-love potion so he can get over Tessa.  K.

Jessamine: “This is finally exciting.”  Tessa gets mad about that but. I kinda agree.  Even Benedict being a tool and insulting Charlotte is more interesting than the fucking Teenage Romance.  Hoo boy this is gonna be an ordeal

Jessamine finds it annoying Jem and Will can basically read each other’s mind.  The Relationship™ lives on. Thank the lord

“You could always wake up Henry.  It looks like he’s eating paper in his sleep again, and you know how Charlotte hates that.” oh shut up, Henry is still the best character in this series

Yes, yes, Jessamine is pretty, Tessa is also pretty. big whoop.

Jessamine sneaks out dressed like a dude.  I know full well she’s hooking up with Nate.  miss when she was almost interesting.

“They’re simply being late to make a point.  They don’t have to do what we say, or what their father says either.” valid on one point, at least.  Benedict is a tool.  Fuck that guy.

Oh my god i forgot Gideon randomly lapses into Spanish.  He’s lived in Spain for like, ONE year.  So extra.

Our first mention of Aloysius Starkweather.  Mostly i recall him being Old and also absolutely Off His Nut.

“Church adored Jem but had been known to bite others, often with very little warning.” and we love to see it

He promptly claws Will after Will and Tessa have a little tense literary flirt.  Most relatable character in the series

“That’s it?  You’re coming because you’ve never been on a train before?” be sensible, Will.  that’s a completely rational reason.  I too would go somewhere boring if i got to take a train there.

Oh, Bridget.  Just hanging out in the kitchen singing extremely morbid Irish tunes.  Love that for her.

The girls are fiiiightinggggg… by which i mean Gabriel and Gideon are having a lowkey argument behind closed doors because Gideon thinks their father’s a tool.  He’s right.

“I came back for you -” full disclosure, the only fic i wrote from that era i can reread without cringing too much is a short oneshot about Gideon and Gabriel post-patricide.  They do not have a Relationship™ (good thing, since they’re brothers and all), but their actual relationship is kind of sweet.

Cannot remember how much older Gideon is?  I want to say four years but i think it may be less.  I do remember a family tree on the inside dust jacket of the last book… not sure how accurate it was, though.

“That is because every time one lets Henry out of the house on his own, one risks an international incident.” bully him all you want. I still adore him.

“Half-mundane, half-Welsh, and the worst traits of both, i’ve heard.” okay, racist, but Will is pretty feckin’ awful, i’ll give you that.

Oh fuck no.  Cecily starts showing up sooner than expected.  I don’t think she’s in the story proper until the end of this book but i still don’t want to hear about her.  I know which Not Another Teen Romance she’s part of.

“Tessa was aware of Jem whispering to Will, in Latin, she thought - ‘Me specta, me specta,’ and Will not answering.”  Look at me.  Back In The Day someone said this bit wasn’t even subtext, it was just text, and i’m inclined to believe it.  If we had to have a Forbidden Relationship, this one would’ve been immensely more compelling.  Instead it’s just the endless goddamn jealousy.

And Will’s back at Magnus’s place, admitting he’s in love with Tessa.  It’s been like a month since they met but fine, whatever, let’s just move on.

Gabriel, about Will: “I hope he’s dead.” lol. same.

Tessa is stunned - stunned, i say - to gradually realize she may be attracted to Jem too.

So many problems that could’ve been solved with a threesome.

Anyway, skipped like four pages of Tessa and Jem making out.

Tessa sees Jessamine sneaking away in Dude Clothing but doesn’t do anything about it.  That’s gonna come back to bite you!

Charlotte gets annoyed with Henry for Being Henry and walks off, he is deeply confused why she didn’t just tell him she wanted him to come with her. I may be wrong but i think eventually these two geniuses have an Actual Conversation and admit they both think they’re not good enough for one another and the other one just settled for them.  And then they get over it because Charlotte’s pregnant in the last one.

Will goes to Tessa’s training just to piss off Gabriel.  It works.

Gabriel is rather surprised Tessa doesn’t like him (because he vocally doesn’t like Will, or Charlotte for that matter).  Getting the impression Gabriel is not the most socially-aware man on the face of the earth.

Sophie, of all people, slaps him.  Love that for her. <333

“I speak Spanish when i’m in a good mood.” Gideon is like, a fuckin college sophomore who’s decided to be interesting and sophisticated to impress a girl he thinks is hot.

Yeah yeah fucking yeah Will’s in love with Tessa we know

Will, possibly having a slight freakout, to Jem: “I would die for you.  You know that.  I would die without you.” mmmmmmmm yeah 😏

Anyway Sophie found an invitation because Jessamine’s sneaking out to Benedict’s Saucy Party, courtesy of Nate.  here we fuckin go

Also Sophie hit her with a mirror when Jessamine realized she’d seen the invite.  Have i mentioned i love Sophie?  She’s absolutely one of the best characters in these books.

Will then declares his love for Sophie because of this and for once i’m inclined to agree with him.

Time for Will and Tessa-as-Jessamine to attend the Saucy Party.

Tatiana had a crush on Will and wrote in her diary about it, and because he is Cursed To Kill he made her hate him by reading it aloud in public.

Anyway.  Party time.  Lots of people and not-people and automatons and Downworlders!  And demons.  Plenty of those.  Tessa has to Be Jessamine and dance and flirt with her dick brother, and i feel for her rn.

Lmao @ Jessamine secretly marrying Nate.  incredible taste in men, truly.

The first time i’ve been glad to see Magnus, solely because he’s interrupting Will and Tessa’s makeout sesh.

“Could you really love two different people at once?  Could you split your heart in half?” the answer is yes. Tessa. Just have a threesome. It’s fine.

Jessamine’s still a dreadful bitch.

Now we’ve gotta deal with Magnus and Camille’s relationship drama.  It never fuckin ends i s2g

“Was he horrified by what had happened on the balcony between them last night, or did he find it amusing?  And dear God, had he told Jem?” would’ve been hilarious if he did lbr.  The only one left to tell, then, would be you, and we could commence with the OT3 i deserve for putting up with this crap.

Sophie goes to meet Gideon. Mr. I Speak Spanish When I’m Happy was only in Spain for six months.  Amazing.  Fantastically pretentious.  What a legend.

Tessa and Jem have Hot Makeouts in the carriage.  It’s honestly kind of funny at this point.

Jessamine is still uhhhhh violently unstable? Has enough of the ol’ bitchitude left in her to tell them it was obvious they’ve been making out in the carriage.

Jem sees Tessa in Jessamine’s Dude Outfit and apparently it’s super hot.  I do not fucking understand allosexuals lmfao

“First Thomas, now Cyril.  When will you stop trying to marry me off to the nearest available man?” get her ass Sophie

Anyway time for Charlotte to get the pregnancy-induced illness apparently?  I thought it wasn’t until next book, but here we are.  Guess for all their mutual unworthiness they are getting it on.

Then Tessa ogles Will while he’s getting shards of metal pulled from his bare back.  I don’t understand allosexuals

TIME TO GO BLACKMAIL BENEDICT HELL YEAH

“The old man is a nasty piece of work, and don’t forget it.  Very harsh, he is, on those boys.” independent confirmation Benedict is a shit parent.  I mean that was already pretty obvious but it’s nice to hear Sophie say it. Fuck him

Benedict calls Will a “certifiable lunatic”.  He sucks but he ain’t wrong.

Gideon: anyway. Fuck this dadguy, i’m out.

Anyway Charlotte and Henry get to keep the Institute.  Obviously.

Benedict is “fine” with this, mostly because he accepts he was spectacularly outplayed.  Luckily he won’t live long enough to be salty about it!

Jem and Tessa announce their engagement at dinner.  They’re so fucking 17.

More importantly, Charlotte is Officially Pregnant.

Book Three! (fyi, i read the first nine books CC put out and this one has the only subplot i still remember fondly, simply because it's so fucking bananas.)

Took a look at that dust jacket family tree thing and yeeeeaaah, according to that, Tatiana is three years older than Gabriel, directly contradicting what’s said in the actual books (she was twelve at the same time as Will, who is less than a year younger than Gabriel).  The stunning continuity i have come to expect, truly.

Sophie!!  She’s being very civil to Gideon because she is but a Lowly Mundane Servant.  He has no idea what the hell he’s done wrong.

Careful, Sophie, or he'll try to get your attention via scones.

If there’s one thing i like about this particular book, it’s that it wastes no time getting into the plot.  Chapter one and Benedict’s already gone buckwild wormguy with demon pox.

So Gabriel has been having an absolutely terrible time with his wormguy dad.  I approve.

Benedict is a worm.  A giant fucking worm.  This is hilarious, by the way. Benedict fucked a demon and then turned into a worm.  I could not write this shit, and for once that’s not an insult.  Truly inspired.

“‘He’s a worm’, he said again, tonelessly.” Gabriel is like six inches away from just noping out of this shit and completely dissociating.  Don’t worry kiddo, you get to do that for a bit once this whole wormdadguy thing is taken care of.

“Tessa had seen him follow Cecily around a room with his eyes, with the same protective love in his gaze that he sometimes bent on Jem.” lord i hope not

(regarding Yet Another Romance) You know what.  You know what.  I will not be remarking upon it again.  I do not see it. I am looking away.

Tatiana arrives.  While she is certainly unpleasant, i feel (temporarily) bad for her because her husband was just dragged off by her wormguydad and he’s quite dead now.

“We’re not just discussing him; we’re chasing him through an ornamental sculpture garden because he’s turned into a worm.” honestly cannot blame Will and Jem for just being astounded by this entire situation.  It’s absurd.  Love it.

Gabriel shoots his wormguydad in the eye with an arrow and Benedict goes poof.  And nothing of value was lost.

Sophie is so annoyed by Bridget’s endless Morbid Irish Tunes she wants to push her into the oven. I vote we let her. as a treat

Gabriel is being forced to interact with Charlotte.  Love that for them.

Re: Gideon, “‘I think he has proved who he cares for most,’ said Gabriel, ‘and it is not me’.” :(

Jem, who’s been quite seriously unwell and has only just awoken, asks for Will specifically. 😏it’s probably about Tessa honestly but. Let me dream

“‘You wish to marry me now?’” if only.

Ah yes. The Scone Scene.

That feel when you get your arm broken trying to defend your sister after a boy’s been a c-bomb to her and then you have a terrible relationship with that sister afterwards, i guess? she's gonna accuse you of patricide in like ten pages

Lord, the cradle.  Henry please you are going to accidentally murder your child who will not be named Buford.

Anyway there’s no more of Jem’s drug so. He’s gonna die ASAP.

The Consul’s here to speak with Charlotte about Benedict… and, you know, the fact that Tatiana’s blaming Gabriel for Benedict’s “murder”.  There goes my limited sympathy for her.

“Did she mention that her father had eaten her husband?” thank you, Henry, for this timely interruption.  Wtf Tatiana

“The next time one of our esteemed members turns into a worm and eats another esteemed member, we will inform you immediately.” this plot is so absurdly weird it loops right around into perfectly sensible.

Unfortunately, it's over, and I have nothing else to sustain me through the rest of this.

All right high time for Gabriel to pretty much check out of this entire Situation for a few minutes.  Cannot blame him.

“Then Gabriel found himself hauled forward, his face mashed into the wet wool of Gideon’s overcoat while his brother held him tightly, murmuring, ‘All right, little brother.  It’s going to be all right,’ as he rocked them both back and forth in the rain.” i only care about one (1) relationship in the entire trilogy and it’s this. This is my reward for suffering through the rest of it.

…incidentally, I do not see it. I am looking away.

Do non-aroace people really spend this much time - regardless of whatever other highly important things are going on, dying friends and recent wormpatricides and Bad Guys and all - thinking about Attractive People and flirting with one another??????

I’m skimming rather a lot of this because i just don’t care.  The love triangle bores me senseless.

“I do not know who to be without him.” 😏

So they’ve figured out where Mortmain’s keeping Tessa.  In Wales.  Cool beans.

In the meantime Gabriel’s having fuckin. traumatic flashbacks to wormguydad fight and also stuck talking to the Consul at the same time. RIP.

And Jem finds out quite by accident Will is stupid in love with Tessa.

“Magnus waved a hand. ‘All Lightwoods look the same to me -’” give it a century or so and you will not be saying that anymore, bucko.

Henry: “Mostly they wish that I would stop suggesting new inventions and cease setting fire to things.” okay the latter is legit but the former? Rude

Welp. time for Jem to not-die.

Jem not-dies, which Will feels, painfully.

“Jem and Will.  Will and Jem.  Will Herondale lives, therefore Jem Carstairs lives also.  Quod erat demonstrandum.  To lose an arm or a leg would be painful, he imagined, but to lose the central truth of your life felt - fatal.” gay

Cannot believe i have almost half this fucking book left.

Gabriel writes A Letter that will absolutely fuck Charlotte over. SUSPENSO.

I do not see it i am looking away i do not see it i am i am so sick and tired of literally everything ever being about romance

Naturally, being the special sort of warlock, Tessa is not sterile. God forbid, right

Her clockwork angel does have a chunk of Actual Angel in there, go figure

Feels like this scene would be significantly more impactful had Charlotte and Gabriel had any meaningful interaction since the beginning of the damn book, but we just had to get that Teenage Romance in there instead, huh?  All right all right i’ll stop bitching.  What do i know, i just write bad fanfic, idfk anything really ANYWAY

Back to the rest of it… i’m skimming again, ngl.  Gabriel didn’t send The Letter. K

Gideon, Master of Social Skills (i mean, he’s better than his brother, marginally): accidentally says he’s going to marry Sophie in the middle of a conversation

“You did announce to the whole breakfast table that you intended to marry me, but that is not a proposal.  That is only a declaration.  A proposal is when you ask me.” you’d better marry her, Gideon, or i will

Bridget punctuates the proposal with a Morbid Irish Tune and Sophie goes off to commit a spot of homicide, as one does immediately after getting engaged

Yeah Ithuriel just literally has the worst time all the time. Like imagine being a fucking Actual Angel and getting constantly captured by random-ass mortals and shit.

Skimming again.  Will found Tessa, Jem’s dead, everyone’s sad about that, time for sex ig

Silent Bros show up at the Institute to help kick Mortmain’s irritating ass.  One of them is Jem.  like, there’s no point even pretending we don’t all know that.

Anyway hello to another Silent Brother, who is Jem, who is Not Dead.  big shock.

Shit taste in music aside, Bridget is honestly such a badass.  If only she got to be a proper character.

And Tessa shapeshifts into Ithuriel.  K

Henry, suddenly paraplegic: this is a minor concern. Maybe i should invent a flying chair

I do not see it. i am looking away. tiredly

“Does that mean they will not take your eyes - sew your lips shut?” of course not, Tessa.  That would make him not pretty.

It’s almost over

Sophie is gr8

And then the epilogue, year 2008, Jem is no longer a Silent Brother but he is still pretty. However that happened was in CoHF which i refuse to engage with again.

The end

the original document ended with the Ben Affleck Smoking Meme, which does kinda sum it up, but i think this screenshot also says it all:

few months back i reread TID for the Lulz, proceeded to take twenty-six pages of notes as i descended into aroace insanity, and i'm kinda tempted to post the Greatest Hits for y'all because i'm sure at least one person who's been following me for way too long will get a kick out of it.

[dodo-begone]

You a Pig Fucker?

Pairing: Yandere!Techno x Reader

Request: Hey I love your writing especially the yandere ones I was wondering if you could some yandere technoblade headcannons

Word Count: 2.1k words

Warning: yandere, unhealthy behaviors, Death, Zombies, Mentions of war, mentions of scars

A/n: sorry I made this into a fic but in bullet format. Hope you still enjoy!

Your first encounter with him is on the outskirts of your village. You’re collecting some flowers to make flower crowns for the children. And there he is; a gigantic… something standing on the path to your village. It was half pig, but half man all at the same time. It perplexed you. A thing like him hadn’t appeared at the village before, so he was a new experience to you. As the ever curious person you are, you go and investigate you. After talking to him for a bit, he tells you he’s there for some trading, you lead him to the village as you chit chat. You’re the first one to trust him.

He eventually just comes because he wants to visit you. For someone so naive and bubbly, you’re a refreshing presence from the chaos of the Dream smp. You wouldn’t survive a day outside your village, but he wished so badly to take you on an adventure to show you the world. Not the Dream smp, but the world outside your village. The safe part of the world.

He eventually just comes because he wants to visit you. For someone so naive and bubbly, you’re a refreshing presence from the chaos of the Dream smp. You wouldn’t survive a day outside your village, but he wished so badly to take you on an adventure to show you the world. Not the Dream smp, but the world outside your village. The safe part of the world.

He eventually just comes because he wants to visit you. For someone so naive and bubbly, you’re a refreshing presence from the chaos of the Dream smp. You wouldn’t survive a day outside your village, but he wished so badly to take you on an adventure to show you the world. Not the Dream smp, but the world outside your village. The safe part of the world.

Soon he’s called back to the Dream smp by an ally for some stupid fight that they could’ve done on their own. It was a quick task, why was Techno needed again? Though them being on his front door and trying to drag him away made him relent. And so he, begrudgingly, went to the Dream smp to destroy whatever government or enemy who dared offend or go against his friend/ally. He left without ever saying goodbye to you.

Without knowing what happened to Techno, you waited outside the village in your little flowerfield, waiting for Carl and Techno to make their way down the path to you. But they never come. At the beginning of your little “stake out”, the village children wait with you. Playing with each other and making little flower crowns with you while you scanned the horizon every other moment for your friends. Days passed like this, and about a week in, most of the children went back to playing in the village with each other. Some of the other, more mellow children, waited with you. Then the days turn to weeks, turn to months, and you give up actively waiting for him in the field. If he were coming back, he’d know where you are.

A little over a year passes before Techno can even properly get home. The other visits had only been little pit-stops to grab some supplies before hurrying back to the hustle and bustle of war. But no matter how much time passed, he never stopped thinking about you. How you must’ve missed him so much. Or worried for his safety. Just waiting at the village for him to come for you. And then you two could have such a nice life. He’d finally be in retirement. He hopes you weren’t angry at him.

So once he’s properly home, he hurries over to the village and frantically searches for you. Asking the villagers if you were still there and where you were. They’d all give a different location, but it was all in the village. He still had hope! When he does find you though, it isn’t pleasant.

You’re standing at the town center with most of the village children around you. Flower crowns were being crafted between y’all. It felt nostalgic. The first time he met you, you were making a flower crown for the kids. And you’re still doing it! It’s such a sweet sight, a domestic sight. He goes to walk over to you though, and a greeting forming on his lips.

But the children scream, looking at him in fear. Now hold up he knows he’s scary and doesn’t look the best, but he couldn’t have gotten that bad since he last came here. Right? The children alert you, and your panicked eyes meet his. There’s faint recognition in them, but you don’t acknowledge him.

He stops, and everyone scatters. Screams echo across the village, children run between adults towards their houses as the adults fumble around, trying to get their shops closed in the mayhem. Honestly he had no clue what was going on. You were shocked, frozen in place by his presence. Oh god please tell him the rumors of him spread here too-

One of the villagers goes and grabs you, dragging you back into one of the houses. You don’t look happy about that. If anything, it made you more panicked. Couldn’t that villager see what he was doing to you?? You’re getting hurt, scared by them. Let them go!

He charges toward you in an attempt to save you. But some of the older village men ran up to him with any weapon they could. Many had swords, which was an odd thing. When he came here many months ago, they barely had two swords for the entire village. And now almost everybody had one? Heh? What’s going on here?

They chase him out of town and into the woods a far distance away from the village. The audacity of them. Do they not remember who he is? Know who he is? He’s Technoblad, the blood god. Ring a bell? Yet they didn’t care when he tried to tell them who he was. Their parting words were a threat about him coming back to the village. On how’d they kill him and roast him in front of the entire village.

What the hell is their problem?

Later that day, you sneak out of the village to talk to him. You do your best to explain the mood change in the village since he left. Apparently a few weeks after he left, the village got attacked by a group of raiders. Which was bad in itself, but then some odd occurrences started to happen afterwards. There were zombie attacks on the village, which was only something told in stories from the elders. You had presumed they were little tales to get children to stay in line, but you were very mistaken. It wasn’t even a one time occurrence either! It happened almost every night. And other inhuman things came and attacked the village, taking out the far outskirts of the village. So anyone or anything that wasn’t a member of your village was an enemy.

A moment of silence followed your somber news. Techno’s coughing interrupted it though. And you asked what he had been up to since you last saw him. He began his tale about the most recent war he was involved in. Oh he even got a new scar! You were enamored by it, but noticeably less than before. The tale was told in such a nonchalant and humorous way, it was like child’s play. But you’ve now seen the horrors of death before your very eyes, the effects for warfare. So these tales were becoming less like fun little stories and more of the morbid accounts they actually were.

Once he was done explaining his adventures, he asked what you had been doing. Not just the village. You, as an individual, what have you been doing?

You tell of how life didn’t differ much. Visits to the meadow were still common, even with the danger. The children still followed you out too. They wanted to make flower crowns. But the other villagers were worried for the safety of you and the children, so you were sent with protection. One of the village boys went out with you every day along with the children. There was one limitation to everything though; you couldn’t stay out past sunset. That’s when these monsters appeared and attacked the village.

Then you nonchalantly mention how you really like the guy. It was someone you hadn’t really had a chance to talk to. He was the blacksmith’s son. A really strong guy, the silent type. You didn’t mind that, it just allowed you to chat more. To make up for his silence. And he said he really enjoyed it. And oh did you tell him that you got engaged to him? Yeah look, here’s the ring!! You hold up your hand, and on your left hand is a shiny ring.

His world falls apart. Wait, you were his. Why did you go to someone else while he was away? You kept babbling along about this guy, who he didn’t really care about. He felt betrayed. You didn’t wait for him… Why didn’t you wait? He’d always come back to you.

Sunset comes much sooner than either of you anticipated. You rush out a “goodbye” to Techno before you run back towards the village. At the entrance is some guy. He waves as you, and you run right into his arms. And you give him a kiss. You’re giggling as this shitty man swings you around. Hand-in-hand, you two walk off into the safety of the village.

Your peace couldn’t last forever. Techno would have made sure that your life was lived in luxury and yet you had this audacity to do this to him. To choose a nobody over him? He could provide for you! Give you all the attention you wanted! Even protect you. That guy probably can’t even lift a damn sword! Look he’ll show you that he’s the only choice.

During the nightly zombie siege, he walks in like he fucking owns the place. Some of the zombies attack him, but they go down in a small hit. They’re weak creatures compared to somebody like him. He stalks around the village, looking or any sign of you. The zombies are stronger than he thought or this village was much weaker than he originally thought. Now this? Another reason why you should just leave with him.

Your screams of terror echo across the village, and Techno frantically looks around for you. The zombies could attack such a defenseless thing like you. Come on where are you? Fortunately for Techno, you run right into him. You give him a tight hug around his waist, tears staining the fabric under your face. Some zombies are following you, but they’re very easy to take out.

He looks in the direction you came from though and saw the real issue. That fucking guy. Uh, Techno didn’t even want to refer to him by a name because he was that unimportant. He wasn’t going to be living much longer anyways. That guy you were with? Yeah he was surrounded by zombies, struggling to fight them off. But he did, so bravo for him. Though it was a pitiful job. Here, let Techno show you how it’s done.

He unlatches your arms from around him and walks toward this “fiance” of yours. The guy looks in your direction and runs towards you, yelling your name. Like you were in danger. You were in danger alright. In danger because of this fucking guy. He couldn’t keep you safe. See how easy it is to take him down?

He looks over at you for validation for his actions, but he sees absolute terror. And then he remembers what he did. Oh yeah, i guess skewering your sword through the body of your lover’s “lover” isn’t exactly a pleasant sight. But see? He’s such a better option! If this “fiance” were able to protect you, he’d be able to defend himself against Techno. Now come on, let’s go home.

And then you’re dragged away from your village and to the empty tundra. The last sight you get of your village is it falling under the zombie siege. Yells and screams emanate from the town. But the further you get from it, the quieter it gets. Until there’s no sound coming from the village anymore.

[chiwhorei]

gun bunny

pairing: mafia!s. aizawa x fem!reader

genre: mafia!au, quirkless!au, smut- 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.5k

warning: somnophilia, voyeurism, violence, attempted kidnapping, attempted assault, mentions of blood, mentions of guns and knives, degradation, age-gap (reader is 19 and aizawa is 31), spitting

a/n: hello! this is my contribution to the smut pile mafia!server collab, this is both my first smut pile collab (this is so late i am so sorry sksksksk) and my first full-length bnha piece, be sure to check out everyone else’s amazing work here! thank you to @10millionyearsdungeon and @messwriting for your constant support while i trudged through sad pal hours for a fucking month and crawled out of the pits of writer’s block

hymns: hayloft by - mother mother, i’m on fire - awolnation cover

Blood pours over decades like syrup, the tinny-sweet smell was distinct but all too familiar. A muffled gun’s buzzing frames 19 years of life. The barrel feels cool, sitting precariously by the highest angle of your cheekbone.

“I told you not to cause trouble, brat. Now I have to clean up your little mess.”

Aizawa’s body is tall and broad above you, holding you against him with a protective grip on the small of your back. Every word is sneering, punctuated with a growl-- you feel it reverberate against his chest.

The bullet is resounding even through the silencer; a deafening sound, final bell tolling next to smeared streaks of mascara.

Aizawa Shouta has always been around-- whether bringing your dad a hefty stack of reports to thumb through or loosening his tie in the parlor and toasting him to another job well done. A carousel of chauffeurs and bodyguards encircle you, but all are nameless faces except for the man that can make people disappear in an instant: Eraser.

Otsuka y/n, the only daughter of the most powerful man in Japan, is a weighty title against your shoulders. Your father’s reputation has cradled you for almost two decades, keeping you draped in fur and balancing on red-bottoms. He has more money, more power than God. To most of your father’s inner circle, you are the dutiful, angelic heiress to his blood-soaked empire. You play the part well enough, polite, temperate- your hands are painted red in culpability, but perfectly manicured.

Your father’s business isn’t a secret, no matter his attempts to shield you over the years. There’s only so many nights spent humming to the tune of cracking skulls in the next room before “investments in oil” starts to lose its validity. Whenever you ask him, he pats your head, smoothing stray strands of hair, “I do it all for you, bunny. Everything is for you.”

You decide not to think about rouge splatters of blood and bruises against his knuckles, ignoring the clicking of a loading gun before he leaves for the office.

It’s better this way.

“You can’t be serious, Otsuka.” Aizawa paces across the hardwood, heel to toe with Italian leather from one large bookshelf to the other. A familiar habit, you’ve seen the contemplative marching before and know it to mean one thing: Aizawa is pissed.

“Have you ever known me to joke around? Especially with y/n?” Your father’s elbows hit the table in front of him, the jagged scars lining his face seem even more intimidating when coupled with a harshly set frown. You perch on the side of his large desk, swinging your feet lightly.

“Oh daddy, I’m not a child. I don’t need Eraser to babysit me.” You huff, crossing your arms and providing a pout to your father’s hard expression. You hear the mumbled, “Don’t call me that,” from behind you, but decide against a response.

“He’s going to look after you while I’m in Musutafu. I have to handle some…” he trails off slightly, one of his hands coming up to rub against his bald head, “noncompliance, but I shouldn’t be gone for more than a few days.” His disfigured fingers curling around yours, you look up to meet his eye, “Be a good girl, bunny.”

You give your father’s temple a kiss, pulling back to smile sweetly. Your next words have Aizawa snorting, rolling his eyes far enough into his skull to be painful.

“I always am.”

A bend downwards at the hips frames your ass perfectly, the lace of your panties curls around your pussy tightly, hooking against the lips and showcasing your soft skin. Questions swirl in the bowl of cereal in front of him, all but forgotten as soon as a cup“fell” from your fingers and clattered to the floor. The taste, the smell, the feeling of--

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Aizawa is ripped from the reprehensible desires of his senses to meet your eyes, your form still folded over on itself and displayed for Aizawa in the otherwise empty kitchen. You giggle at his scowl, snapping back up and smoothing out your skirt. Aizawa bites down on the spoon in between his teeth, he swears he can feel his teeth cracking. Better his canines than his will.

This only marks the beginning of a long week for your father’s right-hand man. The proceeding days turn to nights at a snail's pace. The past week has been inching towards disaster with every minute of alone time you could steal with Aizawa.

“Eraser, what are you doing up so late.” Your voice curls around his shoulder, the whine tugging him towards your open bedroom door. It’s late, far too late for you to be up to anything good.

You always like to push your luck, playing a game you know Aizawa won’t let himself win. Pressing firmly against the line but never pointing your heel across. Maintaining your immunity, feigning innocence behind a soft pout. Your appointed guardian isn’t fooled by any honeyed façade you build around his associates. He knows what you are at the core.

He tries to shake off your pull, but the way your voice lilts against the long hallway is magnetic. The past few nights have been the same song and dance, your disarming call to him as he trudges to one of the many guest bedrooms. Every night he gets closer, heavy feet and tense nerves guiding him towards your warm voice. He’s weathering a sea, you’re the siren hell-bent on his drowning.

“I told you not to call me that, little girl.” His response to your wanton call is shallow, the nickname is one he hates the sound of, especially rolling past your lips.

“Do you like what you see?”

Aizawa’s brows set harshly as he looks on to where you lie nestled in pillows and silk. You have nothing but a loose, light pink camisole to cover your body, cotton panties pulled down to your ankles with shameless intent. Your legs are spread wide for your viewer’s pleasure, two fingers brush against your lips, dragging lazily- up and back down.

Aizawa knows what you really are, a petulant brat.

You pull at the soft skin, spreading yourself to unveil the tight, clenching hole. He leans his shoulder against the jam, eyes drinking you in where his body shamefully wishes to be. The groan aching deeply in his chest is not lost on you as your other hand pulls the hem of your shirt upwards to catch in between your teeth.

The soft plush of your breasts bounces slightly, nipples peeking out from the folds of fabric, now fully exposed to the inky-black stare of your voyeur. There’s nothing left to his imagination now, the question that haunts sleepless nights, palming a large hand up and down his cock and imagining something softer and smaller. The picture of what his boss’s precious daughter would look like squirming under him becoming clearer beyond all reason.

Aizawa should turn heel and walk away, he should slam your bedroom door shut and count the days until your father’s return with a measured distance. He should walk away. He should-

A soft whimper drags him from contemplation and back to the writhing succubus center stage. Your fingers move quickly against your aching clit, drawing out babbled pleas to hit harshly against the tall, brooding presence at your door.

“I’ve had about enough of your games, bunny. Your father tasked me to keep you out of trouble, but you are the trouble.” Aizawa’s words hit your ears mockingly, but they sound more like an invitation than a warning, especially as his body inches forward, breaching the threshold of your bedroom inch by inch.

Two fingers slip past your lips, pushing in and drawing back slicked with arousal. You repeat the action, slowly, ensuring the boring set of eyes are trained on where you clench desperately; wanting to put on a good show with your bodyguard in the front row.

Aizawa’s head is swimming, dizzy and drunk. He wants to tear you apart, to lay claim to the twitching prize between your legs. If you struggle around two of your own much smaller fingers, it would be nearly impossible to wrap you around his thick cock.

That is, not without breaking you.

The heated pants escaping you pick up in canter, your audience winding a tight cord with his presence alone. Aizawa is unrelenting in his deep, unblinking stare, stepping towards your bed slowly. Once his body is looming over you, the coil in your stomach has turned into a hair pinned trigger.

“Such a messy little slut. Getting off to the attention aren’t you?” You’re rendered dumb at his comment, Aizawa barely has to press his thumb into your chin before your mouth hangs open. You look up with glassy eyes, fingers sore from working against your pussy, chasing a high you can only imagine how fast Aizawa could steal from you. His expression is as neutral as always, but the despondency doesn’t quite shadow the fire burning in his eyes. You watch him lean forward slightly, a string of saliva falling downward to land against your tongue. His spit feels hot, you can taste the remnants of cigar and mint gum as you swallow.

You come undone in a litany of cries, pleading with your captor. His hold is passive as he looks at you, watching you cum against your fingers, the squelching sounds make his mouth dry. The only source of hydration is at the apex of your thighs. Visions flash before his eyes, images of what the curve of your breasts look like as he’s buried tongue deep, lapping you up post-orgasm and pushing you over once more for good measure.

Aizawa retreats, lest he pulls you against his mouth while your cunt is still pulsating, he needs to escape before your knees are pressed to your shoulders. He slams your door closed harshly, leaving you with the taste of his contempt for you on your bottom lip.

You’re quick to sleep, body falling into the warmth of unconsciousness coupled with dreams of what a certain set of fingers would feel like against you. How the scars and calluses would brush against your most intimate inches of spongy flesh, how he would stretch you.

You can almost feel the soreness in between your legs and the heavy slap of something against your stomach. You can almost remember the whispered confessional swimming in the back of your head, the soft grunts from above your sleeping form. As sunlight stretches across your sleep-stiff body, your hand trails down over your naked skin, maybe you aren’t the only one playing games this week.

You could have almost sworn you had gone to sleep with panties on.

The car ride to your father’s bar was filled with unflattering tension. You had protested in vain that going with Aizawa wasn’t necessary, but had been met with a dismissive, “I don’t trust you to behave.”

“I’m not a child, Eraser. I don’t see why I couldn’t just sit at home.” You wobble behind your escort, heeled boots clacking against the gravel.

As you enter the building, a young mop of violet hair flanks Aizawa down with a stack of papers. The man is nameless to you but is familiar enough to be assumed under your father’s thumb.

Aizawa looks over the document’s now held in front of him with care, rolling up the sleeves to his crisp dress shirt as his eyes scan the pages. You note the shimmering silvered skin of a scar under his left eye, pronounced by the harsh lighting surrounding you. His hair is held up partially by a tie, the loose strands framing his face.

“Are you listening to me, little girl?” You're snapped back from watching his mouth curling around syllables to actually make out what they’ve been saying.

“Go sit down, I’ll only be a few minutes.” You nod along and turn to perch at the bar, but stop at the grip pulling you back for one final order. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

Aizawa leaves you to stew in the subtle brush of his pointer finger against the tender skin of your wrist, he rubs the skin subtly before disappearing to the back rooms.

The minutes ticking by are agonizing. Aizawa, usually the epitome of brief, has been gone long enough for the condensation on your glass to mar the wood below it in countless ringlets. You twirl the straw against the strawberry liquor, willing time to crank by faster with the action. The drink in your veins isn’t nearly enough to get you drunk but does make the opening of the front door unnoticeable.

Your back is facing the heavy wood, unaware of the two strangers now approaching until the curdling sound of one man’s voice hits the shell of your ear.

“Well, well, look what we have here. Why don’t I buy you a drink, princess?” Each man steals one of your sides, enclosing you into a tight, predatory huddle.

“This is my bar. I don’t need you to buy me anything.” You try to shake off the nauseating feeling of their bodies so close to you, gut twisting uncomfortably as one man’s breath crawls across your shoulder blades. They’re both so close. Too close.

“Wow, this little kitty cat’s got some claws, don’t she?” You feel hands curl around each bicep, a bruising grip right below your armpits. Your body is hoisted up, your balance off at the jarring upheaval.

Possible escape routes flash across your mind but all seem impossible. Would trying to shake off the still faceless strangers even work? And even if you sprung free, would you make it to the back office before they caught up? Should you try to scream? Would Aizawa hear you?

Before you can make any moves, you feel the flat side of a knife at your collarbone. A chill rattles down your spine at the contact, two inches of metal keeping your entire body compliant.

Their intent is clear, you’ll be coming with them, and by the sharp point of a blade digging into the first layer of skin-- you’ll be coming quietly.

A mixture of shock and disbelief compels your body into compliance, dragging you to the front door and closer towards an awaiting trunk.

“Your carriage, princess.” You hear the shorter man on your right, his voice at your neck sounds waterlogged through the blood rushing in your ears. Any protests die at the knife against your skin, digging in shallowly and pricking a small trail of red along your clavicle.

A sharp snap sounds behind you, like a piece of thin wood under a heavy boot. One of your captors falls in a pile next to you. You’re turned around to meet a familiar pair of venomous, black eyes, Aizawa’s words roll from his tongue with a growl.

You’re pulled at the wrist, stumbling back into the strong chest of your appointed bodyguard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my bunny?”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[deluluass]

Then, the dam breaks.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; dacryphilia; mild infantilization

Kuroo's not a bad person. 

Not even by a long shot. "Bad" is willfully stretching out a leg, hidden like a predator among the bushes; hungry for an unknowing soul who's naively secured with their surroundings and the crack that resounds when face finally meets floor.

Or, murder! Murder is bad, he believes.  

No, Kuroo isn't capable of any of those things. He might seem like he has a mean streak about him. What, with his sharp tongue and that incorrigible self-satisfied smirk (according to Yaku) and his words that may or may not sting like a backhanded slap sometimes. But that's all in good humor. 

Well-deserved, too, when given to the right asshole. And if he does manage to get under the skin of the wrong person, Kuroo's not above offering an apology. 

And he means it. (Occasionally.)

There's no pleasure to be had, if anyone would ask. Because, again , he's not a bad guy. He's sly: he knows that much, though he wouldn't taunt someone into visible pain just for the thrill of it.

There's a method to all this. A purpose. Not a profound one, but a reason all the same. 

So he has to admit he's feeling kinda lost figuring out why, of all people, it just really had to be you. 

There wasn't much of an option to begin with.

Art clubs had already been full. The other ones, you weren't much interested in. And by the time you realized your homeroom teacher would stop at nothing to remind you that this year was your last chance to do something other than study and prepare for exams, for once— well, it had already been too late to reconsider joining those.

Then a flyer was handed out to you.

"V-volley," the boy trailed off. 

Try as you might but you couldn't recognize him. A feat, that, considering his blond mohawk that you could spot among a crowd of thousands. 

He seemed like he'd caught a nasty spell that prevented him from meeting anyone's eyes, even as you deliberately searched his face for any sign that he'd explain himself to you. Surely, he must have a lot to say after he'd outright ambushed you from entering the cafeteria. 

"You...want me to join?" 

You were on the verge of asking for more details, focusing on the black cat (though it didn't look like it) drawn on the center of the curiously damp paper, only to find out that you'd been conversing with an empty hallway. 

A soft grumble left you. 

"Weird," you concluded, barely a whisper. "Weird, weird, weird ."

You were the volleyball team's manager since then. 

"She's not much of a talker."

Lev hunched to his knees again, sounding very much like he's running out of breath.

It should've been Kuroo's cue to gently ( gently) tell him off, that Nekoma's ace would handle a minute of catching a ball with their face with much more tenacity than he does, or that Nekoma's ace shouldn't have to catch the ball with their face in the first place, period.

" Zoning out already, Ace? " he'd planned on jeering, but instead he followed the direction of the overgrown 10 year old's gaze. 

Someone was talking to you. 

Apologizing , was more like it, if the other student's incessant bowing until his torso fell from his body was any indication. You were outside of the gym, clipboard tucked under an arm, so it was impossible to catch a word you were saying.

Not that you were saying much. Or anything at all. You only nodded. And nodded again. And after what seemed like the world's loudest "I'm so sorry, senpai!",you immediately went back inside to refill the water bottles lined atop the bench. 

"Hey," Kenma sighed, the ball in his hand aimed for a toss. "Focus."

And the cycle of Lev being an utter disappointment to the blond setter continued. 

Kuroo let out a noncommittal hum, eyes never leaving you, trailing like a lost pup as you handed out water bottles to Nobuyuki and the others. 

"Not a talker, huh," he muttered to himself. 

How long has it been? Two weeks? Three, maybe? Kuroo could scarcely remember for how many days you'd been showing up to this sweaty pit to perform your duties. On the dot. Always. Without fail. 

What he does remember was the first day.

Chin up; head held high. You strutted into their lives as if you were leading an entire militia to battle and had no time to waste.  

He teased you for it when you'd already busied yourself with clean up duty a few minutes after your (short) ( extremely concise) introduction.

("Slow down there, general," he told you with a wry chuckle. He expected any reaction from you, really.)

(He just didn't expect you to actually slow down on your cleaning and pick up on the Coach's remaining paperwork right then and there, going through it like a forest fire.)

It would take him a few more days to realize that that's just how you are. 

Even when you rejected a tongue-tied Yamamoto when he tried to ask you out. For a meal. With the other boys, of course.

Even when you took a hurtling ball to your leg and lost your footing and had the whole team scrambling for a stretcher, only for you to stand on your good leg, tell everyone "I'm okay," and walk to the nurse's office on your own.

(Kuroo doesn't think he's seen someone limp with so much grace before.)

His throat suddenly felt incredibly dry. 

Water . Water was what he needed. 

Right. 

You didn't see him coming from across the court. You were sitting on the bench and your back was turned, scribbling on that clipboard propped on your lap, yet— like clockwork, your idle hand shot out to give him the last bottle to your left before he could even finish asking for one.

He felt his lips curve as he muttered his thanks around the lid.

"Say," Kuroo began.  

You were reading the things you wrote back to yourself. 

"Mind telling me what was that about?"

You paused. You blinked up at Kuroo. 

The attention hits him like a freight train. 

That clear as summer sky gaze, unclouded and bright. 

It's nuts how unreal it felt. How can something so elusive be now all on him. 

(Just for him.)

"Earlier," he added, licking his lips and feeling silly for the way his chest tightened. "Seemed kinda intense."

"He borrowed my notes," you said. Then back to the clipboard again. 

Kuroo made himself comfortable next to you, elbow propped on his knee as he rested his chin against an open palm.

"Got a test coming up?"

"Cram school. He's in the same class."

Of course .

"Of course," Kuroo grinned. "What happened? Heard the guy apologize to you like you were about to kill him."

Laughter bubbled out of his chest. Unfortunately, you didn't seem to find it as funny as he did. Pity. 

He sighed.

"Nothing too bad, I hope."  

The noise of ballpoint pen scratching against paper halted. 

From way at the back, Lev was prattling Kenma's ear off again. Kuroo guessed they were about to leave, walking away from the court, away from the gym and to god knows where. The whole team, too, for that matter.

Everyone seemed to have gone, diminished in that second. He couldn't hear them anymore, didn't bother to see if they're still there.

He was looking at you, after all. Really looking at you. Your grip on the pen was a tad severe, he thought; fingers determined to squeeze the ink out of the barrel. 

Your face betrayed nothing. Indeed, anyone could spare you a glance and immediately guess that this is just another empty chat between acquainted individuals, conversation just for the sake of it. 

Kuroo wasn't just anyone, though.

Chin up and head held high; as you'd always done. But Kuroo's close enough to see it now, unlike before: the gulps you take in between breaths; the falter in those eyes that only ever looked forward.

Chin up and head held high, but Kuroo sees now that the neck he could easily break with one hand is so tense it's essentially a string pulled too tight that's on the brink of snapping. 

Oh.

"Oh," Kuroo whispered.

Oh .

"He lost it didn't he?" Kuroo realized. "Your notes."

And it did snap.

"Just..!" You looked down and bunched your pants in your fist. "No. Of course not. It's nothing," you huffed, putting the ball pen's cap back on. 

You were leaving.

Kuroo stood up.

"You look upset, manager-san," he said softly, his larger frame blocking your attempts of escape. "It is bothering you, hm?"

"My notebook got-got ruined, sure," you said. "But juice stains aren't bothering me, Captain ."

There it is. You were meeting his gaze again. 

" Too late for that ," Kuroo thought. There's a stutter to your words when there had been none. 

Your arms are trembling and you look  uncomfortable. He should stop. He knows he should stop , but whatever it is he said is chipping away at that impenetrable wall and he doesn't get what's happening now but damn, damn if that tingle running down his spine doesn't feel so fucking good. 

"My bad," he chuckled. "Sorry."

He raised both his arms in a show of defeat. 

"I'm- it's fine," you said through gritted teeth. "If you would just— excuse me."

Kuroo shrugged a shoulder. 

"Sorry about your notes, still," he said. "Must've been important to you. We all know how much you take your studies very, very seriously." 

Kuroo smirked. "You shouldn't have let him have it then." 

That made you stop in your tracks. 

"What do you mean?" you sought, confusion breaking your voice into what sounds like the smallest it's ever been.

Kuroo felt his breath catch in his throat.

"He needed my help, though," you rushed. "I can't just turn people away." 

"Really?" Kuroo sniggered, eyebrows lifting in fascination. 

"Could've sworn you were good at it," he said; whispered it so lowly, you couldn't have heard it. But you did.

You heard him, all right. Loud and clear.

Because it was just like watching someone take a bullet to the heart. 

First, the disbelief. 

Skin, muscles, and ligaments weren't made to be broken like that. A person wasn't created to bleed to death. And when it happens, well, all one can ask is: how could someone hurt me like this? 

So you stand before him, immobile, disbelief written in those wide eyes, because how could he hurt me like this?

Then—

Then, the dam breaks.

Kuroo doesn't think that you know it; that you're gaping at him with tears streaming down your face; that you're falling apart and stripping yourself bare the more you try to temper those quivering lips with that cute little nibbling you do.  

Kuroo doesn't think you know it, too.

That no one has ever been as beautiful as you are, right in that very moment.

You're not a good person.

Not even by a long shot. "Good" is an open hand, warm and soft and prepared to accept anyone in need of it. It's many things, goodness, but it most certainly isn't a dismissive attitude towards a well-meaning person who only wants to get to know you.

You hadn't gone this far in your uneventful life ignorant of what people say behind your back. "Frigid" is one. "Indifferent" on a good day. "Bitch" when someone feels like being mean. 

It's not like you're mad or anything; not as if you'd built up some sort of resentment within you that now you've settled for being perpetually friendless. You have plans, is all. You just can't afford to be a constant helping hand when you've got so much to do.

So you take it. 

Be a sport about it, was what you've always been told. Stiff upper lip, as they say. You remain silent about it and you endure and maybe you shed a few tears later as you lie in bed and maybe you entertain the possibility that you'll never see the end of this loneliness. 

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, this time shouldn't have been any different.

(But sometimes even the strongest walls can crumble. All it takes is one crack, then the rest would follow.)

It was a bad day. 

You woke up late. You messed up the tally in the first set of practice games. You forgot the homework you'd stayed up all night to do. 

And the person whom you've lended your notes to for the college entrance exams lost it. 

He lost it. Conveniently just a month before the actual thing. 

"I- It's nowhere to be found, senpai," he explained. "I tried looking for it everywhere but- but I.." (You don't remember the rest.)

It's fine, you told yourself. You're fine. You can do something about a little inconvenience like this. You always have.

But then Kuroo Tetsurou asked. 

He's an amazing captain; even someone like you who only had a rudimentary knowledge at volleyball could understand the level of skill it requires to do what he does on the court while still managing to reign in the polarizing characters in this team together. And like most people, Kuroo Tetsurou has never cared for you. 

That's what you'd always thought, concerning him. Even when there had been times when he'd let slip what he thought about you. ("You're so cold, manager-san," he pouted once after you'd refused to eat with Yamamoto and the others.)

So it blindsided you, to say the least. 

The way he looked at you, as if he's privy to your darkest secrets, like he's seen you at your lowest and somehow knows you more than you did. 

When he'd jabbed and poked at what you'd only later realize was already a festering wound. (" It is bothering you, hm?" he said.) And before you could think about telling him to stop, to please, please let it go, it had already happened.

(" Could've sworn you were good at it ," he said.) 

This isn't news to you. Besides, there have obviously been worse digs. 

But hearing it from people who think you're not listening and being told about it to your face are two vastly different things. 

(Maybe it's because deep inside you'd always hoped that not everyone disliked you. That even though you're not a good person, you're not entirely bad either.)

Right in front of you, swift and without warning, he spoke only the truth.

You just weren't prepared for how deep it could cut. 

"I have to go," you murmured.

It took you a few seconds to realize that you'd been crying. And when you did, you immediately wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, turning away from him and the others still engrossed in their drills.

You let your feet do the thinking, allowing it to take you wherever they wished to go ( not here. not here. anywhere but here ), finding it impossible to do so yourself when your vision is clouded with welling tears. 

You moved forward, never once looked back, until you ended up inside the stark darkness of the gym's forgotten neighbor. 

The shed has long been abandoned and had nothing but dust, a couple of furniture in disrepair, and the occasional bug to keep it company. It was good enough for you. You didn't need much anyway.

Except for silence. 

The breaths that you'd desperately tried to control shook like dried leaves hanging onto frail branches, much like your legs, eventually collapsing at the slightest gust of wind. 

All you needed was silence.

Crouched down, the feeling of bones reduced to jelly was a lot more palpable. And despite the pins and needles that you know would eventually appear like a vengeful mistress, you stubbornly pressed your knees closer to your damp face.

Stuttering inhales and short-lived exhales  soon enough filled the gnawing emptiness of the shed as you count back to the moment you'd started the day to when your classmate told you that he'd lost your notebook to when you'd been told of how much of a shitty person you are and you wonder how you would've changed your decisions and how could it have gotten to this point how could it go wrong like this what did I do what did I do wrong what went —

"There you are."

You clamped your mouth shut, clenched your teeth so hard to stop their chattering. How useless. 

The creaking noise of the door being closed— punctuated by the sound of the latch clicking, rendered that effort futile. 

Kuroo Tetsurou locked the door.   

"C-can you," you panted. "Can you please leave."

"I need some time alone," you said, every beat of your heart like the ticking clock of a time bomb. "Please." 

You waited for him to do as you'd told. Maybe what happened earlier was a mistake, a slip of tongue that hurt more than it should've, and he's here to apologize. Of course. That's it, isn't it? Why else would he be here?

"I- If you want to say something, we can- we can— later." 

It was as if the entire world had gone still. He said nothing; neither could you hear any hint of movement. You turned around.

"C-captain..!"

He was right there. 

Right in front of you, crouched and staring right back at you. His face a hair's breadth away from yours. 

Your legs shot upwards. 

"What are you- ah !" You hissed, feeling every cell in your body being incessantly pricked. Finding it impossible to stand on your own, your hands scrambled to get a hold of something, anything, maybe the almost dilapidated table behind you— only to be caught in between large, strong arms.

"Careful, now," he murmured against your neck. His scalding breath like frostbite, chilling you down to your bones until you were numbed from the pain.

He slithered a hand around your waist. With blood thundering to your ears, you bit back a shriek and pushed him away with all your might. But have you forgotten? Despite that indolent swagger of his, you've witnessed how this boy pushes himself to exertion for each match and beyond. What made you think you could win against him? 

And when you attempted to open your mouth and yell, he effortlessly covered it with a palm while hauling you towards the table. The thing rocked under your weight. It is amusing, what the fear of falling does to you. One moment you're thrashing your way out; the next, you're holding onto your tormentor for dear life.

"No one's gonna come for you." He shushed you like how one would when placating a rabid animal. "You really believe they would bother? With an attitude like that?"

Down, down, his hand sank to your thigh, kneading the aching flesh until all you could do was mewl out a hoarse, "S-stop. I beg y-you."

Because it's all that's left for you. No one's going to save you. Or maybe someone would. But, who? And would they, really? 

(Go on, then. Try. See for yourself.)

"Kuroo-san," you whimpered. " S-stop ."

(Would they even believe you? It's your word against his. Him . Their beloved captain.)

"Tetsurou," he only said, dipping his hand lower, wrapping your freezing legs around him. "Say it."

He's everywhere. Lips tracing your chin, teeth grazing your throat; all the while your weak, pathetic arms stayed on his shoulders, thinking he'd regain his senses because he has to. He has to. He's not a bad person. He wouldn't hurt you, not in that way. 

Even when rough palms are already caressing the sides of your breasts and you feel a bulge rutting against your stomach, hot and rock hard and large, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your crotch closer to his—

"Cap- Tetsurou!" You cried, trembling hands back on his chest as you sobbed and pleaded please, please, let me go, I won't say anything, I-I'll keep quiet .

He did stop. But he didn't let you go. (You're a stupid girl if you think he would). Instead, with a forefinger under your chin and a thumb on your lower lip, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze. 

And when your murky vision adjusted to the shadows, the heart that wanted to escape from your chest ceased its clamoring, arresting your breath with it.

The afternoon sun peeked through the crevices of the shed's wooden walls. Red-orange light revealed a pair of iris swallowed by blown pupils, only for it to pass and shroud him back into the darkness. 

"Say it again," he whispered, deep voice cracking. " Tetsurou . My name."

You tried to speak and protest once again but only a croaked snivel left you, your babbling becoming less coherent when he began planting soft kisses on both tear-streaked cheeks. 

"You've been all alone, haven't you? Keeping everything to yourself all this time."

He kissed your forehead and it was so tender you wanted to die. 

"My strong, brave girl," he breathed. "I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you. I- I-"

You heard him chuckle as he pressed his forehead to yours, felt it crease on your skin. "I love you."

No. No, no, no . You shook your head and closed your eyes and prayed to anyone who's listening. 

"I love you," he repeated, strongly now, as if he only realized it this time around. 

And then he kissed you. Just a peck. And then he kissed you again, deepening it to probe a wet tongue into your mouth. And the hand sitting lax on your neck felt like a gun to your temple.   

You remained just as you were, like a plaything to do with as he pleased, as you felt calloused fingers creep inside your sweaty shirt.

"Such pretty tits," he grunted as he raised your bra over your breasts to brush your nipples, rolling and pinching and pulling them with his thumbs.

He muffled the noises you made with his own mouth still when he continued fondling you. You soon enough tasted the salt off of his palm when he left your lips to lick and pepper bites on your neck, on the valley and mounds of your breasts, sucking and lapping the stiff peaks until he was satisfied.

You tried counting, one to whatever. And when that did not work, you tried biting your own tongue to rid of the heat you fear would burst in your belly. 

All that went to waste when he reached inside your pants. 

"Not- not there!" you gasped, breaking your silence and wriggling out of his grasp.

He cooed. "You'll feel good. I promise."

After hooking long fingers over the hem of your panties, he briskly parted the hair and lips underneath to pull the thin cotton over the folds, over the throbbing nub trapped in the middle. 

"Your pussy's so wet, sweetheart," he sighed, the tip of his middle finger drawing light circles on your clothed clit. 

It was so lewd and dirty and the fact that your panties were soaked with slick was enough to burn you with shame.

"You like it, hm?" 

Perhaps you whimpered out a meek "no." You couldn't tell anymore, heaving out while he continued to toy with a sore nipple as he rubbed your slippery cunt, preying on your puffed out, swollen clit.  

"Feel what you do to me." He squeezed your wrist and forced your shivering hand on his crotch. "Take out my cock, baby," he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck.

"Tet-Tetsuro…san," you cried. "I can- I can't."

"Yes. Yes, you can ," he said, not halting the ministrations between your legs. "You're a big girl."

As if held by a string, he guided you, wrapped his hand around yours as he— as you stroked him, scorching and thick, up and down, just like that . 

"Good girl. My good little girl," he groaned, parting your panties to the side to tease your dripping hole. 

You wept harder, the inevitable only a few seconds away from you. A single finger, at first. And when he added a second one, you realized you preferred having a hand on your mouth than his lips on yours.

(Because then you wouldn't have to think of an excuse why you're suddenly swirling and brushing your tongue in time with his.) 

For a while there had been nothing but the sound of two wet lips pursing against each other (along with those embarrassing squelching noises). 

He treated you as if you were made of porcelain, your plush walls stroked oh so gently as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he ended the kiss and removed your hand from his cock, spit and pre-cum connecting you to him, he still handled you as if you would break at the drop of a hat.

That's why it snuck up on you, what happened, after he brought his mouth to your ear.

"Don't scream," he whispered. 

Then, he rammed his fingers in your mouth. 

You tasted yourself as he forced you on your back, slamming you down on the dirty table yet still carrying your weight all throughout, never letting go.

The bitter acceptance of it— that what began earlier can only conclude to this , did not prepare you for the feeling when he finally thrust himself into you.

They say it shouldn't hurt at first. If it does then he's doing it wrong. 

You hardly know if it's relief or horror that dawns on you when you realize how he stretched you out so easily, despite his size. Because, by all means, this should be wrong. This is wrong. 

"Gonna ruin you," he panted. "Gonna ruin you and— fuck put you back together myself."

He grinded his cock inside you deep and slow and when he hit that spot you couldn't control yourself from jackknifing so hard he had to hold you down. He does this mercilessly, pace growing more delirious until you're nothing but a choked and sputtering fool around his fingers.

"I won't ever leave you. I’m here," he cooed, stroking your hair and kissing your face as you bawled and shattered in his embrace. "I’m here ."

"So cry all you want."

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 11

A/N: Part 11 is finally finished lovelies! Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! 🖤🔮🖤

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, violence, and blood

It felt as if time was slowing down as Sam’s phone kept vibrating, everyone’s eyes trained on him awaiting to hear who was on the other line. Zemo had sat back down beside you and you leaned into him to keep up your act, and as you glanced at his profile, you saw that he was deep in thought, probably running the scenario through his head.

“Answer it. On speaker.” Selby ordered as she had stood up, staring at Sam in the eye while she pointed at him. She was really starting to get on your nerves now and you wanted nothing more than to get out of there.

You locked eyes with Sam as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey, um, we need to talk about this situation. It’s been drivin’ me nuts.” You heard Sarah’s voice on the other line.

Shit. You were fucked.

Licking your lips, you used your telepathic abilities to tap into Zemo and Bucky’s brain, your eyes following Selby as she started to stroll around the room.

“Hey guys.”

You watched how Zemo and Bucky’s eyes shifted to you when hearing your voice, only to see you looking to the floor without ever opening your mouth.

“Relax, it’s me. Don’t look at me and act like nothing is happening.” You gave them a cautionary look. “I’m sorry to have to get into your heads, but we are in deep shit and this isn’t going to end well. Just think about what you want to say and we can communicate from there.”

“You’re....you’re in our heads?” You heard Zemo’s thoughts.

“Yes, I already said that.”

“So.....how are we supposed to get out of this one?” Bucky asked.

“Well at this rate, There is no other way than to fight our way out. We’re about to have a large bounty on our heads.”

“Y/n is right.” Zemo added. “We must be prepared.”

“You got any plans Zemo?” You asked him.

“Just make it out alive.”

You nodded your head slightly, signaling that you were prepared for what was about to happen next. Selby had crossed behind the sofa you and Zemo sat on, dragging her fingers through the top of the back part of the sofa. You could’ve sworn you felt her wretched fingers graze over your bare shoulder and through your hair as she passed by, making you straighten up in repulsion and clutch the seat of the couch with balled fists, accidentally brushing the side of your exposed thigh against Zemo’s in the process. Zemo side glanced at you after feeling your thigh brush against his, seeing you shift in your seat with an uncomfortable look hidden on your face. And from the way Selby had now crossed over to his side of the Sofa, he knew what had happened to upset you. Sam and Bucky saw the whole thing, the way she laid her fingers on you made their skin crawl, they clenched their fists as they were more than ready to get you out of this hellhole and to a safer place.

“What situation exactly are you talkin’ about?” Sam cleared his throat as he planned out what to say while trying to stay in character.

“Are you high? You know what situation, it’s the only situation me and you have.” You could hear the irritation in Sarah’s voice as you studied the faces of everyone around you, honing in on their vital signs to where you could almost see their heart beat, blood flow, and rise in body temperature. Their bodies released an odor that you were all too familiar with, that near acidic smell, adrenaline. You saw it pump through their veins as the guards hovered their fingers over the triggers of their guns. They were already starting to have doubts about the four of you.

“What situation, Sarah? Say it.”

“The damn boat. And watch your tone. Okay? I let you slide at the bank.”

“The bank.” Sam scoffed before chuckling lightly. “Yeah. Laundered so much. Yeah, they’ll come around.”

“If that was the case, then why’d they dog you out, Big Time?”

As every exchange between Sam and Sarah went by, the more your hands itched to grab your dagger as you waited for the precise moment to strike. You could practically hear your heartbeat and the clock on the wall drowning out the sound of everything else in the room, the clicking of the hand second by second, as if taunting you about the little amount of time you had left.

“Yeah, you damn right I’m Big Time. You’ll see when I have that banker killed.” Sam stared straight ahead. You could already tell from his face that he was not at all confident about how this was going to go down.

“Cass! What’d I tell you about the Cheerios? I don’t have time for this! Sam, I’m sorry. I’ll call you back.”

Fuck.

“Sam?” Selby looked at the four of you. “Who’s Sam? Kill them!”

Bang! There was the sound of a gunshot and shattered glass, and the next thing you knew, Selby was shot in front of you, her coat now spreading with blood from the wound in her chest as she fell to the floor dead, right when you were about to run your dagger through her yourself. You couldn’t find sight of who the shooter was as one of the security sent a dead center shot towards Zemo’s head. You widened your eyes and shot your arm out in front of Zemo’s face, the bullet bouncing off your metal cuff with a sizzling sound and falling to the floor in a crumbled ball. Thank the gods for Olympian steel. Zemo and the security guard gave you a surprised look from how you just deflected the shot, giving you the chance to slip up the slit of your dress to grab your dagger. You threw your dagger at the guard, watching it fly through the air before hitting him straight in the chest, making him fall over.

You and Zemo jumped up from the couch as two more guards shot at you in the process, more bullets falling to the floor as you deflected them all. Zemo grabbed the gun of one of them before hitting him in the head with it, knocking him out cold. You charged at the other one, pulling your sword out from your back before raising it above you and bringing it down in a diagonal motion, slicing the guard across the chest. You winced as some of the blood had splattered on your face, causing you to wipe it off with the back of your hand. Bucky and Sam had taken care of the other two before going off to the other side of the room. You shoved your sword down on the floor so that it stood upright before kneeling over to take your heels off. Sam, Bucky, and Zemo stared at you in shock from what you did as you headed over to them barefoot with your sword in one hand, stopping to stoop over one of the dead guards to pull your dagger out of his chest before giving it a flick to get rid of the blood.

“What the hell was that? You had a sword with you this whole time?” Sam hissed.

“Never mind that. We have bigger problems. They’re going to pin this on us.” You breathed out as you slipped your sword back on your back and your dagger back on the strap on your thigh.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” Zemo sighed before heading out as you followed him.

You heard the sound of everyone’s phone notification going off, telling them of Shelby’s death and the bounty on your heads.

“This is not good.” Zemo mentioned as he glanced at everyone, some who now had their eyes following you.

Bullets went flying over your head as people approached you with their guns out, shooting at you.

“Shit!” Sam shouted as he and the others ducked.

“More guns?” You rolled your eyes. Using your powers, your eyes returned to their natural Olympian color before glowing a bright violet as you created a shield in front of you to protect you and the three, the bullets disintegrating when coming into contact with your shield. Your eyes widened as you looked down at your hands in horror and saw how they were starting to change to an unnatural death like color, slowly starting to spread up your arms in a vein like manner while your hands had become almost claw like with sharp pointed nails. Oh no. This was not good, you didn’t need the others seeing this. Cursing under your breath with a flick of your wrist, you used your powers to throw the attackers into a nearby wall before letting your shield disappear. You glanced down at your hands with a bit of relief as you saw them return to their natural skin tone. This was definitely not good and you needed to get it sorted out before they found out.

“Let’s go!” You told them as you started to run, down the crime ridden street, not even caring that you weren’t wearing any shoes but cursing under your breath for your choice of not wearing a bra because of the damned dress, making you press your arm over them to hold them in place.

“I can’t run in these heels!” You heard Sam say as he struggled to keep up.

Your heart was pounding as you ran from the people after your heads, the sound of gunshots echoing in the streets. Making sure to stay in front of Bucky, Sam, and Zemo, you used a combination of defense and offense, lighting up the streets in flashes of violet as you blocked off the bullets and threw bolts of energy through your attackers. All the while being cautious of maintaining your appearance. As you came to a small clearing, you found yourself surrounded before more gunshots were heard, but this time they were directed at your attackers, the bullets coming from one of the windows of the buildings.

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” Zemo spoke up as he looked around with a gun in his hand after shooting one of the attackers himself.

“Well, this is too perfect.” You heard a woman approach with a gun pointed at Zemo, using one of her hands to drop her hood. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” You caught your breath as you furrowed your brows at her, surprised to see her. You never had the chance to meet her but you were wondering what she was doing here.

“You cost me everything.” Sharon spoke as she stopped with her gun still pointed at Zemo.

“Sharon, wait.” Sam stepped in front to try to explain everything. “Someone recreated the super-soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.”

“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.”

“So what are you doing here?” Bucky asked her.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass, so that you could save his ass from his ass.” You watched from the side with a raised brow as Sharon pointed at all three of them. “I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”

“Don’t blow smoke. I was on the run, too.” Sam tried to reason.

“Was. Is. Big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t. My own father doesn’t know where I am.” Sharon remarked before looking over at you, squinting her eyes as she tried to figure out where she saw you. “Sorry, you’re y/n right? You worked with Thor? What do you have to do with all this?”

“Sam needed my help, Sharon.” You explained. “We could use yours, it would mean a lot.”

Sharon thought it over, looking between you and the others.

“Please.” Bucky added.

“This isn’t over.” Sharon let out a sigh. “I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there for a while.”

“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.” Sam noted as he took in the interior of the building once you all stepped in after the car ride there.

Your gut was telling you there was something fishy about Sharon that you just couldn’t pinpoint just yet, but you wanted to trust her. You raised a brow at the artwork that was displayed. So Sharon was selling stolen artwork now? You didn’t pay much mind to the details of the area as you followed Sharon through. You were much too focused on washing the blood and makeup off your face as well as changing into something more comfortable. But the one thing you couldn’t get your mind off of was what happened earlier when you were using your powers. It was definitely not a good sign and you were scared of the answers you would get once you searched deeper into it.

“I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I’ll get for a real Monet?” Sharon mentioned as she turned to Sam.

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.”

“No. She means real.” Zemo affirmed after he had taken a look around. “This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.”

“It’s true.” Bucky added to Zemo’s comment. “You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this.”

“Okay, guys, I see what you’re doing. You’re more worldly than good old Sam.” Sam was on his phone, obviously trying to search up to confirm what they said was true.

“Yeah. What’s Google say?”

“No shit.”

“You guys need to change. I’m hosting clients in an hour.” Sharon suggested once you had entered her living area.

“Hey Sharon.” You faced her. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the left.”

“Thanks.” You gave her a kind smile before heading to it and locking the door behind you. The men’s eyes followed you as you went into the bathroom, they had noticed how quiet you were on the ride here and how you seemed to be deep in thought, and they were wondering what had happened to have you upset like this. Was it the whole situation with Selby? Were you enraged at them for putting you into this mess?

You had turned on the faucet in the bathroom, letting the water run for a bit as you stared down at your hands once more, as if you were afraid they’d return to that same appearance of death, resembling hands that might have belonged to a demon or an animal. You cursed under your breath as you washed the blood off your face, chest, and arms. As if you didn’t have enough to stress over already. Reaching your hand into your dress pocket, you pulled out your bag that you had shrunk to make it easier to bring along, returning it to it’s normal size so you could pull out a fresh pair of clothes. You changed into your Smashing Pumpkins shirt, a pair of jeans and your docs, throwing on a black leather jacket on top before putting your old attire and sword away. You decided to keep your dagger on you, strapping it to the back of your waist through the slot you had on your belt to help conceal it. As you rummaged through your bag, you grabbed your bracers and strapped them on your arms, concealing them underneath your jacket. At this point you needed to be prepared. Once you were done you returned your bag to a miniature size with a spell, slipping it in your jacket pocket before walking out of the bathroom. You had put on your brave face so questions wouldn’t arise about your behavior as you went to return to where the others were gathered.

“What’d I miss?” You asked as you approached them, politely declining the glass of liquor Sharon offered you.

“Nothing important.” Bucky answered your question. “You didn’t miss much.”

“Yeah?” You raised a brow amusingly as you crossed your arms. “Sounded like bickering to me. You three always have a bone to pick with each other. I could hear you from inside the bathroom..........I’m kidding, relax. Just trying to lighten up the mood.”

“Sharon might be able to find out how to locate our lead.” Zemo caught you up with everything that happened while you were cleaning up in the bathroom.

“Well,” Sharon noted as she got up from the sofa. “I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Trouble.” Zemo added with a smirk.

“Thank Sharon.” You smiled at her, silently dreading having to go to yet another party. It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties, you weren’t a fan of crowds. And if you were being honest, you wanted nothing more than to eat an entire cheese pizza all by yourself and crash out on the floor at this point. You were exhausted to say the least, and starving. Using your powers had strangely drained some energy out of you and you didn’t know what the cause could be. This had never happened to you before.

Loud bass music filled your ears, making the ground beneath you vibrate with each beat as you arrived at the party downstairs with the others, the dim lights flashing against your face as you followed behind Sam towards the bar. You asked the bartender for a glass of cold water and sat on the barstool, watching people dance in close proximities of each other, your mind still fantasizing about the cheesiest pizza you could be having right now, causing your stomach to grumble.

“I can see you two aren’t a fan of parties.” Sam smirked as he looked at the bored expressions on you and Bucky’s faces. “Mr. I-Only-Listen-To-40s-Music and Ms. I-Only-Listen-To-Beethoven.”

“Beethoven was a genius.” You remarked. “Also, classical music is not the only thing I listen to. I listen to other stuff as well.”

“Yeah, like rock. And about that. I can’t believe you did acid.” Sam quipped as Zemo and Bucky’s eyes were on you now, curious to hear your response.

“Oh for fucks sake Sam. This was back in the 60s. Give me a break. Shit didn’t work anyways.”

“Wait. How the hell, do you take acid and it has no effect on you?”

“Well it’s the same thing as not being able to get drunk Sam. Now stop interrogating me.” You explained before setting your glass of water down on the counter. “Give me a minute guys. I gotta make a phone call.”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, trying to head outside to where it was much quieter as you searched for the nearest pizza place. Your head was starting to throb from the lack of nutrition and the loud music and bright lights definitely wasn’t helping. You were going to have a damn cheese pizza and no one was going to stop you. Before you could even reach the entrance you felt a pair of strong arms grab your jacket, pulling you into the empty hallway nearby. You dropped your phone out of panic, your self defense mode kicking in as you grabbed the bulky arm of your unknown attacker and twisted it behind his back before shoving him against the wall of the hallway, creating a crack from the impact. The large man grunted from the force you exerted as you pulled out your dagger, setting the sharp blade against his throat, his face hidden from your view due the shadow cast over him.

“You better start talking asshole. You have picked the wrong time to fuck with me.” You growled between gritted teeth, shoving him against the wall again to get him to talk. “Answer me you shit!”

“Easy kid.” The man spoke with a gruff voice, grunting from your tight hold on him. “Is this how you treat an old friend?”

The grip you had on the man loosened, your hand that held your dagger to his throat dropping down to your side as you stared at the back of the man’s head like a deer in headlights. You recognized that voice.

“Logan?”

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit

[previousloversandmuses]

Slow Burn - Prologue

Part I | masterlist

A/N: This is a “must read” precursor to the whole series. Please read it to know what the origin story is. 

Pairing: Y/N x Obi Wan Kenobi

Words: 2048

Warnings: None. Brief mentions of violence. Low self esteem.

I am always one to experience emotions at a heightened frequency. Dangerous for a Jedi in training I know, but the council never took it as a sign of caution, just a minor set back. Happiness is bright, and beaming, even painful. My cheeks hurt for days after, smile lines sculpting my skin too early in life. Anger is powerful, my skin becoming vicious, and hot. Ripping through me like a silver bullet, and tearing my already unrelenting gut apart. I am loud, I am violent, and most of all, passionate. I would later become grateful of this curse, turning it into a blessing. Sadness is so deep. Tears crash like an ocean, and my heart would ache in my chest. The physical symptoms of my despair become overwhelming, and make me sick.

A fresh eighteen myself, my graduation is only a year or so away. Compared to other padawans, ones that don’t deal with the same struggles as myself, have already been graced with knighthood. They make their masters proud, and have already completed more missions at sixteen than I think I ever will in my entire career. 

I had the choice to become independent, to take my morals by the throat, and shove them deep down inside me, never to be seen again- but it really just isn’t that easy. See, I’m taking this time for meditation, or even a “behavioral therapy” of sorts. I have meetings with other council members, more powerful, and more prominent than my own master, who is often off tending to matters elsewhere. A mighty general he is, but they see me as someone who would cause more of a distraction, so I stay here at the temple left to my own devices. Sometimes I think it may be because I’m a woman, and other times I just take a good look in the mirror and recall the outburst that has stained my face only minutes before. 

Today was like any other; wake up, meditate, exercise, study, combat training, study, try and find time to eat something, and study. I walked down the main hallway with Master Yoda. He spoke to me about how he once struggled with his emotions as well, but with enough meditation, learned how to keep them at bay. Looking down at him and his vacant expression, I was surprised he had ever even felt an emotion a day in his life. That was until seconds later…

Stopping in my tracks, my hand flew over my heart. I recalled feeling out of breath, like my heart had physically stopped beating in my chest, or at least was trying to catch up with the rest of my body. I was shaky, yet somehow managed to take a knee. Something was off, that feeling in my chest grew and grew until I was faced with the blackest black I had ever felt. The darkest emotion to ever run through my body, as cold as ice, and heart stopping. It was deep, I felt it within the darkest abyss in my soul. It wrapped around my insides and nestled itself a home deep within the most shielded corners of my subconscious. That’s when Master Yoda felt it too. His hand flying over his heart, and steadying himself on my own shoulder. His face morphed into a snarl, gasping at the sudden pain that now infected his unwavering calm aura. 

...

After a painstakingly slow recovery, I sat on the edge of my bed. My quarters were neat and tidy. My bed, usually made up in the morning, because I have always been one for a routine. My walls weren’t bare, in fact they were almost completely covered in photographs I have taken from my travels as a Padawan. I'd go to the library, and butcher borrowed books, clipping photos of different words, and alien fauna. But today, those bright colors capable of producing fantasies for hours and hours, seemed black and white. 

I had been staring at the floor for sometime, desperate in trying to heal the ache in my chest. It felt as if I had a cold, like the burn after a deep cough. I felt so tight, so tense, an actual living embodiment of rigor mortis. Yet, at the same time, I hardly felt all there. It was as if my existence was floating all around me, and my shell was sitting vacant on an uncomfortable mattress. The knock on my door was enough for me to engulf myself again. 

“Y/N, are you decent?” The voice asks. 

“Yes,” I reply, rolling my shoulders back. 

“The council has requested an audience. Please report downstairs within the next few minutes.”

I nod my head, as if whoever was behind the door could see me. 

“An audience,”  I think. “Let’s add another year to that training plan, shall we?”

...

Walking downstairs to the council room, I can’t help but feel that all eyes are on me. They cut through me like a hot knife, slicing me thin. I feel so vulnerable. Like everyone around me can feel what I feel, and if I’m being honest, they probably do. A good Jedi who is in tune with the force, and especially in tune with others, can sense an intense emotion from a mile away. I’m sure at this moment I pretty much equate to an open book. No reason to try and hide it, force knows I struggle with concealing even an inkling of agitation. 

Seeing the council room in sight, I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m done for. This reaction was way too over the top. I’ve scared people, I’ve scared Master Yoda. Might as well just turn in my saber now and call it a day.

I walk into the door. Only a few masters sit scattered around. Master Yoda of course perched dead center, Master Windu waiting patiently to his right. But my master was nowhere in sight. You’d think if they were going to terminate me, that maybe my own mentor would be among them? Shaking his head, sending me glares that one could only compare to fucking daggers. He was tough on me for sure, maybe he was too ashamed of what I’d done to even bear to see me in this moment. 

“Coming here so quickly you did,” Starts Master Yoda. “Grateful we all are.”

I smile and bow my head. 

“Y/N,” Master Windu starts. “We’re here to discuss the events that happened earlier.” 

Oh god here it comes. This is it. I’m totally done for. I can’t even keep myself calm now. My face, getting hotter and more red by the second, is going to be the biggest tell. At least let me go out with some dignity. 

“Your reaction, what you felt at least, was not just brought on out of the blue. Master Yoda had the same experience, as did all of us on the council, and most Jedi and padawans in the temple.”

“I don’t understand.” I say. 

“At around 1 Coruscant time, an enemy bomb was detonated on Nal Hutta.”

Then it hit me. My heart sinking, I began to shake my head. 

“Unfortunately, Unit 505, and Master Cato were all killed on impact.”

My ears ring. Slowly, I move over to a chair, bracing myself. 

“That’s,” I start, trying to find the words to say. “He would’ve felt it, all of them would, I don’t understand.”

“We have a feeling it was planted by a Sith. That’s the only way it would’ve clouded any judgement.”

I slump into it, my vision going black, my head spinning. 

Master Cato has been with me since I was a very little girl. Although rough, tough, and brutally honest, he has done nothing but be a father to me time and time again. Everything I do is a reflection of him. He had been so busy at war, fighting day in and day out, I caught myself missing the commands, and demands I once so passionately despised. I took our whole relationship for granted, and now, is this the price I have to pay? The last time we spoke he told me how disappointed he was in my outburst in my Alien Fauna lab. I was being stubborn, I was bratty, and rolled my eyes. We had argued that entire call. He didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Now, for an eternity, I will have to face the catastrophic guilt of my actions. Live with the fact that I never, ever told him how much I appreciated him. And even, how much I loved him so. The closest thing to family in my life, gone, in the snap of a finger. 

Both Master Yoda and Master Windu continued to talk but it all felt like empty words. I couldn’t hear them anyway. 

“Although this situation isn't ideal, we and the rest of the council applaud you for being able to feel something most of us haven’t been able to experience yet.” Claimed Master Windu.

I don’t listen. I stand up again. 

“What am I going to do? I don’t feel comfortable with being knighted yet. I had- we were working on so many things I-,” I stumbled on my words. 

“You’ll get placed with a new master.”

“There are no new masters. And even if I had been trained a certain way, I don’t know how to learn otherwise.” 

There is silence. 

“The force works in mysterious ways. Meant to happen, I feel.” 

I scoff. “Meant to happen,” what an evil thing to say.

I begin to walk off, stopping of course, only to get in the last word. 

“Not only have you told me that my master has been killed, but you lack any empathy. There is no emotion in your eyes. Nothing.”

“We mourn your master y/n, just as much as you do. You know what we stand for. You know our view on attachments.”

“He's like-,” I choke. “He was like my father.”

I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel. Disgust in myself, I should’ve been better. I could’ve been better. The last few years of our relationship I’ve just been behaving poorly and rebelling, and then getting angry at him when he made me face the consequences. Like I wasn’t aware of the job I was made to do. I should’ve been nicer, I could’ve been nicer. It’s all going in a circle, all the things I should’ve done just morphed into things I couldn’t do. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe my tears that fell leading up to this moment was all part of the plan, the final kicker to show that I wasn’t apathetic enough for this job. My empathy, my burning passion will always be my biggest flaw. This hole that gapes inside of me will never be filled, and now it grows bigger. It’s like a disease. Am I enough? Will I ever be enough?

“Put you with Master Kenobi, we will.” States Master Yoda. 

Master Windu is quick in turning his head. He glares at him. 

“Master Yoda, General Kenobi has just finished his training with Anakin. It is far too early to give him a new Padawan, if at all.”

Yoda nods, almost giggling. 

“Yet so freshly knighted, a Padawan Anakin already has. Obi Wan will have no problem with taking on a student. Graduates soon, she will.”

“But General Kenobi and I have two completely different methods of combat, let alone ideals.” I scoff. 

“All Jedi have the same ideals.” Adds Windu. 

“He is a Jedi guardian, I am a Jedi sentinel-“

“Train with General Kenobi you will. Not long ago he also lost his master too soon.”

Master Yoda nods to me. He stands up and walks over to the large windows behind him. Looking out over Coruscant, he takes a deep sigh of relief. 

“Master Windu,” says Yoda. “Get in contact with the 212th battalion.” 

I watch on as my fate now rests in a stranger's hands.

[subterfugespecialist]

Stumbled into Anguish Blind

Patton was grateful for his job as a paramedic. Saving people was worth all the stresses to him. But he never thought one of those people would be his own son.

@badthingshappenbingo​ Prompt: Ambulance Ride

AO3 Link

Pairing: Familial Moxiety, Prinxiety

Warnings: Gun shot wounds and blood but not terribly graphic depictions of them and the shooting takes place off screen, a character in pain, near panic attacks

Word count: 3032

I am not a medical professional. I did do research but please forgive it if it’s not 100% accurate.

While Patton was grateful for the job he had, he couldn't recommend it to just anyone. Being a paramedic was hard, and incredibly stress inducing. To hold the life of someone in your hands was terrifying. But saving peoples lives - that made it all worth it.

Patton had helped and saved many people during his years as a paramedic - but he never once thought he'd have to save his own son.

That day was supposed to be a happy one. After Patton helped Virgil work through his anxiety of driving, he finally got his license. And with this newfound freedom, Virgil had been able to get a job keeping stock at the art store, with perks such as discounts and limited interactions with customers.

Patton was so proud. Virgil was going to go out with his boyfriend, Roman, and use his first paycheck to look at upgrades for his drum-set. Afterwards, Patton was going to treat them to dinner.

He was glad they weren't embarrassed to spend time with him, like some teens would be. He was blessed with such a great pair of kids.

During breakfast, Patton explained what Virgil needed to do with his paycheck at the bank. After repeating the steps a few times, Virgil felt fairly confident. And Roman was going to be with him, anyways. It seemed that boy was scared of nothing - least of all social interactions.

But how were any of them supposed to know there would be an armed robbery that day?

How were they to know that a gun would be shot?

When Patton got the call and heard the location of the incident, he almost shouted in panic.

"Please," he prayed as the ambulance sirens blared. "Not the kids."

He and the other paramedic, Harley, ran up the ramp with the stretcher as police officers yelled for people to move out of the way.

When they ran inside, it took everything Patton had to not collapse on the ground and scream.

Virgil was on the ground, breathing heavily as he clutched onto Roman's arm. Roman was on his knees, holding his jacket against Virgil's chest.

Patton was grateful Roman's favorite color was red. He thought he would actually faint if he had to see more of his sons blood than was already visible.

It wasn't until Patton knelt next to Roman, now able to hear the soft assurances he was whispering to Virgil, did he notice they had arrived.

"I'm sorry," Roman managed to choke out through his tears when he saw Patton.

"No, no. It's not your fault," Patton manage to say, fighting to speak through the the tension building in the back of his throat. He replaced Roman's hand holding the jacket. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"Dad?"

"Hey, baby. I'm right here. Everything's gonna be okay."

Roman pushed himself back and watched as Virgil was lifted on the stretcher.

"You're okay, honey," Patton found himself repeating as they boarded the ambulance. "You're okay. You're okay."

Virgil grasped at his dad's hand, and Patton had to bite his lip to keep from crying when his son whined as he pulled his hand away.

"Sh, sh, it's okay. I need to put the oxygen mask on you. I'm still right here."

Patton placed the oxygen mask as Harley cut Virgil out of his shirt. He felt Virgil's hand grip tightly on his shirt in place of his hand and Patton really wanted to cry right now.

But he wouldn't. He couldn't. This was his most important patient. He had to be professional.

But it was hard to be when Patton could barely hear himself over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. He and Harley replaced Roman's jacket with a proper gauze to keep the pressure, and Patton couldn't help it as a few tears escaped his eyes as he watched Virgil's eyes squeeze shut and his teeth grind in pain. Patton wanted to sob every time he placed a bandage and Virgil winced.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm not trying to hurt you. This is helping, I promise.

It wasn't long after until Virgil's eyes closed and his body went slack.

"Virgil? Virgil! Come on, honey, stay with me," Patton cried as he worked on an IV. Why couldn't he do more? Why was there so little he could do in this ambulance why couldn't he just fix his boy-

"His breathing is destabilizing. We need to give him an endotracheal tube," Harley said as he immediately set to work. Patton's hand moved on autopilot as he helped, and more tears did fall as he watched Virgil's chest move up and down from the tube. That wasn't him breathing it was the machine because the bullet had pierced his baby's lung.

The trip to the trauma center had never felt so long. Had it always been this long? Eventually they were finally able to get the door open and bring Virgil into the trauma center where the waiting doctors took the stretcher from them and rushed Virgil in for emergency surgery.

It wasn't until Virgil was out of sighed did Patton collapse to the ground and finally let himself cry.

His sobs carried down the hallway, and Patton didn't even care that his coworkers were staring at him. The nurses were staring at him. But how could he possibly care when he couldn't be with his son-

"It's going to be okay," Harley said. When had Harley sat next to him? When did he curl into his knees? "You did good. They're going to fix him up in there and everything's going to be okay."

"He's hurt and I can't even help him-"

"Hey, you did help him. No, you weren't able to remove the bullet yourself but you kept your head on straight and got him here in good condition."

Harley pulled Patton up from his knees and held him in a hug. "It's okay, Patton."

Patton rested his forehead on his shoulder. "Thank you. For your help."

"You are very welcome. Come on, now. Let's get you off the floor."

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Patton was, understandably, not on call for the rest of the day. He had paced around the waiting room for the first ten minutes of waiting, but he was exhausted from stress and collapsed into a chair - elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands.

He didn't look up until he heard frantic footsteps coming down the hall. He panicked for a moment, worried it was a doctor with bad news, but saw it was only Roman.

Patton stood as soon as he saw him and the two met in the middle of the room, Patton holding Roman tightly against him as Roman buried his face into Patton's chest.

"I'm sorry," Roman whispered into Patton's chest. Patton felt tears soak into his shirt. "You trusted me with him and I couldn't even-"

"Hey, no no no," Patton murmured as he led Roman to the chairs. "None of this is in any way your fault."

Roman let out a sob, and Patton pulled him back against him. Roman was a tall boy, but here in Patton's arms he seemed so small.

"And you knew exactly what to do. He was hit in a very critical place, and you saved him from a lot of blood loss by putting pressure on it. I- I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't done that. Roman, you helped him as much as I did in that ambulance."

Roman's tears turned into quiet sniffles, and Patton lifted a hand to gingerly wipe the tear streaks off the boy's face.

"Is he okay?"

Well, no. But he was okay as he could be.

"He's doing fine," Patton assured. "The surgeons are going to take good care of him."

That seemed to finally make Roman relax. He nodded and sat up, wiping his eyes of the last of his tears.

"How did you get here so quickly?" Patton asked.

"I took Virgil's car. He gave me the keys because he didn't want to drive from the bank, since traffic was going to get worse in the afternoon. You know how busy Main gets. I hope you don't mind."

"That's just fine, Roman."

Patton wasn't going to chastise him for driving with only a permit. Not now.

About another hour passed. At one point Roman rested his head on Patton's shoulder, and of course Patton didn't mind. It was nice to have the grounding weight resting on him as he texted family members about what happened.

He felt guilty for not calling, but there was no way he could talk about it and not break into tears again.

The two snapped their heads towards the entrance when they heard footsteps walking down the hall. A doctor walked in and saw them.

She was one of the doctors that took Virgil from him.

"Mr. Sanders?"

Patton nodded.

"The surgery is finished. Everything went fine. He should wake up soon. I can show you to his room."

Patton and Roman quickly stood, and the doctor grimaced.

"And what is your relation?"

It took a moment for the dazed Roman to realize she was talking to him.

"Oh, uh, I'm Roman. I'm his boyfriend."

The doctor, who Patton was now close enough to he could see her name tag read Dr. Taylor, shot him an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, but only family is permitted in before he wakes up."

Patton saw tears build back into Roman's eyes, but he just nodded.

"Okay. Yeah, sure," he said, mouth trembling as his fists clenched his jeans.

"I'll come get you after he wakes up," Patton said, placing a hand on Roman's shoulder.

Roman nodded again, and Patton gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before following Dr. Taylor out of the waiting room and down the hallway.

Patton couldn't ignore the sound of Roman crying as they walked away.

"The bullet shattered one of his ribs, but besides that, and the penetration into the chest, thankfully no other major damage occurred," Dr. Taylor said. "We had to give him a chest tube due to some internal bleeding, though the endotracheal tube we were able to replace with an oxygen mask. So he should be able to speak when he wakes up."

Patton had to focus on counting the clicks of his shoes on the tile to keep his breathing steady.

The two stopped in front of a door and Dr. Taylor put her hand on the handle.

"He's on some pretty strong painkillers, but he should still be cognizant when he wakes up. If anything happens, press the red emergency button by the bed and me and the other doctors will come rushing back."

"Thank you," Patton managed to say through the rising dread in his throat. Dr. Taylor opened the door for him.

Patton stood in the entryway until he heard the door click shut behind him. Once the click snapped him out of his trance, he rushed towards the bed and immediately burst into tears.

There was his baby. Virgil's face was pale but thankfully no longer grimaced in pain. His chest was gently rising and falling, no longer due to a tube down his throat. And though Patton had seen similar sights before plenty of times, seeing all the tubes stuck in his baby's body made Patton collapse on the chair by the bedside.

God, what he'd give to take Virgil's place. To take all his pain away. Patton rested his head in his hands, trying yet again to stop his crying.

"Come on," he thought. "You have to be strong. For him."

He took a deep breath, and the pressure in his throat weakened slightly. He could do this. He could be strong.

But all that resolve fell as soon as he heard a soft, weak voice say “Dad?"

"Virgil!" Patton cried as he leaned towards him, being careful to be gentle as he took hold of Virgil's hand. "Hey, sweetie. I'm right here. I'm right by you."

Virgil's eyes blinked as he got used to the lights. A slight grimace of pain was back on his face, but at least he was awake.

Patton barely managed to catch the hand Virgil lifted towards his oxygen mask, being preoccupied with wiping his tears. "No, kiddo. You need that."

Virgil's hand dropped against the crisp bed sheets. Virgil looked at his hospital bed and all the tubes stuck in him, and Patton's heart shattered as he started crying.

"Shit," Virgil hissed as he lifted his arm with his IV.

"You know, we were just leaving when they ran in," Virgil said, a pained smile on his face as he laughed, though there was no humor in it. "If I hadn't been such a chickenshit and just went in when we got there instead of needing a pep talk from Roman to go into a bank then I wouldn't have-"

"Honey, deep breaths," Patton said as he stood and very gently wrapped his arms around Virgil, holding him as tight as he could without fear of hurting him. "Do not blame yourself." Matching tears fell down Patton's cheeks. "None of this was your fault. There was no way you could have known this would happen. I will not let you continue to beat yourself up about this, understand?"

Though Patton could feel tears falling onto his shoulder, Virgil nodded.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Patton whispered. "I love you so much, you know that?"

"I love you, too, Dad."

There was nothing Patton wanted to do less than let Virgil go, but he could imagine the hug couldn't be the most comfortable for him. So after placing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head he sat back down, but grabbed hold of Virgil's hand again.

"At least I don't have to run the mile in gym anymore," Virgil said after a beat.

Patton started laughing. It was hardly from the joke, but more so from the relief that was washing over him that yes, Virgil was hurt, but he would be okay. He was awake and joking. Virgil started giggling along with his father, and once they would stop, one could start laughing again and the cycle started all over.

Eventually, they both calmed down.

"No, I suppose you don't," Patton smiled. "I have yet to contact the school. But I'm sure they will understand your... predicament. And I'm sure your friends will be more than happy to help you with your notes.”

Virgil's smile suddenly dropped and his eye's widened as he jolted up, wincing from pain but not retreating.

"Roman. What happened to Roman??"

"Roman is fine," Patton assured. "He's in the waiting room right now."

Virgil visibly relaxed and sank back against the bed.

"Would you like me to go get him? He's anxious to see you."

"In... in a minute," Virgil said as he closed his eyes. "I want to see him, really, but you know he can be..."

"Enthusiastic?"

"Loud."

Patton chuckled. "Okay, baby. Just tell me when.'

One of the nurses walked in, and he was delighted to see that Virgil was awake. While another nurse came in to talk to Patton about Virgil's road to recovery, the first nurse checked some vitals, seemed satisfied, then gave Virgil a bit more painkillers. The painkillers seemed to help Virgil's mood, and he sent Patton to fetch Roman.

Roman's head was in his hands when Patton walked in. He looked up as Patton walked towards him, and when Patton nodded, he bolted out of the chair down the hallway. Patton had to hurry to catch up.

After opening the door for roman, roman rushed to Virgil's bedside, and Patton came in to see Roman pressing kisses all over Virgil's face while crying.

"Oh, Virgil, thank God you're okay," Roman said, openly crying as he placed his hands on Virgil's cheeks. "Oh, sweetheart, darling, love, I was so worried about you-"

Patton didn't even listen to the rest of what Roman said - He had to keep himself from laughing at the two of them. Roman was waxing poetic while Virgil sent mortified glances to his dad. But Patton thought it was pretty adorable, to see a teenager talk that way.

"Yes, I'm fine," Virgil said as he made weak attempts to push Roman off him. "I'm happy to see you but please stop, you drama queen."

Roman laughed and pressed one more kiss to Virgil's cheek before stepping away.

Roman didn't even seem embarrassed as he turned back towards Patton with a large grin. He just put a chair right next to Patton's and promptly sat to take Virgil's hand.

"Remus wants to come see you, too," Roman said as Patton went to sit next to him. "He's on his way with Janus. And he already asked if he could keep the bullet."

"Nope. If anyone gets to keep the bullet, it's me."

Patton shot him a look as he sat next to Roman.

"What?" Virgil asked. "It'd be badass."

"Okay. I excused the first swear word, but you are very much nearing the swear jar again, mister."

Patton was going for stern, but he just couldn't stop smiling. And he wasn't really upset - not when he got Virgil to smile.

"Remus may fight you for it," Roman continued.

"He can't fight me. I was shot."

"I don't think that'd stop him."

"True. He did throw Jason down a flight of stairs even after he broke his leg."

"He did what?" Patton asked. Virgil smirked at the horrified look on his face. "Why would he do that?"

"He was making fun of Janus.”

While Patton didn't dislike Remus, and he was glad Virgil had such a good group of friends, he was very happy Virgil was dating Roman and not his twin.

"And don't let him know I told you this, but he was really worried about you."

"Aw. I knew he loved me."

Virgil looked at his dad with a large grin on his face. And seeing Virgil smile again, really smile, well, that was enough to let Patton know that everything was going to be okay.

Prompts are open for both Bad Things Happen Bingo and general prompts :)

[thgreatestblue]

hoax

➜ pairing: kaigaku x gn!reader ➜ warnings: manga spoilers, outdoor sex, toxic relationship, dubious consent, mention of death and blood. ➜ words: 4k ➜ a/n: i always loved kaigaku’s design and i would’ve loved to see more of him, but well. i had a lot of fun writing this and i hope you like it as well! (also, i highly recommend the fic breath of reincarnation) ➜ ao3

summary: Never in a million years you thought you would let him break your heart again. But here you were; not only with the broken pieces but with the one who smashed it. 

I.

When the sky turned into a greyish shade, everything lost its colors. It brings a melancholy feeling to the landscape; twisting every single tone in an ocean of nothingness besides the tinted red of your cheeks, still hot from the burning of your tears which had long disappeared, but the trail was still there. If you could, you would still be crying, but there were no tears left. 

Crestfallen, you wipe your face again with the sleeve of your kimono, it was damp and gross against your skin — a cold memory of the past few hours that you wanted to wake up from. If this was a nightmare, it was the worst you’ve ever had; and you had had a quite few ugly ones. But this one takes the spot, nothing could compare to the tragedy that was unfounded right in front of you.

You could still feel the phantom sensation of Kuwajima’s blood on your hands, cold and thick, staining your skin, running down your arms and dripping from your elbows. Even after hours scrubbing, until everything was so red you didn't know where the spots of blood ended and where your skin began. The endless stream of tears fogging your vision didn't help either. 

Fogged, that’s how it felt. A dense mist filled your mind, putting you in a mechanical state where you couldn't remember half of the day, half the things you had said and done - you nod to something, you hug someone, the water came out red. Although the haze clogged your mind, the image of the dead body of Kuwajima burns bright and vivid; even when you closed your eyes. 

You can’t think straight; can’t bring yourself to feel anything other than sadness. As you look at his grave, the dull turquoise color of the flowers make you sick, it reminds you of eyes that you wish you had never met; that you wish you had kept closer. Does it matter anyway? If fate was this cruel, then he would’ve slipped through your fingers nevertheless. 

Your head hurts just thinking about how you are going to tell Zenitsu about this — if the blow was fatal to you, it would be deadly to him. 

Although Kuwajima didn't take you under his wing, he always took care of you, making sure you knew the basics and was talented enough to enter the Demon Slayer Corps. Sometimes you would even train besides Kaigaku and Zenitsu, always coming out bruised but with a content smile on your face. 

However, those memories of better and easier days now sat wrong in your mind; they lost their colors, scenery becoming sinister as the faces twisted into something demonic. The shadows fell into those memories just like when clouds cover the sun, and you suspect it was going to be an endless rain, soaking every single frame until there's nothing left to save.

The necklace on your neck still has the yellow Magatama that Kaigaku gave you on your birthday, and it’s heavy — carrying the weight of treason and deception on its tiny form. Like habit, you grasp the pendant on your hand, holding it so tight it might break. It won't though. No matter how many times you threw it on the ground, step on it; it was still intact — it would always come back to your neck as well, no matter how many times you tried to let it go. 

The sound of a thunder startles you, and you laugh sadly at the irony. You look up to the sky which was painted a dark grey, casting darkness upon the living — you could say it was fitting for the day. After that, It only takes a few seconds for the first drop of rain to fall on your face, cold and violent — if there were no tears left, then the raindrops would do the job. 

“Y/N.” 

The voice comes from a spot next to you, but you don’t look. Not yet. You can’t bring yourself to turn your head, to see what Kaigaku had become — what monster he had turned into. You had wondered for hours, for days, the whys and the reasons. It corroded your heart, eating by the borders until it reached the center. 

Never in a million years you thought this was even possible. Not after everything he went through to become a Demon Slayer. Not after all the training, the scolding, the bruises and the cries - the joys and the pride. Never in a million years you thought you would let him break your heart again. 

But here you were; not only with the broken pieces but with the one who smashed it. 

Your lips tremble before you can bring yourself to speak, “What are you doing here?” It comes out tiny and fragile, your throat closes with the amount of grief you’re trying to hold. 

The rain starts to pour more heavily, soaking you to your feet. The sound of it would’ve been soothing if you were at home, but here in the open it’s disturbing, frightening. The fat raindrops hit your skin like bullets, they run down on your cheeks, damping your clothes and leaving you shivering. 

“Aren't you going to look at me, coward?” Kaigaku mocks, his voice closer now. 

His words stings, injecting poison on your veins. You should be used by now, to have your insides burning with humiliation. However, it was always a back and forth with him; one day he was arrogant, enraged, almost bitter. Then, on rare days —  the ones that you used to treasured the most — he would be eager, intense, almost romantic. The switch of emotion kept you on your toes; it was a lost battle though, he has always been unpredictable. 

You press your lips together, taking a deep breath before slowly turning your head to the side, but nothing could prepare you for what was right before you.

“So, what do you think about my new look?” Kaigaku spins on his heels; the rain doesn't stop him from opening his arms, showing off his new clothes, baring his new sharp teeth, a devilish smile dripping from his mouth, “Much better, right?” 

It is, in fact, much worse than you thought; eyes widening in disbelief. His skin that you had once touched with tender fingers was now pale and dull; the milk shade of it turned him into a ghost, and you'd have believed if you didn't know better. The dark stripes around his face were aggressive, twisting his face to a sharper and more dangerous look; and you hated seeing his beautiful face corrupted like that.

And then there was his eyes. Once a charming hue of turquoise that you had lost yourself so many times; due to anger, due to love. Now, a hideous shade of greenish blue, surrounded by black sclera. A perfect portrait of a corruption of nature, a Demon. It makes you want to puke.

Instead, you say, "You look terrible." 

Kaigaku laughs, throwing his head back as if you had told the funniest joke, and you notice the many blue Magatamas he’s carrying with him, around his neck and wrist. Once yellow, now it was corrupted with evil. He still carries his katana on his back, which you thought was an outrage; an insult to the Demon Slayer Corps. You clench your hands in fists, but still don't reach for your own katana.

"Oh, Y/N. You wound me." He mocks, running a hand through his wet hair, so casually you can’t register the moment as real. 

Rage sets down in your bones, even with him right in front of you, you couldn't believe it. Not a single word of apology, he doesn't show remorse, nor guilty. He looks satisfied with the turn of events, as if he had planned this all along. It’s disgusting, his pointy ears and long black nails; for once, you are glad that Kuwajima isn't here to see what he had become — you wish you weren't either. 

"Do you know who found him?" You shout, eyes burning with fury and sorrow, you approach him with heavy steps, your lips tremble as you continue to scream, "When I arrived there was blood all over the room, his death was slow and agonizing because no one was there to cut his head! All because of you!" 

You hit his chest as hard as you can; but you are weak — nothing was able to stay on your stomach and you couldn't even think about sleeping. He doesn't move an inch. “I keep seeing that scene every fucking day, even when my eyes are open!” 

Your voice sounds shaky, but your hands clench his clothes in a tight grip. The sound of thunder is loud in your ears as the rain falls heavy between you two. He’s not laughing anymore, the grin on his face fading into a scowl. 

"You're a disgrace." 

Kaigaku’s eyes darken, almost pit black. Your senses scream for you to prepare to fight, but before you could even think about making a movement, he grabs you by the collar and throws you against the first wall he could find. The air is knocked out of your lungs, head spinning with the pain spreading throughout your body.

He holds your clothes in a tight grip, pressing against your frame so you wouldn't be able to move. Your hands reach to grab his; a failed attempt to loosen the grasp around your throat that is starting to suffocate you. Head still fogg with pain, the only thing you can see between dark spots are his eyes. Your eyes widen in shock as you see the indentation of a kanji in his iries, Upper Moon Six. 

"I wouldn't say that ever again if I were you." Kaigaku warns, the pointed nail of his index finger digging in the flesh of your throat.

You swallow down, feeling the nail cutting just a tiny bit of your skin, but not enough to draw blood. The rain still pours unforgiven, but at least there’s a roof over your head now. You’re completely soaked and yet, you can feel his strong body against yours, his breath on your face makes you shudder. 

“Why?” You cry out, not knowing exactly for what you were asking.

Kaigaku was a taker, and even though you gave everything you could and more, it was never enough. You gave him your soul, let him consume your body and break your heart as many times as he liked — And still wasn't enough. You don’t know what he wants from you anymore; there was nothing left to play with, he had shattered all your pieces.

Yet, here he was. There wasn't a single reasonable reason that he could give to you that would explain all this, that would justify the catastrophe of his choices. Though, deep down you knew it was for his own amusement, seeing you suffer for him yet again. He wouldn't let you go, eternally pulling the strings of your life.

“I’m stronger,” He hums, “More powerful than I would ever be if I continued to be just a a mediocre demon slayer.” 

You shook your head in disbelief, after everything that’s all he has to say? For years you wished; no, you actually believed that underneath the tough facade he was a good man, that he in fact was just prideful and wanted to be the best Demon Slayer out there.

You saw when he would train until his body couldn't take anymore. You saw when he would let a tiny smile spread across his face when Kuwajima praised him. You saw when he was gentle when you two were intimate. You saw so many things and yet, those black eyes staring at you said the very contrary. 

“I'm on the winning side.” Kaigaku whispers, licking a trail from your neck to your chin. You shiver from the feeling of his tongue dragging across your flesh.

"Let me go.” You hiss between gritted teeth. You hold his forearms in a weak grip, trying to push him away. 

Kaigaku’s laugh vibrates through your body — it’s cruel and cold — leaving you trembling on the spot. He tilts his head, one hand grips your waist while the other reaches down for the pendant on your chest. He plays with the Magatama between his fingers, a vicious grin spreading through his face. Your face heats up, caught in the act.

"I don’t know why you bother to try. We both know it never works."

Kaigaku’s lips come crashing into yours, hungry and eager. You fight back, pressing your lips together — miserably trying to stop him from invading your mouth. His teeth sinks in your skin, his nails dug on your waist. Your clothes are damp from the rain, but rather than feel cold, there’s a warm heat emanating from Kaigaku’s body that you can’t ignore how familiar it feels. 

You don’t want him. 

Out in the open, you felt over exposed. More than that, you were just a few meters away from Kuwajima’s grave. It was a dishonor, not only for him, but for everyone Kaigaku killed to be this high in the rank. How many lives were destroyed by his treason. You try to push him away, weakly forcing him to step away. Instead, Kaigaku presses closer, making your head hit the wall. 

You didn't want him — not like this, at least. 

His hands travel down your body as he slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, and even though your body screams for you to open your mouth, you don't. It was a never ending battle that you fought almost everyday; wanting him, needing him more than you should. Kaigaku has always been a constant in your life, for better or for worse — you can’t see him out of it, at the same time that you need desperately to let him go.

Noticing that you won’t budge, Kaigaku moves down to violently kiss your neck, sucking dark spots without mercy; his touch clouds your head and you don't notice when his hand disappears inside your pants. It’s only when he touches your sex that your eyes snatch open.

“Don’t—” As you open your mouth to protest, he shoves his tongue inside.

And you know it’s a lost battle then. Your hands grips his shoulders as you let him kiss you, suck your tongue, run the tip of it across the routh of your mouth. It has always been like that, once he touched you, it was over. Like a drug, you could never withdraw completely. No matter what. No matter the situation. 

His fingers play with you, knowing exactly how to touch you to drive you crazy. You have to grit your teeth to not make a sound, jaw stiffening as a moan threatens to escape. Kaigaku traps your bottom lip between his, sucking hard enough to bruise. 

“Don’t forget, you’re mine.” Kaigaku growls, his breath is hot against your neck, “And I can do whatever I want with you.”

Shivering, you grip his shoulder as the first finger enters you. His pointed nails hurt a little,  however, the feeling of his finger dragging and scratching you open is enough to make you gasp. You feel overwhelmed by his touch. It has been some time since he touched you like this — each thrust of his finger making you pulse and throb for more. He devours you, swallowing each tiny whimper you make as another finger enters you. 

Kaigaku's cruel, unforgiving fingers thrust deeper, curling in the right places that makes you see stars. You bury your head on his neck, letting a shameful moan escape your lips as he hits the right stop inside you. 

"That's better.” He hums in your ear. The heat on your belly is starting to burn, your body betrays you as your hips start move, fucking into his hand.

You finally give in, completely by kissing him. It’s desperate, raw with emotions you can bring yourself to say, holding into him as your life depends on it. It’s useless now, but you can’t help it. He kisses you back with the same intensity, lips crushing on another, sucking and devouring each other — and for a moment you wonder if there’s something between the lines you’re failing to see. 

You feel Kaigaku groaning when you brush your thigh against his crotch; he’s already fully hard and you know what’s coming next. He sucks down your neck, and you shudder between moans — your mind starting to lose track of your surroundings, thinking only about him and his touch, how you shamelessly want to go all the way.

Kaigaku abruptly pulls his fingers out of you, and you whimper from the loss. He teases you a little, dragging his fingers over your sex, making you squirm in his arms. When he pulls his hand out of your pants, there’s a bit of your fluid on his fingers, and he doesn't hesitate putting it on his mouth. You suck in a sharp breath, watching him suck his fingers. 

"Now, I don’t know if i want to fuck or eat you."

A strong shiver goes down your spine, paralyzing you in place. Suddenly, the reality of the situation hits you like a train — that what’s happening right now is wrong on so many levels — you open your mouth to put an end to whatever this is, heart beating so fast you might faint, but he stops you with a finger over your mouth.

“Hush now, we don’t want to ruin the moment, do we?” Kaigaku grins, his eyes are a shade darker now that the night took over the day, but those disgusting indentations are still there, the black sclera is haunting in this light; you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye.

You feel trapped, the same way you felt a long time ago. And even though this time the reality is a lot worse, it was the same feeling. Before, when things were easy, it was still hard to make him hear you — it worked once or twice — but it all came down to what Kaigaku wanted in the end. Oh, you were so blind, so stupidly blind. 

And even now that you can see clearly as the day; acting on it is a completely different thing.  

You stay frozen in place — hands still clutching his shoulders, eyes heavy-lidded — while Kaigaku reaches past his kimono, pulling his cock out of his pants. You feel one of his hands pulling down yours just enough so he could position his cock at your entrance. He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you from the ground. And you wrap your legs around his waist like you did so many times before. 

If your mind isn't working, frozen in a dilemma you couldn't bring yourself to come to a conclusion — your body on the other hand, knew exactly how to proceed.

Kaigaku nose bumps into yours, drawing circles around your cheek, and it’s so gentle it makes you want to cry. There was always a bipolarity to his actions, it would jump between extremely violent to insufferable gentle and you didn't know which one was worse — his true self or the shadow of what could’ve been. 

He enters you quite easily, cursing under his breath. Your walls throbs around his cock as he pushes deeper and deeper. Moan muffled by his shoulder; your entire body is consumed by his fire, each nerve lighting up as he hits the deepest part of you — the fog on your mind comes back, intoxicating you for once and for all. 

Kaigaku starts with smoother strokes, making you feel all of him; every inch of his cock. It’s cruel, how slow and deep he goes, almost painful how much force he puts on his thrusts, staying buried inside you for longer than necessary — as if he hasn't already left enough marks on your body, on your soul.

Slamming your body against the wall, you hold onto his shoulders for dear life, each thrust making the bumping noise of your body against the wood louder and louder; if it wasn't for the rain, you are sure that someone would have heard you two by now — the thought makes you blush even harder. 

However, today the night is darker, the shadows are peach black as his eyes. Kaigaku changes the pace as he changes emotions; and since you were already stretched, he picks a roughless pace, fucking you against the wall. You moan louder when he hits you just right, you clench around him; the space below your belly asking for release.

“Ah,” You gasp as he continues to fuck you, “Fuck—Ka—ahh—” He shuts you up with his mouth, kissing you hard enough to suck all the air of your lungs.

And you desperately kiss him back, hanging into something unreal. To a feeling that would never be the same, stained by the blood he shed. To someone who would never be the same, twisted by the blood he chose to drink. This isn't him, but it looks so much like it that you would indulge yourself as much as you could — even if these mere minutes are going to leave you broken beyond repair.

Kaigaku moans in your mouth, and you drink every single one of them. Those sounds never failed to make your stomach flutter — at least he was enjoying this as much as you were, getting lost in your flesh as you always got lost on him. You kiss his neck, sucking the spot right below his ear, it wouldn't bruise but you could try.

Your hips move to meet his thrusts, not bothering how hard his nails dug into your thighs — wrongly enough you want his marks, as many as you could get, since you didn't know when you would be seeing him again, or if ever. 

“Kaigaku!” You cry, surprised when tears start to form in the corners of your eyes. You thought you had drained all of them, but of course he would be an exception.

"That's right, scream my name." Kaigaku growls, sucking in a sharp breath. The sound of skin on skin muffled by the rain.

"Fu—mmph—” A white-hot pleasure shoots through your body, the first tear runs down your cheek as Kaigaku continues to thrust into you with no mercy.

"So everyone will know that I fucked you," He whispers, biting at the lobe of one of your ears. "That a Demon fucked you." 

His words are harsh, making you shudder harder against him, trying to come up with something but your mouth only hangs open, breathy moans escaping as his hips snap forward, sinking so deep you cry out again. Then, his mouth finds its way to your neck, lips sealed over the flesh, he bites down, drawing blood to the surface and drinking. 

On a broken moan, you terribly realize you came from that.

It pulses through you, feeling the rush reach the tip of your toes. Kaigaku continues to slam into you, thrusts starting to feel erratic and desperate as he chases his orgasm. You hold onto his shoulders, gripping his clothes so tight your knuckles go white. He growls, spilling inside you. 

Kaigaku slowly stops his movements, pulling out of you with a filthy sound. Your head is still clouded with the aftertaste of your orgams — so that must be the reason why you seek for his mouth, kissing him so gently you can’t recognize what’s real or what’s not anymore. 

“Now I just need to eat you for real.” His grin is twisted with something evil and cruel underneath; you can’t take it anymore.

You push him, this time he steps away and you fall to your knees. You try to cover yourself, pulling your kimono over your chest, but the damage is already done. His come drips down between your thights — you shudder from the feeling, shame settling down your bones so heavy you can’t breathe. 

He squats down, gripping your chin, you try to look away but his grip tightens and you have to look at his demonic eyes, “Don’t worry, you are better alive for me, darling.”

He laughs as another tear runs down your cheek. 

If he was a disgrace, so were you.

[99liv3s]

The Game

"Wanna play this new game I found while cleaning the attic??" Michael asked his friends, Jane and Danielle... he pulled out a small, old looking thin box and placed it on the table.

"What is it??" Danielle asked, eyeing the thin box curiously.

"It's called "Happenstance", Michael replied. "I found it buried in an old closet up there... doesn't look like anyone's touched it in years!! My grandparents must have played it once or something!"

As Michael was explaining this, Jane has pulled out the contents of the box: a game board with a straightforward trail made up of squares, a rather large deck of cards, and a 6-sided die, along with a sheet of instructions that she was now looking over.

"Happenstance, the game where what happens, happens!" She read aloud.  "The rules are simple... Roll the die, move that many number of spaces forward, then draw a card." "Whatever is written on the drawn card must and will happen, then it's the next player's turn." "The first player to reach the end wins the game!"

"That's all??" Danielle asked. "Sounds easy enough, almost boring!"

"There's another note in these instructions, Jane stated and read, "There are many gifts and curses throughout the game, but the player that reaches the end and wins will get their fondest wish come true!"

"Uh-huh yeah," Danielle replied skeptically, "You know what, why not??" "There's nothing to do around here anyway while the internet is being fixed... It might be fun!"

Michael and Jane both nodded and murmured in agreement... it couldn't hurt to try out this "harmless" game for a bit of fun.

After about 10 minutes of setup, the three of them had chosen a game piece and had set each of them on the start square, and Jane had placed the deck of cards in the center of the board as indicated. They then agreed that, since Michael had found the game, he should go first.

"Well, here goes nothing," He said, and rolled the die.  He moved his piece, then drew a card.

"Do not worry or celebrate, for this card does...nothing!!" Michael read. "Well, that's disappointing!!"

The 3 of them laughed! "Well, my turn now!!" Jane said and rolled.

"Your next action will be unsuccessful!" Her card said when she drew it. "What does that mean?? There are no actions in this game, other than rolling... what gives?" Jane complained.

The other two shrugged, then Jane started to take a drink of her water... instead, the bottle slipped, causing her to spill it all over her.  As she sputtered and Michael laughed, Danielle glanced back at Jane's card...

"Your next action... you tried to drink and were unsuccessful..." Danielle began

"Oh, ha ha," Jane replied. "That was a simple coincidence... honestly, there doesn't seem to be much to this game!"

Danielle grabbed the die and took her turn, rolling the highest number and taking the lead.  Then, she drew her card.

"You are pregnant!" The card read. Danielle and her friends giggled after she read it out loud.  "It will rapidly advance, and a long painful birth will happen within the next hour!"

Jane shook her head, sighing. "Ok, I'm done, I think."  I don't see the point of continuing this useless game!"

Michael was chuckling at Jane, but Danielle suddenly doubled over, clutching her stomach!! She felt uncomfortable, and once Michael and Jane finally noticed something was wrong, they rushed over to her side. What they saw made all three of their eyes go wide!!  Danielle had a bump... a very large baby bump.  She looked 9 months pregnant.

"OH MY GOD!!" Danielle screamed!! "I'm...I'm Pregnant??!!" "How did this happen??"

Her friends stood and stared at her in shock as she rubbed her now large belly, gasping. "I...I can feel it moving!!"

Michael ran over to the box and grabbed the instructions.  "IT'S TRUE!" He exclaimed... "This game can make actual stuff happen!!"  "It's cursed!!"

"We gotta stop playing right now!!" Jane cried!!

"But, what about me??" Danielle cried. "How do I not be pregnant anymore??"

"I found something," Michael said, scanning the instructions. "There's a note at the bottom that says that all effects caused by the game will disappear when someone wins and the game ends." He looked up. "So, we gotta keep playing and finish the game, then Danielle's pregnancy will disappear!"

"But, Jane began "but, won't we be risking other things happening to us if we keep playing??"

"We have no choice," Michael said, as Danielle sobbed. "If we stop now, Danielle gives birth, and she's too young to become a mother!!"

They all looked at Danielle, who was indeed barely 14 years old, and the 3 of them nodded. They would continue.  As the three of them sat again around the game board, however, Danielle looked again at her card, specifically the part that said "A long painful birth within the hour"...could they finish the game before that happened??

And so they played, for the next 30 minutes, Danielle absentmindedly rubbing her pregnant belly, the three of them no longer laughing.  As the game continued, Michael had taken the lead, though none of them no longer cared who won in the end.  Michael had witnessed a small sum of money seemingly appear out of nowhere when a card told him to expect good fortune, but he also got a spider bite, also after the game had told him it would happen. Jane wasn't as lucky... she drew a card that caused her a slight sneezing fit, and then toward the middle of the game, she drew her own pregnant card, and the three watched as Jane's belly grew just as Danielle's had done.

Finally, the three of them were reaching the end of the game, though it now seemed as though they were all rolling low numbers.  The three friends were sweating bullets, for though Jane was 17, the same age as Michael, and therefore was at an age where she could probably give birth safely... she still didn't want to become a mother. But, the real worry was Danielle... she was too young and a quite small girl.  Could she even survive childbirth??

There were only a handful of squares left in front of all of their game pieces when Danielle first started feeling the pains.  She suddenly cried out and began moaning, clutching her belly.  Michael rolled the die for his turn nervously as his friend cried... he rolled a 1!!

"Shit!!" He exclaimed, as Danielle whined and cried, Jane kneeling beside her.  "It's alright," She coached.

"IT HURTS!!!" Danielle moaned!!

"You will experience what it is like behind the eyes of the opposite sex!!" Michael read, realizing too late what that meant.  He gasped in horror as his hair grew, boobs sprouted on his chest, and he could feel his sex organs changing.  Danielle sobbed even harder in fear and pain.

"Jane, take your turn, hurry," Michael said, shocked to hear his voice much higher pitched than before.

Waddling back to the game board, trying to ignore Danielle's sobs, Jane tossed the die.  She was disheartened to see that she was one square away from the winning spot.

"Your current greatest fear will be realized!" The card said.  The instant Jane finished reading it, Danielle let out a wail, and everyone heard a splashing sound... Danielle's water had broken!!

"OH GOD, I NEED TO PUSH!!" Danielle yelled out immediately.  Michael rushed over to her, shaking her head. "You can't," she said. "You gotta fight that urge... here, take your turn!!"  "If you win, this all goes away!!"

As Danielle panted and moaned, her friends were unsure if she would even be able to take her turn in her condition. But, Danielle was finally able to let the die drop out of her hand.  As another contraction hit, Michael moved Danielle's piece for her and drew her card.

"The current event in your life speeds up!" The card said.  Danielle screamed as overwhelming pressure hit her!! Jane pulled down Danielle's wet shorts and underwear to see that a baby's head was already starting to crown.  Danielle screamed louder as she felt the burning sensation in her vagina!!

"OH GOD, It's BIG!!" Jane remarked, wide eyed, as she stared at the baby's head peeking out of Danielle!!

Michael grabbed the die and took her turn, hoping with all hope that she could win this game!! The die landed on 6, and Michael quickly moved her piece to the end square, yelling out "IT'S OVER, I WIN!!" hoping that would make it so.

Suddenly, in the blink of the eye, Michael was male again, and Jane and Danielle's pregnant bellies vanished.  Danielle lay on the floor sobbing, her vagina still exposed, but with no baby head in it.  The three friends were shaking in relief and fear, and no one moved for quite a while.  Finally, after about 20 minutes, they slowly came back to themselves.  Danielle slowly rose up and attempted to put her shorts back on, and Michael turned to read a message that had appeared on the win square next to his piece.

"Congratulations, you have won Happenstance!! We hope you enjoyed playing our game! Your greatest wish that you were thinking off at the moment your piece touched the win square has already come true. We hope you had a unique experience with our game, and will play it again soon."

Michael realized that, technically, his wish had come true, for his wish upon winning the game was for this nightmare to simply end, and it had.  As Jane put her arm around Danielle, who was still shaking, Michael grabbed up all the contents of the game, put them all back in the box, and then tossed the box into the fire in the fireplace.  

"Come on, let's go.... anywhere away from here!!" He said to his friends.

It was 2 days later when Michael moved into a new house, closer to his friends.  A young woman named Chelsea moved into Michael's old house with her new husband!! One day, she cleaned the dirty fireplace, to discover a boardgame sized box, only slightly burned, with the title "Happenstance" on it!!

The End!

[rosemochi]

16

16. Daybreak.

"How much for a room?"

The innkeeper stares. Zack stares back. He knows he's getting blood all over the floor, but it's not as if he can help it, and if the man declines to help him, then the puddle will just get larger. Finally, the innkeeper sighs, and Zack's shoulders sag in relief. "Hundred gil. Only got single beds, though."

He limps towards the desk. It takes a great deal of effort to grab his wallet, considering Cloud is still slung over his back. "That's fine." After a pause, he says, "Sorry about the mess. I'll clean—"

"Don't worry about it." The innkeeper hands him a key. "Room charge includes a cleanin' fee."

Their accommodations are filthy, but it's still better than the lab. Zack sets Cloud down on the bed, strips him of his wet clothes, and covers him with as many blankets as he can find. He still looks uncomfortable — because anybody would've been uncomfortable on such a thin mattress — so Zack takes his own pillow and shoves it underneath Cloud's head, leaving his own side bare. Finally, he collapses into a nearby armchair and watches Cloud with half-lidded, heavy eyes. "What are we gonna do?"

Cloud doesn't answer, of course. The only noise that greets Zack is the sound of the slums outside the window; the bustling crowds, loud, inhospitable, naturally wary of broad-shouldered men in sleeveless turtlenecks. It was a miracle that he'd even managed to find this inn, considering most people in Sector 7 avoided him like the plague. "We'll figure it out." Zack's voice is light, airy, confident; the opposite of what he feels inside. "It'll be fine."

---

It's not fine.

The next day dawns. Zack counts out his remaining gil. There's only enough for a week's worth of food, and that's if he stretches it. Going to the hospital isn't an option, and it's far too late to take a potion, so he eventually resorts to digging out the bullets in his torso with a pocket knife. They make a strange kind of music as they hit the bathroom sink, clinking against the porcelain, accompanied by the steady drip, drip, drip of Zack's blood. Cloud sleeps through Zack's grunts of pain, which he's grateful for — he doesn't want Cloud to see him like this.

As Zack bandages his wounds, he thinks back to the encounter that gave him all of these injuries to begin with. He's pretty sure Cloud didn't get hit by anything, but it's not as if he's conscious enough to say otherwise.

"Sorry, buddy," Zack says. "Gotta do this."

He lifts the blankets up. Cloud's torso looks fine — other than the keloid scar in the center of his chest, stark against his pale skin, and the frightening way his ribs stick out from his body, made thin by five years of stillness and artificial nutrition. Zack doesn't look for very long, because it feels weird; he's oddly flustered by the time he finishes his pseudo-examination.

Once he's finished, Zack goes to sit on the side of the bed and misses it entirely. He slowly sinks to the threadbare carpet, his shirt catching on the rough comforter as he goes down. His head is pounding, as if somebody's hammering on the insides of his brain with a hammer. "Good," he murmurs, relieved. "Just me, then."

---

Zack wakes, his head still aching, and hastily dresses in the only outfit he has. He wants to run his errands before the slums awaken, but Sector 7 is full of early birds... that are naturally wary of Shinra-issued super-soldiers. Zack arrives at a grocery store, dressed in his infamous uniform (sans pauldrons, though it doesn't help much), beelines for the produce, and promptly gets spat at over a bushel of carrots.

"I'm an ex-SOLD—" Zack sighs. The old Wutain woman walks away, muttering curses under her breath. "Nevermind."

He heads to a nearby clothing store and spends far too much money (five gil) on a new set of clothes. The turtleneck, belt, and pants find their way into a nearby dumpster. Now incognito, Zack quickly buys some necessities — food, water, more bandages, a bar of soap — and races back to the hotel room, eager to check on Cloud.

"I'm home," he announces. Cloud doesn't respond. Zack sits on the side of the bed and rifles through the grocery bags, emerging with a container of fruit. "I bought blueberries." He hastily covers his mouth with his other hand as he coughs, his chest burning from the exertion of running up the stairs. "Your—" Another cough. "Your favourite."

---

Could he be a mercenary? He doesn't see why not, really, other than the fact that somebody might recognize him (when he's supposed to be dead). Could leveraging his ex-SOLDIER status help drum up more business? Is it worth the risk? He'll figure it out in the morning, he decides. Zack lies his throbbing head down on the mattress and falls asleep, dreaming of the painkillers he'll buy with his mercenary money.

The fourth day comes. Zack opens his eyes and hisses in pain; the sunlight feels like it's burning a hole through his skull. He flips onto his stomach, seeking darkness, and hears an unfamiliar groan.

It takes him a moment to recognize the sound.

Zack leaps out of bed and immediately sways on his feet. Something is wrong, terribly wrong, but he can't let whatever it is stop him — Cloud needs him. He grabs a bottle of water, brings it to Cloud, and holds his head up so he can drink it.

As soon as the bottle's empty, Cloud asks, "Where are we?"

"Sector 7," Zack says. "The slums."

Cloud's eyes roam up and down Zack's bare torso, pausing at the blood-stained bandages. "I remember the cliff," he croaks. "I thought I dreamed it."

Zack lays back down on the hard mattress. He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "I wish."

The mattress squeaks as Cloud turns to face him. Zack carefully looks at him, emaniciated but animated, taking in all of the features — sunken eyes, sharp cheekbones, dry lips — that display his illness, equivalent to Zack's own sorry state. Still, there's something about the sight of Cloud that Zack finds strangely wonderful, something that makes his heart race — a feeling made stronger by the fact that it's him, awake, present, right beside him.

"We're alive," Cloud whispers in wonder.

"Yeah." Zack smiles. "We're alive."

---

Though Zack might not stay that way for long.

Day five. The morning sun burns his eyes like acid. Whatever's been plaguing Zack has grown infinitely worse, and he suspects it has something to do with one of his bullet wounds — whatever's making his bandages stain yellow rather than red. Or perhaps it's because he sat in soaked clothes for hours upon hours as he hauled Cloud to Midgar, frozen to the bone in the frigid December weather.

Or perhaps it's both.

The reason doesn't matter, really, because that's not the point. Isn't he supposed to be immune to these sorts of things? What on earth was the point of his augmentations if he still gets things like colds and infections?

Zack ventures back outside in search of medicine, for things he hasn't taken since he was a child in Gongaga, fighting against strep throat and bronchitis. He heads to the nearest pharmacy, because he still can't afford a doctor. Unfortunately, he finds out he can't afford basic remedies either.

"You got wounded?" The pharmacist says, eyes wide. "How long ago?"

"Five days."

"Way too late for a potion," he murmurs. He looks Zack up and down, then rifles underneath the counter. "I'm not supposed to sell these without a prescription, but..." He rings up the antibiotics. "Two hundred gil."

Zack grimaces. "I have fifty."

The pharmacist directs Zack to the veterinarian next door: somebody who sells drugs under the table for cheap. Zack pays ten gil for a bottle of canine antibiotics (which is still too much, but he can't take care of Cloud if he's dead himself) and stumbles back outside. His head swims as he wobbles down the street, knocking shoulders with Sector 7's many residents. He hits one woman particularly hard. "Sorry," he slurs.

The black-haired woman whirls around to face him. She gasps. "Wait—"

"Sorry."

The woman says something else, but Zack rushes forward, eager to get back to Cloud. He makes it back to the inn (though he's not quite sure how), tears his way back into the room, and promptly rushes for the toilet. The bile tears through his esophagus as it comes up, leaving his throat raw and scorched in its wake.

Something crashes in the bedroom. Zack looks over the rim and sees Cloud crawling towards him, a blanket tangled around his legs. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing," Zack insists, though he's sure he's not doing a very convincing job of it. He flushes the bile away. "Got meds."

Cloud hunts around for the bag that Zack dropped on the floor. Exhausted, he leans back on the bathroom cupboard, rips the bag open, and inspects the bottle. "This says 'for Fido'."

"He said something about 'equivalent doses'," Zack groans. "No idea what that means."

Somehow, he musters up the energy to pull himself up to the sink so he can brush his teeth. Cloud crawls up with him, using the counter as leverage. The image in the mirror is a frightening sight; Zack can barely recognize himself. Cloud reaches up and pulls a sweat-soaked strand of hair from Zack's temple. "When was the last time either of us showered?"

Zack grimaces as he thinks back. "Five years ago?"

It's a good thing they decide to shower together, because they end up having to hold each other up. Cloud doesn't have the dexterity to unbutton his own pants, so Zack does it for him; Zack doesn't have the strength to lift his arms above his head, so Cloud hooks his arms underneath Zack's shirt and pulls. They take turns scrubbing each other clean, trying to make up for each other's deficiencies. Zack's bandages get soaked, but he simply doesn't have the energy to care. "Bend down," Cloud says. "I'll get your hair."

The hot water doesn't last long. Strength spent, they end up on the floor, gasping for air and clutching each other for warmth. Zack's feverish forehead lands on Cloud's cold shoulder; the sensation makes him groan in relief, even though the rest of his body is frozen to the bone. "We might have to stay here forever," Cloud gasps. "I don't have the strength to haul you up."

Zack slowly drags his head up. Droplets of cold water drip down Cloud's chin, his jaw, his neck, collecting in the hollow of his throat. Zack's mouth is impossibly dry; if he didn't know any better, he might've tried to drink from it. "I'd be fine with that," he admits.

---

"Why did you give me your pillow?"

Zack drags his eyes open. Dim streaks of light pierce through the blinds, highlighting the dust in the air. The clock on the nightstand reads 5:30 AM. "You needed it more."

"How?" Cloud croaks. "I was unconscious."

Zack doesn't have a good answer for that, so he stays silent. Cloud sighs and tugs at his shoulders. "Roll over," he says, and Zack slowly complies. His head lands in the center of Cloud's chest — a much comfier surface than the hard mattress. "Stupid," Cloud whispers into his hair. "You're so stupid."

They slowly drift back to sleep. Zack dreams of everything — his childhood in Gongaga, his days as a SOLDIER, the bloodshed in Wutai, the pain, the glory, the atrocities, all blending together into a whirlpool of dreams and nightmares. At the center of the maelstrom, always present, is the laboratory and the years he spent with Cloud, so close and yet so far, within arm's reach but miles away. In his dreams, the glass is impenetrable, no matter how hard he tries to smash it; his screams are muffled by the mako that spills into his throat, filling his lungs, robbing him of freedom.

But not anymore.

Cloud is here. He's in front of him, beneath him, warm, breathing and alive. Cloud's arms rise up to hold him, enveloping Zack in a comforting warmth that feels like home; Zack's hands clutch at Cloud's shirt as if it's the only thing tethering him to the Planet. The fabric underneath his eyes quickly grows damp.

"Still feverish," Cloud whispers, his lips moving against Zack's forehead.

"Yeah?" Zack mumbles, as if he can't tell — though he obviously can. His head is swimming; he feels like a child again, sitting in the bow of his dad's fishing boat, feeling the ocean tug him to and fro. "Not enough dog meds."

"I'll go get them."

Zack's arms tighten around Cloud's waist. "Don't," he says. "They're not doing anything anyway."

"You have to keep taking them for them to work," Cloud argues. He eventually wiggles out from underneath him, though Zack does his best to make him stay put. An eternity passes before he returns, medicine and water in hand. "Open your mouth."

Zack's throat, still raw from bile, aches as he swallows the pills down. Cloud puts the medicine aside and collapses on top of him, utterly spent. They lay there for a while, arms twisted around each other, Zack taking comfort in Cloud's steady heartbeat. "Don't know what I'd do if I lost you," Cloud whispers.

Zack gently runs his fingers through Cloud's sweat-soaked hair. "You'd be fine."

"No," Cloud quietly argues. "No, I wouldn't."

Zack slowly sinks back into unconsciousness. For once, he dreams of nothing; his mind is a dark, cool abyss, a refuge from the fever. When he's pulled back into the world of the living, his surroundings are much of the same. Zack awakens to soft fingers running through his hair, stroking his burning forehead, caressing his sunken cheeks. Is he still dreaming? "Don't stop," Zack croaks. "Feels good."

The stroking continues. The fingers trace his brow, the slope of his nose, the bow of his parched mouth, thumb swiping against his bottom lip — where they suddenly stop. Zack opens his mouth to speak, to breathe, to ask for more, when something else presses against his lips: a mouth as chapped as his own.

The kiss is light, because it has to be; even in his dreams, there's no energy for passion. In its absence, the gentlest of movements becomes profound. Zack sighs as he gently presses his lips to Cloud's, swipes his tongue against his bottom lip, seeking his warmth. A shiver tears through him as Cloud's tongue brushes against his own—

—until Cloud abruptly pulls away. He coughs, his chest rattling as he desperately tries to catch his breath. Zack holds him tight and rubs his back until the coughing fit passes. "Shh," he whispers against Cloud's forehead. "Shh."

Cloud eventually stills. Zack can tell he's feverish too; the skin underneath his lips is hot to the touch. "Sorry," Cloud croaks. The misery in his voice makes Zack's chest hurt. "I'm sorry."

Zack shakes his head. What on earth could he ever be sorry for? "Don't be."

They lay there for what feels like an eternity. Zack drifts in and out of consciousness, through the past and present. The fever tries to pull him under, but he briefly comes up for air. "I'll kiss you properly," Zack croaks, "when we're better."

Cloud's arms tighten around him. "We're not getting better."

He's right. Zack's fever persists, no matter what meds he throws at it; he can feel death hovering nearby, waiting to pull him into the ether. "If you can move," Zack slowly says, "I want you to go to the hospital. Don't—" He coughs. "Don't worry about the—"

Cloud inches himself up Zack's body and kisses him again. He coughs, then kisses the corner of Zack's mouth, coughs, then kisses his cheek; the hacking sound is loud and startling, as if it's tearing his lungs into two. "Shut up," he says. "I'm not leaving you."

Zack's eyes close against his will, robbing him of the opportunity to argue. As he slowly sinks into darkness, he feels something wet drip onto his face, like a familiar droplet of rain from a stormy sky. If he were to open his eyes, would he see dark clouds? Would he still be on the cliff, lying in the torrent, waiting for death?

He opens his mouth to the rain, eager to soothe his parched throat, and tastes salt on his tongue.

---

Zack awakens. The light behind his closed eyelids is warm, soothing, like the sunlight that dries the earth after a storm. A soft breeze brushes against his neck, stirring his hair.

"Hey."

Zack cracks his mouth open. "Hey," he croaks.

The weight of Cloud's body pushes him into the ground. Is he alive? Dead? Has he always been dead? Zack doesn't know much about the afterlife, but he knows it's supposed to be a paradise, and an eternity with Cloud is the closest he'll ever get to it.

The sunlight grows warmer, enveloping him from within. The pain in his body ebbs, replaced by something that Zack can only describe as peace. "I love you," Cloud says.

He turns his head towards the sound. "I love you too," he says, smiling. "Always have."

Another sound slowly enters Zack's consciousness; two sets of heavy boots, smacking against wooden floors. "Somebody's coming," Cloud says. "Shinra?"

Zack wraps his arms around Cloud, holding him tight, tighter, until they're as close as two people could possibly be. Their bodies meld into one entity, one soul, impossible to separate, together for eternity. "I'm not going anywhere without you," Cloud says.

The boots come to a stop. "No," Zack agrees, shaking his head. "Never."

Knock.

Every single thing Zack meant to say over the past five years comes out in a rush. "I love you," he croaks, because he can never say it enough. "I love you, I love you—"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"I love you too," Cloud says, his voice thick with tears.

"What are you tryin' to do, tear the damn door down?!" the innkeeper growls. "Hold on. I've got a key."

It doesn't matter. None of it does. It doesn't matter what will happen, if they're alive or dead or somewhere in between, if they're spirits wandering through the ether, souls flitting through hazy dreams — because they'll always have each other.

"I love you."

The door opens.